tomatoeraincow

new home

2011-12-22T04:15:00.000-05:00

Dear all,

It grieves me that this day will have to come. But it did a month ago when I realized I can no longer write in this blog. I've changed too much and this space doesn't ever seem to keep up. I've tried repainting the walls, and changing things around--but I could never shake away that dreadful feeling.

2012 is coming up and I know I need a new start. So I decided, to get myself a .com somewhere else. Nothing here will be deleted. Please, albeit how shabby my writing is, it's still too sentimental to be thrown away. I'll keep this here as long as my mind allows me to.

...Well, I've furnished this new place with a few posts over the past few weeks, hopefully you like this new blog as much as I do.

www.tomatoeraincow.com

Click here for the first post, it's sort of a welcome note: Elixir

Best love,
Melinda

2011-12-09T22:17:00.001-05:00

I just came back from watching New Years Eve at the cinema. Take it from me, and watch it. It is the most uplifting movie you'll watch and it'll restore hope.

I have had an amazing a week. I cannot have hoped for a better way to end this semester.

December is slowly expiring, and that means 2011 is ending. It's time to reflect on all that has happened and find new resolutions for 2012. I'm glad I kept to this year's resolution pretty closely :)

But before we go there, there are several things I need to take care of this December. Its the last of 2011 we'll ever live and our memories of it will depend on how we spend the last of it.

So, I suggest we should go out...and be brave.

"If you could do one thing and not fail, what would you do?" he asked. "Do that." - From New Years Eve.

Hello, reality.

2011-12-05T23:10:00.001-05:00

Finally woke up from this dream.

& realized I'm alone.

It hasn't hit me this objectively before, but I suddenly realized I'm alone. All the attachment on the internet clouded my judgement.

This isn't some vacation. This is real.

I'm in the United States. In New York. On Long Island. Attending Stony Brook University.

The semester is coming to an end, and home? That remains another winter away.

And familiarity? That's only found on Facebook.

Well, I guess,

it's time to fight,

time to conquer the world.

take a deep breath, I wrote. Now, stand up again.

Ransom

2011-12-01T01:39:00.001-05:00

link

All the right words are left unsaid.

Because my words will leave

you defenseless.

Everyone before you, and probably after you,

knows this

I can make and ruin, simply with words.

& you are whole only because I had mercy.

Adventures

2011-11-27T17:43:00.001-05:00

link

It was getting darker and the wind was stronger. I took afinal sip of my crème brulee cappuccino, close shut the lid to my cheesecake,placed my bookmark in between the pages I’m leaving, and then set foot down 45^thStreet. I have been so caught up in the corner of the street reading my bookthat I had ignored this city’s awakening.

The entire street had a yellow hue, like a movie right outof 1940s. The entire street, with steam from sewages, metal pipes fromconstruction, fading walls, started pulling on its night maquillage to enchant.Its burning yellow light bulbs began dancing around large signboards singingand drumming for its shows. I passed the same buildings I previously thoughtwere abandoned; they turned out to be theatres staging world famous plays andmusicals.

I took a left turn at 45^th street, turned in at44^th and walked down the subway station to catch the E train. Iswiped my Metrocard, pushed pass the gates and stood alongside the busy,rushing New Yorkers.

I ended up there that evening trying to locate a cheesecake I fell in love with the last time. I was only there once andremembered vaguely where Juniors was. Never mind that, I thought, itwould be like an adventure. I eventually found the bakery after looking at themap, exploring and pacing up and down 45^th street alone.

I took a wrong train the day before and ended up on thewrong side of town. It was the day of Taylor Swift’s concert, notably the mostmomentous day for me as a wide-eyed fan girl. You can almost imagine theexcitement and energy jumping right out of me every second.

Yet, the whole trip to Madison Square Garden and back washorrible. For several hours, I had to run—with my luggage—across unknownstreets. I hopped onto random busses and waited under the cold and rain for transfers. But of course, the concert proved worth it. It was the most magical 4 hours of my life as I watched the songs come alive right in front of me.

The concert finally ended at 11pm, and the same terrifying and uncertain travel repeated. Thetrain home had closed and it required several transfers before getting back onthe right track. I hopped onto the wrong subway and travelled 3 stops furtherout from the wild New York. I needed to be on West 4^th or Rockefeller Centre but got asfar as 55^th. Eventually, I hiked my way back to the other side,asked for directions in my concert outfit and fading make-up. After an hour of4 transfers, I got back to Middle Village at 12.45a.m.

Coming out from the subway station, rain was dripping downthe stairs and the wind was stirring strongly. I reached for my umbrella andexpected to be greeted by the same buzzing Queens Mall. Extending my umbrellaand throwing it above my head, I looked up only to see a dark and empty street,and drizzles rattling away.

I was shivering, exhausted and frustrated. There was no busto catch, no one to ask, and no cab in sight. I ended up walking a huge circlebefore exiting at a dodgy street and flagging down a cab. It was an unregistered cab and before processing that, I agreed to the ten dollar fare. Once I got on, he took out his phone, spoke a different language and winded up the window. I was struck with horror. I gripped my seat and held my breath, ready to attack if he even dared turn on the wrong street. For 5 minutes, I had my dead body flash across the front page of New York Times: Unknown girl killed after Swift's concert.

Nonetheless, at 1.20a.m, I paid my fare quickly with a small tip, and slammed the cab door shut. I walked up Elliot Street, opened the door and was finally under a roof. Soaked but very relieved.

It was hell of a trip. It was mad and to be honest, I never want to do it again.

On another note, I survived the deadly city. Something to take pride in for a 19 year old, southeast asian girl on her 4th month alone. These are the bolts and screws I'm trying to learn and understand. Living alone is a whole new concept for me, but I’m slowly grasping it. Regardless of what you may think, its a new milestone.

I travelled half way across the globe alone. With no friendsand family, I've learned to trust my instincts and brace myself for this new life. More than just a simple adventure in the city, back at Stony Brook, I live off-campus. I cook for myself, clean after myself, buy my own groceries, plan my expenditures, and travel around Stony Brook town with public transport. I have the entire bus schedules etched into my memory after missing several busses. It isn’t all candies,rainbows, and unicorns—its tough. Then again,

" Man cannot discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight of the shore

- Andre Gide "

So, I brace myself.

The grounds above and below rumbled as trains snaked passedthe station. The E train was finally in sight as I felt my feet tingle and mychest shudder. I hopped on, found a seat and waited for it to travel downtownto Canal Street.

“Hey, where are you? I’m here!” I said as I walked out ofthe Canal Street station.

“Where are you,” my friend asked, “do you see a Starbucks?”

“No, I don’t,” I said, looking around.

After a few exchanges, we concluded I’m on the wrong part oftown. “Wait there,” he said, “I’ll come get you.”

Oh well, just another adventure.

Locke's theory

2011-11-21T14:02:00.001-05:00

Political opinion ahead. Do not read if you do not care.

link

My entire Facebook wall is flooded with statuses of pride for Malaysia. We have just won the SEA games against Indonesia, and everyone is cheering. Some praised the goalkeeper while others named the players on the field who seemed "World-class". It is amazing to be able to witness all this pride; it gives me hope that to the very core, we all still love our country despite the politics.

This then became a topic in a conversation with a good friend. We talked about several things, and it started with Najib Razak, our current Prime Minister. I have nothing against him though I believe he needs to do more and he needs to do it faster. Then again, which leader do we not criticize for this very same thing? He is always at the front when releasing good news, like the speech in repealing ISA. Yet, it was the Home Minister Hishamhudin who announced a similar "detention without trial" law to replace ISA.

It is politics, and I'm beginning to come into terms with it.

What is inspiring in all of this politics, though, is the power of the people exercised this year. This is seen through 3 distinct events: BERSIH rally, ISA, and PPSMI.

Bersih

We saw the uprising of the people early this year with the BERSIH rally. I had strong feelings against it but it does not stop my admiration of the courage of the people, who braved themselves before water cannons and tear gases.

Amidst many threats from the government, the BERSIH rally still happened and it was not severely crushed. That is to say, the government did not violently stop the rally with guns and murders. The people remained peaceful and the police merely carried out orders in throwing obstacles on their course.

Bottom line: it happened.

Now, the government faces strong criticism and pressure to ensure a transparent and clean electoral process. Nobody knows what might happen in the upcoming elections, but we're all watching and scrutinizing. If anything, we're fettering them with our attention.

ISA

Many accounted the repeal of ISA, an internal security act that detains people without trial, as a move to improve the governing party's image. It is to convince the people that they are capable of moving forward and is now more liberal than ever.

But skeptical as we are with the government, we took it as a political move to garner more support. In our perspective, the government was only doing so out of fear of losing at the next elections. They lost good, big, chunky states to the opposition in the last election, and won only by a small margin. To many of us, the announcement was a political move to trick our confidence again.

Bottom line: they are beginning to fear the people.

To me, the fear the government has for its people is the most powerful thing we have achieved as a nation. The government is now much cautious for the things they say and do, simply because they fear losing the next election. Fearing the next election, is fearing our votes, and that, is fearing the people.

PPSMI

The PPSMI was an intensely debated issue just last few weeks ago. Many were outraged that the government would want to replace the English medium for Malay in teaching Science and Mathematics. There were Facebook groups, large volumes of angry tweets, letters to newspapers and magazines, blog posts and even a parent action group that fought strongly against it.

The people got very loud even though the minister of education insisted that the decision will not change.

In the end, the government announced that English will remain as the medium until 2016. One can view this as a political move to postpone the problem until after the 2012 elections. Yet, it is undeniable that the people's voices got too loud to be ignored. The government feared it, and needed to hush it.

Bottom line : they feared the people.

The government's prior headstrong and uncompromising stand against it faltered so quickly as the people's voices accumulated. The power of unity, is really no joke.

-

Watching these 3 issues unfold themselves was very reassuring. It showed that the people could exercise their power against the government and the power of elections. This is the essence of democracy.

John Locke, a famous political philosopher, once said the power of the sovereign originates from the consent of the people. That is to say, in all forms of government, the people give the government power. The government is only able to carry out its misdeeds if the people allowed it; it is the leniency of the people that gives rise to an oppressive government.

We have only ever whined and complained about our government, but we never truly stood up against them. But now we are, and the government is beginning to fear it.

This is the return of the power to the people to elect their righteous leader.

We have never had so much power against the government. We have always been weak because of the way we have divided ourselves by race and religion. Corny as it sounds, we are much more united than before, and thus much more powerful.

With the unison of the people against a common enemy of inequity and injustice, the Malaysia we deserve seems in reach.

because you're worth it.

2011-11-15T23:16:00.001-05:00

I will be away this week, finishing up assignments and (acing) a test. :D Heh. I plan on spending the next week finishing up a few more blog drafts, and maybe discarding some for its too personal content. :) I'm in this zone, trying to decide what's to be seen and what's not. I also plan to reorganize some pages on this blog to get everything back in place. (by the way, isn't the new layout amazing? thank you, technology!)

In the mean time, I decided to post up my formspring here :) I'd like to hear from you :) I'll pick a few good questions, (if you guys are supportive enough to be on this with me), and then I'll write on them. They could be anything from ~~philosophical questions (~~just realized how conceiting that sounds), to buddhism, to my dreams...or well, anything you think is important to you, as a reader, to know of me. Or just, things you never really understood from my writing. Shoot 'em :)

I feel so bad that I'm not writing as often. Hopefully this will make it as if I'm more alive.

find me here

till whenever,
melinda :)

Humility

2011-11-02T18:27:00.000-04:00

link

It was after an hour's conversation with my writing professor, a previous government policy analysis, that gave me a lot to think about, and a lot to abandon. It began when I asked her for her opinion on the revert of English as the language for Mathematics and Science in Malaysia. The conversation slowly drifted to my love for Malaysia and all my beautiful visions to change it. My passion for Malaysia poured through every few sentence, as I felt myself cringing with frustration and enthusiasm when mentioning the segregation and the discrimination back home.

Maybe all teachers play a guessing game in their head as they hear opinions and confessions from their students. They watch with an awe, a patience and then give a few nuggets of advice as they feel the child's insecurity. All that while, they remain optimistic and hopeful of the child's dreams; believing everyone of them would find their way eventually. Some might just end up changing the world.

I guess, she wasn't sure just who she saw today sitting in front of her. However so, she knew one thing: I had a long way to go.

She advised cautiously that I had more to learn and that I should not spend so much time worrying on something I cannot change, yet. She looked at my file, filled with printed research and studies of Malaysian policy and said I shouldn't get an ulcer from all this stress before I even graduate. Even more so, she said I cannot change so many things at once.

On my way out of her office, feeling slightly deflated, and feeling the papers in my file, I sighed. Over lunch, I looked out the window and I was reminded just where I am. I'm here to learn.

There are so many things I want to change back at home. I want to lead again and I want to be able to influence decisions and perceptions once more. However strong this want may be, I have lost all of that when I boarded the plane in August.

Nonetheless, being here has been a humbling experience. Given all that I thought I knew, this is only the beginning of my pursuit. The journey ahead is going to be long, tough and tiresome but I have to keep learning. Hopefully, just one day, some day, these books and papers and examinations will change lives for me. And to learn is to keep humbling myself, to know that there are gaps in my knowledge and that I have so much more to know.

Humility isn't pretending to be shallow, timid or quiet, it is acknowledging that the world is too big for anyone to know or conquer it all. Especially for one at nineteen.

Humility, is what Malaysia needs for now and thus, all my dreams to change it can wait. As for now, I have only one thing to change and improve, and that is myself.

Raw

2011-10-31T02:16:00.000-04:00

It is exactly zero Celcius here in Stony Brook, NY. Even under this thick sweater, I'm freezing and shivering. Nonetheless, it's been a long and productive day for me, and I'm still slightly high on the adrenaline rush from doing work. Its 1.20 a.m, and I thought, its been long since I had a raw entry. Why not tonight? :)

Things are looking much better for me. I love all my classes and you cannot imagine just how many ideas I have churned out from these classes. I decided to take my ideas more seriously, penning them down in my book of inspiration. Yes, I have gotten myself such a book. Did I mention it's a Moleskin? holyyyysmokes, finally joining the ranks of renowned writers in owning such a book. (eheh, self-imposed label)

I've also unconsciously set up a wall of quotes. It started with a few quotes I scribbled on post-its after reading self-improvement articles. Out of convenience, I stuck it to the wall next to my study desk. Who knew, three months later, I have over dozens stuck on this wall. Its like a collection of quotes to get me going through the day. Well, its an uplifting sight every morning when I wake up, or whenever I feel overwhelmed. It reminds me of what's important :)

.. and I've been typing and deleting over 5 paragraphs for this following part but I just can't seem to get it right. I guess there's just so much to tell, I don't know where to begin and what you'd like to hear.

... and then I just deleted another 3 paragraphs that I thought sounded good. Hm, I guess this isn't the best night to write. However, since I promised myself this blog deserves something raw once in a while, I will press (publish) just this once.

I hope everything's doing well for you? Give me sometime to get used to my growing writing genre, I've just been a little lost on what to publish here and what not. I've also got into the habit of scrutinizing, editing and rewriting my work over and over again to be better writer. (my writing lecturer hammers on my writing as if its crap, so forgive me if there's some insecurity going on right now)

And anyway, you guys deserve to read better written works too :)

Till then, all the best to you, wherever you may be :)

Love,
Mel.

p.s.: I just realized how many morbid blog posts I've been publishing versus the happier, optimistic ones I'm still editing in the drafts folder. So a quick disclaimer: I'm alright. The good stuff are just still stuck in my drafts :D

wanted you more

2011-10-29T20:28:00.000-04:00

I've stopped writing because you started reading.

its snowing in upstate new york, I hope it comes to stony brook soon. The cold will freeze my heart over.

ive been writing songs, just to feel someone understand me.

i woke up one morning with teary eyes. I don't remember the dream; you must've been in it.

when I look at my hands, I see all the wrong hands that held it before.

so,

I'll write in my diary.

because that's where you'll never find me.

No.

2011-10-15T14:27:00.000-04:00

link

I breathe you in to feel an enemy, to feel the same: the horror, anger and pain you once left and made of me. I hopelessly drunk you in, trying to find the love you owe me. Suddenly, I wonder, has everything just been a run?

Did I long you, still?

*

Last night, I danced in the dark; I followed the thumping, the screaming, the drinking. From outside, the room enveloped a music about to explode, but inside, it was a liberation from the shell that cast us so identically sweet. The smoke framed a mirage, the music deafened our ears, and the alcohol anesthetized our senses. The euphoric music drove us too crazy and we kept dancing and screaming and jumping and singing.

In that huge mess of idiocy, I suddenly saw. I saw through every fake lash, blush, boobs, flirt, touch and kiss. In that sudden fit, I ran my fingers through my hair as I felt their acidic breath and touch on me. I trembled as I kept to the beat, trying to make sense of the ghosts in them. This escape, forged in the image of illicit bliss, began collapsing into an imprisonment and its debris choked my every breath.

I slowed even as the beat went faster and the music turned louder. I pulled myself away from the glob of the crippled dancers and walked out. It was all an illusion of joy, of unlimited attention and an escape into an abyss of lawlessness. It was a trick, a spell on the miserable, the hopeless, and the loveless.

The spell reached out desperately as I quit. It tried to cast harder spells on me with crazier songs, softer caresses and sweeter words. It was trying to parade the life of the carefree and of the fun to hoax me again. But all I saw and felt was emptiness.

I walked out under the starlight and felt the night breeze fill my entire soul and body with oxygen. The spell stretched and grappled at me, but the further I went, the faster it faded into inexistence. And suddenly,

I was free.

I am free.

Drunk

2011-10-09T00:40:00.000-04:00

Let's pretend that I'm drunk for a moment, that I'm allowed to say and do whatever I want and them blame it on alcohol. For a second, let's pretend you'll forgive me for everything I have to say next.

I can never forgive you, as much as I'd like to. I can never look at you the same way, and think for a second, that we could even be friends again.

I can't believe, after all that happened, that was all I ever meant to you. I can't believe you walked away without a word, pretending as if I won't hurt, pretending as if I was going to be happy.

You disappeared on me. Because some bitch got jealous. Dude, what the fuck?

I hope you never forgive yourself.

At least, I won't.

Trusting Strangers

2011-10-09T00:31:00.000-04:00

Everything is tipping off from a balance I once knew; it's a symphony of chaos and exhilaration. With so much to grasp and learn, I've been given a whole new world to learn from. I guess in this way, adventure is an eccentric beauty.

Where I am, where I'm an unknown face, an inexistence to many, I am most in resonance with my soul.

For now, this is the silence, peace and tranquility I need, an unfamiliarity to find myself again. This unfamiliarity is everything I've envisioned for myself when describing the States to Bree before coming here. I guess I saw everything coming before it did.

This is what my soul needs, to be a stranger left to learn how to trust itself.

Glass

2011-09-26T21:20:00.000-04:00

link

The glass bottle fell off my hands and for a heartbeat, it hung in air with freedom. Then gravity reached up and reclaimed it; it began skating, gliding and falling through the air uncontrollably. At impact, it burst across the tiles and shards flew like fireworks. An excruciating cry scratched the air as it crippled and I gasped in horror. The entire room fell silent as the last of the shards glide to soft mourn.

I watched with resounding familiarity.

Why did it sound so much like a heart?

Blank

2011-09-13T15:05:00.000-04:00

link

I've always wondered if life was written out before our existence, waiting for us to just live through its misery and joy. But I disliked believing in a pre-determined life because if it were, it meant I couldn't change my situations--which I have. I've chose different paths for myself and rewrote the course of my life many times. I knew, I was not living a story.

So, for awhile, I believed that we were the writers of our own stories. We held the pen and paper, and we wrote the scripts of our thoughts, passion, path and future. I believed that our every action and thought stemmed from within, without the interference of an outside force.

Yet, I've found myself with people and situations, too perfect to be crafted by coincidence. So, I was confounded for awhile, unable to understand how our story comes to life.

After some thinking the other day, I thought ..maybe: life is written in incomplete sentences for which we fill in the blanks. Fate writes half the story with the amazing people and chances we meet. And we choose the words to fill in the blanks: whether to fall in love, to soar with triumph or to forget all as history. I guess this is how life is in consonance: we choose the outcomes of all the characters and settings crafted by fate.

*

So, how should I fill in this blank next to your name?

Paralysis

2011-09-05T19:08:00.000-04:00

link

I'm numb for words, crying dry tears.

Continue the next sentence for me.

Silver Lining

2011-09-01T22:01:00.000-04:00

link

The sun was low and the winds were weak, letting air hang still, motionless. I was walking out to put out the trash after a light dinner, and from somewhere-I don't know where- I had a sudden urge to break into a run. In my pretty, gray flats I ran across the lawn and into the house, changed my clothing and put on my shoes. I grabbed my keys, dashed out and started running. I didn't know where I was running to, I just did. As I picked up speed, I cut through the still, motionless air; like breaking through ice--but it didn't matter if I shivered, I just wanted to run. Run from this life, this place, this loneliness, this dream.

I ran till the end of the road and on the way back I saw a trail hiking up a steeper slope. A mirage of a house seemed to waver and I was feeling too adventurous to deny a peek. I climbed that trail before I could even catch my breath and when I reached the end, I was startled. There were a line of houses and they were the loveliest, sweetest looking houses--like modern, little castles. They were built grandiosely on large land, with walls of soft, pastel colors, windows at the height of the house and gardens that were beautifully tended--Oh, and no gates. I stood there for a while then broke into a run again. I was smiling and running and smiling and running through the neighborhood.

It was like running and delighting, into my own fairy tale setting.

*

In the most amazing ways, I realized I've been blessed here; this is where I can belong for now. I love that my house is surrounded by the woods, that I'm immersed in the sounds of crickets and the stirring of trees and leaves. It keeps me more in tune with my senses and my mind, as if my heart was home.

I feel very blessed that my landlord and his wife offers to drive me college each morning for my classes. I'm contented that the bus stop is a short 5-minutes walk and the mall at 15-minutes. I'm surviving without a car, at the expense of toner legs.

I'm have freedom for independence along with just the right people along the way, whether abroad or here, to get me through this change. The luck I've been running into has been unbelievable either.

I guess, after all, there is a silver lining. Only if I wanted to see it.

*

I ran until the end of the road, and saw another trail into the woods that would lead to the next neighborhood. I hiked through it again and found a large yellow sign that says : Trespassers will be prosecuted. Feeling light-headed, I finally turned my back and ran back to where the first trail was. I hiked back down and finally got back on MarkTree Road, where I belong for now.

Peace

2011-08-30T20:36:00.000-04:00

link

In between washing my plates, cleaning the house, taking a shower and drying my hair, I realized how much I love the independence at hand. I love that I am in so much control of my own life- like the day laundry gets done, the full vegetarian diet I get or even the type of bed sheets I sleep on. Its an overwhelming joy that I can be in such full command of my lifestyle.

Yet at times I feel miserable. I feel these little spasms of self-pity and loathing strike my heart chords as I walk across campus. These little fear that creeps with me in my sleeps, haunting me in my dreams to follow through my breakfast. Its daunting.

For a while, I was confused. I didn't know what to feel or think with these millions of clashing hormones. But then, with tedious housework, came a mind too distracted to feel that it began to actually think with logic.

I admitted this misery was a self-imposed state of mind. I kept thinking of what I don't have or own and calculating what I should have or feel; I'm ranting at an emptiness that wouldn't have been there if I hadn't dug a hole. I've just been digging a well, hoping water would run by to feed my soul.

Honesty has never felt more reassuring. Logic my savior. And housework my knight.

I've decided I'll reignite my practice of meditation, to be more mindful and honest with myself. To just learn to be stronger alone, or with others.

I need strength and I will find it with peace.

Run

2011-08-29T20:14:00.000-04:00

link to photographer

I've been deleting and retyping, scrambling to piece the right words together, to frame up the pain that's pinching within me. I'm trying to understand this bitter bile that runs in my mouth and spine, this burning aggravation that's running with my blood, this inescapable turmoil I keep writhing from.

I don't know where to run, where to hide within these walls that I don't trust. I don't know which phone to take or which number to punch, to just scream and cry and be loved just because I have feelings. I don't know where should I take myself to feel better; I don't know where to run to, where to sing to, where to care for. I don't know what is beyond these already strange walls, I don't know what can I do in order to cry but with words. These words are the only solace I have in the absence of tears.

And I'm wondering if the loneliness of a new world is robbing me of my strength to breathe, like a growing black hole that's robbing me of my air, letting me drown in silence. Even with death, this pain feels jailed.

*

Maybe I should just let go of trying to revive a life I cannot save. I ran out of luck in avoiding fate as time whispers a soft alarm to walk away.

This all should've ended with all the tears I shed.

Bridge

2011-08-28T12:51:00.000-04:00

credits to vtangophotography

A drifter in exile,

a heart in captive,

belonging neither here nor there, nor with you.

When the distance grows strong enough to isolate me from you, when more people flood between this distance, filling your existence with their company,

you shouldn't say I didn't try bridging this.

5 days

2011-08-24T18:32:00.000-04:00

The engines roared and the wheels rolled, lights blinked and slowly, everything around me was pulled off the ground. I want to blame the weather for being too perfect for flight, or even the gravity for not holding me tighter.

Roads passed me below and everything started shrinking, smaller..smaller..smaller. The roads that I came from can only seen lit by street lights, little dots of orange outlining the winding roads, roads that could bring me home . Everything began slipping from my sight and clouds began to fog the windows and suddenly, home was no longer there.

I was no longer a part of it; a traveller in a sky, an alien to others.

There were a thousand horrible longings in me; the letters, the gifts, the goodbyes that pierced. But its odd how the hardest thing to breathe in was the silence from you.

We had an unfair chance at this. I found out how sincere and kind you were, 5 days before I boarded the plane. I found out how much more I deserve, 4 days before I said goodbye. I finally felt peace in walks with you, 3 days before I flooded the plane. I found out how beautiful we could be, 2 days before I lost my appetite. I realize I needed you in my life, a day before my heart went numb. You realized you needed to speak to me, a minute before I walked through the gates. But it was too late.

I cried myself to sleep and you drank your way to bed. Maybe I'm that much stronger, and maybe you care that much less, because within the next 30 hours, we propped up our internet and we found a new way to live. We pretended we were next to each other, as friends.

We'll live this way for as long as we can, avoiding our fate.

Stranger

2011-08-23T17:55:00.000-04:00

Some of you may have been clawing here, frustrated by my lack of posting. And I wouldn't have thought about this place at all if not being forced to fulfill a writing placement test (which I carelessly finished in half an hour out of utter annoyance for their doubt of me). Nonetheless, here I am, blogging the first time away from home: Long Island, New York.

I'm sitting at the Student Activity Centre. My laptop is propped up on a wooden table that is clumsily arranged at the centre of the hall, which sunlight is most prominent. I'm trying to absorb as much heat after a stroll from the Physics department here: the wind is a cold, sharp blade that glides on the skin.

I'll be taking the bus later (my first time) back to my place. It is scheduled to arrive at 6.25pm, so I have exactly an hour to write and refine. But of course, provided my laptop doesn't exhaust too much of its own battery.

I'm almost settled down; still trying to get used to the idea of my new 'home'. I wouldn't even dare call it home. I should just probably call it 'my place'...or something of that sort for now. Adjustment is a struggle but as if I had any other choice?

Nothing is familiar here, nothing. The roads are different, the signs, people, weather, language... the whole unfamiliarity is sinking into me like a heavy brick. I'm trying to adjust, really, I just don't know how good will I be at it. Nothing is really exciting my nerves; pretty much very sluggish these days.

But we must thank the creators of Internet and Skype for it is my life line at the moment. I'm either Skyping or Facebooking friends from 9500 miles away. Trying to just pull and stretch a slice of my old life into this new place. I hardly know anyone here, let alone trust anyone.

Everything is a blur, and I feel like a stranger.

Oh oh, I want some more-ore

2011-08-13T14:13:00.001-04:00

I think being too sentimental like this, like me, is a terrible thing to be.

Everyone’s been asking if I’m excited, and I’ve answered ‘no’ every time. Then, they would frown and ask why.

Well, while I’m still here, still in the heart of my home, I’d rather soak up all the sadness that I can. I want to be here, in this moment, to realize that every passing moment might be my last here. I rather not look to the future now and get all excited and hyped up, because I can do that when I’m on the plane, flying to my new life.

I can be excited when I’m really there.

As for now, I’d just like to be sentimental. To count down every minute and second I have here; spend time and reminisce.

Okay

2011-08-11T12:28:00.001-04:00

I’m listening to a song about a boy who loves a girl. I wonder when did songs become fairy tales too?

I’m looking through a blog filled with Disney photos, trying to brace myself for the unknown; to remind myself all fairy tales ended happy because the princesses and prince persevered through all the demons, dragons, poison apples and ugly old ladies with needles. The frail, little girl in me is holding on to her own hands, reciting love songs, poems and stories to be stronger.

Please be okay, New York. Please.

love

2011-07-30T13:47:00.001-04:00

photo credits: Pinky Vuduu

The heart is such a peculiar thing. It is a bird I could never cage, a lion I could never tame and a phoenix that lived forever.

Now that my days here in Malaysia is numbered, I’ve let daylight seep into the doorknobs, the gaps between curtains, and the edges of the door into this jail I’ve kept this undying, unfailing thing in. Even after the darkest days, the lashes and the agony, this bird chirps with elation, this lion roars with command, and this phoenix extends its wings to spread its amazing red,blue,green feathers.

Suddenly, I’m reminded that I have the ability, the strength to love.

We needed a name. I needed to try.

2011-07-23T14:55:00.001-04:00

There were a few other things I wanted to share, but then I thought of putting that aside because this experience is tugging at me hard. And I am impulsively writing this at the moment; it might disappear after tomorrow if or when I wake up and find it too repulsive to share.

I have a few mottos I keep and the one that I always put on my mind is doing my best. I would imprint quotes on the back of my hands every time I lose footing on my ground, just to keep myself going. In fact, this week, I found a beautiful but simple quote: My life is my message.

But the past month, I didn’t do my best on something, and today it came back to haunt me. I wish I did better.

Photo credits to LNePrZ

A few months ago, in the midst of my finals, a friend gave me a call and asked if I could help their band. They had a big issue and they really needed someone to substituted the lead singer just to pass auditions. Excitedly, I agreed. I love bands and I’ve always wish to join one, why not?

So juggling between last minute studies, I did turn up for practice and tried out the first few songs. The thing about this band is that its a rock band—definitely not my genre. I’m a lover of Taylor Swift, Joshua Radin, Adele, Rosi Golan, Priscilla Ahn, Colbie Calliat…well, acoustic singers with a beautiful voice. I sang my first few rock songs and gosh, did I hate it!

After that 2 hours of practice, we went to auditions the next day. And by luck, or something magical, we got through! I was very happy, very very happy. So I followed on with the rest of the practice sessions and started singing a few more rock songs (and killing my voice box). It was all very fun. I actually enjoyed the blaring, strong, loud music that pressed onto the walls and bounced back to punch the heart with the same beat. The entire room will be filled with the drums, the bass, the electrics…It was pretty phenomenal for an acoustic lover. I think I grew a little love for rock.

Everything went well. We had 8 songs to prepare in 2 weeks, but we jammed the songs and enjoyed each other’s company. It was fun!

But there was a problem – I wasn’t a performer. I was never someone able to stand on stage to scream into microphones saying ‘HOW IS EVERYBODY?’ or ‘WHOO, CHEER FOR ME LADIES!’ … well..rock-language, stuff like those.

I’m a choir singer. Well, I conduct choir. I stand in front of beautiful girls every weekend and make them practice different notes. I stand in front of ADHD boys and make them hush to follow the tune. I do simpler things like that.

I don’t jump on stage and do head bangs.

On the day of the performance, I became a complete wreck. I hadn’t memorize the lyrics because I overestimated my capabilities in memorizing or my ability to stay calm. In my mind I thought, I had spoken and performed with choir in front of hundreds before –why would I be afraid? So I went with little concern and was absolutely oblivious to the possible disaster.

And so, I went on stage that night—dressed in the worst outfit I could have ever picked (also, an overestimate of my capabilities to dress well during emergencies) and then the lights went on, blinding my eyes from everything. Everyone, dressed in beautiful dresses and suits, were already impatiently chattering and taking photos with each other. I couldn’t catch their attention; but never mind that, I will just sing, I thought.

The bass signaled, the drums rolled, and the electrics screamed –and then I stood there. Stood there like a stone. Lucky for me, the beats could be looped so I began later when the part was repeated. I was trembling slightly then, worrying and terrified. Then suddenly, I forgotten the lyrics. The words spat out like little pieces of paper. I pretended as if nothing was wrong and moved on—that’s what we do, right?

Then the second song came on and I was repeating an incantation in my head: Don’t screw this up.

But the precise thing happened. I couldn’t even remember the first verse. So I stood there and the music played and played and played. Finally the chorus came, and I followed through. The same happened for the second verse.

When the drums rolled to bang, I dropped my hands from the microphone and then left the stage calmly, maybe slightly too quick. I walked out of the hall and did something stupid. Stupid beyond comprehension that for the next half an hour, I couldn’t move a muscle. I threw myself on the sofa and sat there, motionless. My band mates tried to talk to me, tell me it was okay, that we had another slot in half an hour and those were our best songs; they told me it was going to be okay.

But I was too caught up in myself. I just sat there, motionless. Inside, I wished I could tell them I was okay…but I couldn’t move. So I sat there until we missed our slot and until the dance floor had begun.

Now, I sit here looking at that night, I hate myself. I hate and blame her for not doing her best, for not putting in the effort everyone else was. I’m ashamed I was in such a bad shape that night. We had everything in our hands to have woken the hall with our music, our love…but I was too caught up in myself. I was too selfish to understand how important that night was to my band.

I would express how much I despise people who hold back because, just because, they didn’t think they can do it. Yet, I did it. I limited myself with a paradigm, saying no, I will not do things like this and that because I simply can’t.

I could have done so much better just by putting in the effort.

I promised myself that I will try my very best, to fit in to rock, to just do my best because these people trusted me. But I lost sight of what was important to others, just so I could live the way I want to. I should have memorized the lyrics, should have done research and understood the songs and the bands better, should have rested well and I should not have committed that stupid mistake after my screw up. Since when had I decided to turn back on all the principles in my life, just to test my own limits? At the expense of others?

I wish I can give my best, but time does not permit me anymore. My visa to this part of my life is expiring, and I have to leave, soon. Some great thing comes true, and then time takes it away from you.

I guess, what I’ll take with me wouldn’t just be a regret. Every time in the future, as I turn back to those songs I’ve sung, I’ll be reminded with blaring alarm, that I can only live with myself if only I do my best. Failure is immaterial, trying is a need.

Love,
Melinda

Weak

2011-07-22T08:23:00.001-04:00

I’m in a zone of nothingness.

There are so many emotions I can feel in an hour, I got tired of feeling and remembering them. Being this less in-touch with myself, I guess it has given me less things to write and share with you.

I’m leaving in 28 days. A lot of mixed emotions: attachment to my homeland and the longing for the future. These clashing feelings probably give hints to why I feel so disconnected with myself. I just don’t want to feel, giving me less reasons to think.

But there is only so high a wall I can build to block out these feelings, it pours over once in awhile, and I will be left drenched.

In all of this, I’m just trying to put myself at ease from all the drama that has happened. I’m just letting time drown them into shreds of gray, seethe and disintegrate them into incomprehensible images of the past. As I forget them, I’m nursing the remaining open wounds these memories leave behind. They often torment me in my nightmares.

But the sad thing about these recovery periods, is that no one really likes who you become. I become a solemn person, just lingering in my own world of solitude and mystery. Many ran out of patience to see past this, or know me enough to avoid misjudgment. This world exists so I can take time for myself, to just give time to myself to regenerate and rest. But people on the outside sees this as a wall built from selfishness and ego.

I’m not entirely innocent, though. I have days where I lose it and become malign in hope to hide this fortress from the outside world. And this gives everyone the very right to despise and judge me. But I let it be, just so they would not know how weak in fact I am on the inside. I have become obsessed, trying to hide this.

But who am I kidding?

I am weak.

Childhood

2011-07-19T13:27:00.001-04:00

I was driving her back to her place while ranting about how I’ve ran out of juice to blog. She then cracked a few jokes then said, why not write about your childhood memories? I’d read that.

And so, it hit me and I thought, what a lovely thing to write about- myself. Haha. Okay, not indulge myself in vanity but a simple ride back in time sounded like a great idea. Giving life to my memories sounded much more reassuring than giving life to my possible futures.

But as like most of the world, I have forgotten many things of my childhood days. So I’ve written them as how they are in my head – old, messy and all a blur.

photo credits to thymian.

When I was about 6 or 7, I was to wear my first pair of glasses. I remember being very excited because all teachers wore glasses, and so, being granted one meant I could be one! Right? So when I got my pair of glasses, it was like donning the military jacket or pinning of a badge-I collected everything in my possession and made it into a classroom. I took out a stack of my storybooks and pretended they were homework to be evaluated, which would explain why many of my books have red ticks and crosses. The wall became an imaginary blackboard and I had a class on my bed. I also held a cane, which I happily took to point the blackboard or catch the occasional chitter chatter at the back of my “class”.

When I was in primary school, maybe 9, I was involved in the school band—but I didn’t play a single instrument. It was a school rule that we had to enrol in some form of co-curriculum and the meet-up for the school band fitted with my schedule. So I signed up and fooled around. On the first few meets, our teacher tried to teach us notes. He showed us a bunch of notes and taught us how to use the piano (but it wasn’t a piano. Come to think of it, I don’t know what it is.) But a friend and I were playing around so much, our teacher got tired of us. He gave us the triangles and taught us the simple method –just hit it, and shut up. So we happily ‘ting’ our way through band meet-ups every week.

But I had good conversations during those meet-ups. That friend and I would argue how big of a charity we would create when we grew up. We were competing whose charity home would be most comfortable for the poor. I remember I had a system all made up for it! It was going to be a mansion and food was served to all. There will be a lot of beds, free clothes, free slippers, toilets, bathrooms, classes—it got so overwhelming! I came home and told my parents about this charity home of my dreams. They said such things existed in the US. I asked why not in Malaysia? ..but then that’s when my memory got foggy. I’m guessing they said some things about commitment, or financial.. or..well, things I didn’t understand at 9.

When I was young, I also ran marathons-aha! Bet you didn’t see that coming!

I ran 3km marathons with my aunt and siblings. Every few weeks, she’d bring us to these great runs. Adults in the shortest pants with numbers pinned to their chests would run past us as we panted for air. My aunt would singlehandedly chaperon 3 kids for the race and push us to go that few more metres. Every time, it felt too long, too hard to finish but we did anyway. Oh, and there was always free Milo at the end of the race! Always.

One last one: When I was about 4..or at most 5.. I remember this conversation with my parents. This memory is very vivid. I was in a car and we were turning in to our house. At that time, I watched a lot of American television so I spoke in the American slang and said ‘Oh My God!’ all the time. ( reminder: I was 4). It was the first time my parents broke to me that I wasn’t white, like European white. My parents told me I was Chinese, not white, not like what I saw on television. I had a heart attack, going ‘no! Oh my God! No I’m not! I’m not Chinese!’

Well, I didn’t know I was Chinese. Nobody told me. And I was watching so much television!

Hm, such good and innocent days. As I’m looking back, more are flooding in to let me relive and witness the days where being a doctor was the only ambition I knew.

Look at how times have changed, 19 years seems so short, yet when you stretch it out, you see a different world, a life that you don’t believe you’ve lived.

Such is the case.

I would love to continue, but it is 1.21 the morning and I have a very important deed to complete tomorrow. I’ll share more with you when I can, or even better, of tomorrow’s deed. Or, complete and publish one of those drafts I have here.

We’ll see!

Till then,
Melinda

Ghost

2011-07-17T03:11:00.001-04:00

I was volunteering at the International Wesak Film Festival a month ago. We were asked to stay in the control room to play the movies and also to make public announcements.

On that day, everything went well, albeit the slight delay since I took a wrong turning while getting there. But other than that, we were all very excited to be in control of the movie playback. In between one of the movies, I needed to use the bathroom quite badly. Embarrassingly, I tip-toed out of the movie hall while the floor managers (those who patrolled the theater to assist the audience) eyed me like a hawk; I felt like a monster storming through a baby’s sleep.

I went to the bathroom and went about my business. There was this other lady in the bathroom when I walked out, washing her hands. She was dressed in expensive clothing, I could see it. Its soft cotton cushioned the bright lights and reflected it gently with its golden threads, red, orange, green and beige were dancing in a perfect line as if just about to be blended together like batter, the weight of the cloth that rested on her shoulders were strong but light that it didn’t drown her in sweat. She had short hair, tanned skin, and a good load of make-up on; it wasn’t just simple make-up, either.

She looked very rich, almost filthy rich.

Yet, none of that would’ve caught my attention if she hadn’t say ‘Do you work here?’

It caught me off guard, really. I was just washing my hands and running through my own mind, and I didn’t think I was in a uniform to be mistaken as a janitor. I was wearing my youth group’s shirt, which was bright, pretty and cute.

‘No, I don’t.’ I looked in the mirror to spot signs of hardship on my skin that might have suggested this career.

‘What are you then?’

‘Um, I’m volunteering at..',’ still trying to recover from the sudden topic, my voice softened with uncertainty.

‘At my cinema?’ she asked innocently.

‘Um…its the cinema up at the front,’ I was beginning to wonder who this lady was for calling the Tourism Centre, hers. It’s a government-owned property, for goodness sake!

‘Well, do you know who am I?’

‘Um……..,’ scanning her face with panic ‘I’m sorry, I don’t.’

‘I’m that minister in the newspaper that everyone keeps criticizing about! It’s really heartbreaking to hear people say such mean things and call you a bad person!’

‘Well,’ suddenly excited that I was speaking to a politician, no…minister! ‘luckily I don’t listen to the media.’ I said with a smile.

She was about to continue but stopped as if noticing me for the first time. ‘Oh, thank you. Yes, some people can be very mean sometimes. Anyway, where is this charity thing?’

‘Oh, it’s the Wesak Film Festival. I’m at the cinema right in front, the one on…’ I was trying to direct her.

‘Yes, my cinema. Okay, thank you so much,’ she smiled gently, but spoke with her smile to tell me to stop because she had no time, ‘I will drop by if I can,’. Another smile, and her heels starting knocking the tiles as she walked out, as if triumphant.

Puzzled and a little offended by her manners, I walked back out and thought what an interesting person to meet in a bathroom.

Today, I finally found out who she was while browsing through the commentaries on Facebook by politicians. There she was, standing as arrogant as ever, masked with a humble, elderly face to evoke sympathy and respect. She spoke with her thin lips, accusing the recent rally of causing 100 million ringgit worth of loss to the tourism industry. It was Dr. Ng Yen Yen.

I was delighted. I jumped up and told my dad I met Ng Yen Yen! The legendary, money-sucking Ng Yen Yen, stood and spoke to me, who was so pompous, she tried to abase me to an insignificant member of the society, rotting at the corner of her cinema.

And it got me to wonder what that scene might have looked to an outsider from my future, maybe someone reading my biography after I was dead, or dying.

I would describe that situation as a terrifying reflection of my future. Its like that moment you get as you pass a puddle of water, or when you look into the lake, river, pond upon crossing a bridge. The water is murky and as you close in to scrutinize the reflection, trying to understand it, something lands and disrupts the perfect surface, quickly the reflection disappears and dissolves into nothingness. You are without your twin from light, alone again.

It was a moment as if as I was reaching out, and the ghost shrunk from my reach. She was everything that I can be, and also everything that is holding me back. She is what I fear of myself, my future, life in politics. I could be her one day, punched and stained from the dirty scenes of Malaysian politics; I could be her one day, too proud and arrogant to respect a volunteer; I could be her one day, dressed in luxury that was robbed from the innocent and hardworking.

She is that demon I fear greed will turn me into.

I wonder, what the future holds? I wonder if fear is enough to change the course of it?

The facts of BERSIH 2.0

2011-07-02T15:32:00.001-04:00

Note: this is a heavily opinionated blog post to defend my views and beloved country.

Now, it is unlike me to write about these issues, but 9th of July is closing in and the news is burning with such vigor and drama; I cannot help but be a part of it. I am not going to dump oil into this already wild burning fire, mind you, instead I’m standing by it with a small bucket of water, hoping my words can make a small change to your perceptions of it.

BERSIH 2.0 is a “peaceful” rally in Malaysia that will take part on the 9th of July at various hotspots in Kuala Lumpur. It is organized to ask for a clean election, thus the word ‘Bersih’, which means ‘clean’ in our native language. I would like to believe it started off as a very noble cause, a small imitation of the revolution at the Middle East, a small dream of a clean election system. Keywords: would like to.

The BERSIH rally has 8 demands, which are explained clearly here. It is very visionary and noble of a cause; I cannot help but be moved with passion after reading them. While the demands may be for great causes, it is heavily misleading. BERSIH is fabricating and filling in our gapped minds with false information. They claim they have no political agenda and that they simply want a clean electoral process. But how true is it?

Political agenda

Keep in mind, Barisan National (the ruling party) had one of the worst results in the 2008 elections . The Parliament saw a 27% increase in seats for the opposition. The opposition only held 10% of the seats in 2004, but nearly 37% in 2008. BN lost a total of 5 states out of 13 in 2008, as compared to 1 in 2004 (source 1 / source 2) . To me, the Government was contested heavily during the last elections.

When the oppositions won so much in 2008, they announced that the country has spoken and have asked for a change (source). But suddenly, as we are approaching the next elections, the oppositions are crying out saying we do not have a fair electoral system. Isn’t contradicting? Why was there not a protest of a “dirty and unfair” elections after the 2008 elections (when they won), but instead, before the upcoming 13th elections? Clearly, there is some political agenda to this.

Oh, and by the way, the last time BERSIH held a rally was in 2007, also right before the 2008 General Elections (source). Convince me something isn’t fishy?

Unclean?

For this, I will refer to the article written by Dr. Lim Teck Ghee, which was featured on the opposition leader’s blog, because it is comprehensive. Also, in my opinion, it gives an overview to the BERSIH’s claims. (Correct me if I am wrong)

In the blog post here, he (Dr.Lim) claims that the electoral system is unclean and unfair. He bulleted the points to show just how corrupted and rotten our system is and then cleverly pumped the blog post with excerpts from scholarly articles at the bottom. Now, we have to think critically when reading such articles. My challenge is for you to read up on all the excerpts and tell me which proves that our electoral system is unclean, as stated in item (ii) , (iii) and (v). Hardly any solid proof.

This same goes for the claim that our elections are unclean. Was there ever a published, genuine article proving that our electoral system is dirty? Or that the government single handedly threw away the votes, or forged them? Or at least some statistics to show hints and give us clues? There is only 1 article that I could locate (with ease) that raises suspicion, but not proving the claim. You may read it here.

But before you jump and call me bias, I have found many articles proving that the elections is unfair. One of the best would be This article stating that Malaysians are denied a fair vote. Meanwhile, you can refer to the exhausting list of excerpts listed on the blog.

It is unfair, I agree and it is undeniable because it is proven with scholarly, published articles by experts. The system is unfair because it favors the majority and also the government. But to call it unclean? I doubt so.

What is the difference anyway, you may ask. Well, it is between calling your opponent a cheater and the competition unfair. To claim your opponent cheated during the competition—that is a claim that needs proof. But to call the competition unfair—that is a claim you bring to the committee. It is a matter of attacking the Government (opponent) and the Electoral Committee (EC) [committee], which BERSIH has conveniently put together to spark debate and retaliation.

“But the Government elects the Electoral Committee!”, you may argue. Aha! That is the problem.

Was the government cheating during the elections? Or was it the system that failed us? And if the system failed us, you must understand this is a system handed down by the British during our independence. Our system is not dirty (I’m not saying it is entirely clean), but it is definitely not as how BERSIH has phrased or claimed it to be. Maybe, just maybe, it is dirty—but no man is guilty until proven. Show me reports and I will change my opinion.

8 demands of BERSIH

Refer here, while keeping in mind that BERSIH’s objective is to push for a thorough reform of the electoral process.

To be honest, I must agree with the 1st , 2nd, 4th and the 5th demand. However…

The third demand : usage of indelible ink.
Indelible ink is used by poor countries namely Ethiopia, India, Indonesia, Nigeria, Sri Lanka, and so on. (view full list here). Indelible ink is propagandized by BERSIH as the miracle ink that would make elections fair. But recent reports from Afghanistan proves that the ink can be washed off with bleach (source). Wouldn’t we have even more phantom voters if we trust this indelible ink yet it washes off with simple household goods? Moreover, opposition voters can be inked beforehand and thus be forbade to vote (source). Wouldn’t it be even dirtier?

6th demand: strengthen public institutions
I don’t quite see the vision. BERSIH wants to reform the electoral process, yet they are asking the government to strengthen public institution like the Malaysian Anti-Corruption Committee (MACC) and the Judiciary? Again, is BERSIH attacking the opponent or the committee? Is this merely a ‘red-herring’?

The 7th demand: stop corruption.
How will the electoral process stop corruption? It is not in the power of the EC to prosecute the corrupters or the corrupted. That is the job of MACC. How did reforming the electoral process include the eradication of corruption? I saw they included ‘vote-buying’ but believe that fits into Demand #1. Other than that, everything explained under this demand is irrelevant.

The 8th demand: stop dirty politics
Again, it does not coincide with the objective. Unless they mean ‘mud-slinging’ and ‘red-herring’ during elections, this is something the politicians have to educate themselves of. The EC does not control what politicians say or do; they regulate it, but they don’t control it. It is not the fault of the EC that is dirty, it is the minds of the politicians and the ethics of the party.

I am attacking their objectives because I want to think about their visions. Is it truly genuine or just merely long paragraphs to delude us into believing they are here to change the country for the better? If BERSIH does not even know what they are demanding for or who they are demanding it from, how can they change anything? How dare they gather and cheat thousands of people to fight and demonstrate with them if they are unsure themselves? By not seeing through the frivolity of BERSIH, we are being ignorant and supportive of fools.

And while I may support the several demands by BERSIH, I support it by principle. BERSIH does not put forth a solution or a recommendation, but simply putting forth values that everyone would agree to. It is like a beauty pageant answering “I wish for World Peace”; who doesn’t want that? It is not wanting, it is how to go about it.

In a nutshell, BERSIH has a political agenda, it is accusing the opponent and not the system (I’m screaming ‘POLITICS!’), and they do not have clear demands.

I am not supporting the government, BERSIH, the opposition or the Westerners, or even being neutral about this. I just agree to what is right, and disagree to what is wrong. I will criticize the flaws and praise the right. I do not take a stand, and neither am I afraid of siding one when I feel it is right.

The world isn’t black and white. Not supporting the government doesn’t mean I support the opposition. Similarly, not supporting BERSIH doesn’t mean I don’t want to do anything about the electoral system.

It is unfair and it needs a reform—I agree. But I tell you, BERSIH, isn’t really as its name suggests.

Additional sources :
1. Opinion from Malaysiakini
2. Fact sheet from CPPS
3. General facts from Wikipedia

Pek Kong

2011-06-19T11:24:00.001-04:00

Photo credits to HeroHosami.

I closed the door shut and retreated into the cyber world of catching up and reading news. I had my music tuned up, trying to drown out the familiar voices talking loudly in the living room below me. All was well in my zone of solitude, until my stomach grumbled.

While still in the trance of the looping music, I skipped down the stairs while humming to the song. Just as I reached the dinner table to pop open some canned biscuits, I turned and there they were chattering away. And then they took notice of me.

“Hi”, I said, still bubbly from the nice day I was experiencing. I crunched on my chocolate waffles and sat next to the 5 relatives who were visiting. I’ve known them all my life yet it is always awkward speaking to them.

“Are you scared?”, my granduncle asked, his eyes wrinkling as he smiled. He was referring to my next adventure in New York.

“Yeah,” I admitted, “of course I would be.” He went on talking about something which I can’t remember now. I was reminiscing about the stories my aunt and parents tell me of him and my grandfather.

My grandfather escaped China while he was very young with his older brother, this man who was smiling so warmly at me. They travelled by boat and then worked as laborers for awhile before moving on. Through a lot of hardship, they made a living in their own ways; probably one more noble than the other, but nonetheless, they had their good and bad times. This granduncle went on getting married and gave life to 3 bright sons, who were unfortunately less filial than he hoped. He was well respected in the Hokkien community, ran events, and wrote beautiful calligraphy.

Before my grandfather’s passing, my grandfather used to visit him—let’s call him Pek Kong, as how I address him in Hokkien—and they would go to the barber together and then share thoughts at coffee shops.My Pek Kong hardly leaves his house, and only when my grandfather came would he step out for fresh air. Keep in mind, this is just a few years before my grandfather’s passing, so they were very old, wise men then.

When my grandfather was gone, Pek Kong had a very hard blow. He watched his younger brother slowly slipping away, while through his tears he apologized for never being able to take care of his only brother. He apologized and regretted for never being a good enough elder brother.

Just around the same time after my grandfather passed on, their good friend passed on too. This same person followed them from China to Malaysia, going on to establish a tea empire here in Malaysia.

That time, Pek Kong already had depression, always mourning over his children’s who were hardly filial, always worrying over the business, always worrying about the fate of his family after his passing, his grandchildren, his wife, his house and the list goes on. And when he lost a brother and a close friend, he felt desolated. I could only imagine the pain, the regret, and maybe the betrayal of being left.

He has not recovered, and I don’t think he would ever seeing his stubbornness and old age which everyone tries to respect. Sometimes I would try conjuring up images of how I would talk to him, to try and lighten his day or change his perceptions, but these visions never realize. One, because I don’t speak the dialect fluently. Two, my relation with him is far in the family tree. Three, you can’t teach old dogs new tricks.

As we waved goodbye that night, a man of such promise and glory at a young age, turned his back and walked towards a lonely, ignorant and dark life. It is a pain knowing, these worries and pain would be carried with him until the day he reunites with my grandfather. And it is such a shame this life will always be the same, or worst until his very last breath.

What a shame. Yet, it is no surprise we may all end up like this one day.

So, how do you want to live?

With care,
Melinda

Milestone

2011-06-16T13:59:00.001-04:00

The heat today put me to bed a little too early in the afternoon and now I’m left wide awake in the dead of the night.

This evening we had a simple youth reunion party at our temple. We had food, games, music and a lot of laughter. It was really just a wonderful night, almost like a finishing touch to the lovely retreat we had last week.

The party was near its ending and people were beginning to leave. Everyone was still seated, laughing thunderously at times and then giggling and back-slapping at the next. I stood up, cleared out some plates, and began cleaning the sink from all the dirt that clogged it. In my head, I was just counting how long the night would be to clear out the hall. And just when I was doing work, a small army of them followed suit and started cleaning up the place.

There was Chris and Nicholas waiting and cleaning up the hall we had our games; there was Yi Xuan and Li Synn packing up the leftover food; there was Freda and Cecilia who was cleaning after the cups and plates; Yi Shi who was standing there wiping down all the washed cutleries; Amanda who ran after the mop and wiped off the dirty spots; Jeen Pei who was wiping the tables and washing the sinks with me; and Jie Tson and Calvin, just to name a few, who folded up the tables and stacked up the chairs. In just a matter of half an hour, the entire place was cleaned up and we were ready to leave.

Just a year ago, it took so much effort to mobilize a group of them to work. It would require so many breaths of “oi”s and “eh, please la”s to just get a few of them to pick up the mop, let alone convince them to do work. Today, even when everyone was jolly and having fun, they still picked up sponges, mops, brooms, cloths to clear up the whole place. I didn’t even utter a word.

It felt like a milestone. It reflected the maturity everyone is growing to; they understand how to share the workload, how to work together, and how to just have fun while doing it. It’s an amazing feeling when you turn around and see your team right behind your back, working alongside and offering help selflessly.

It was a very wonderful feeling, watching everyone contribute their energy and strength while enjoying the work. I took a moment, stepped back and recounted just how many battles, failures and triumphs we went through for this moment. The sleepless nights, the fortnightly meetings, the pain under blazing suns, the fatigue stress, the numbing exhaustion, the arguments, the tears… all of that converging into this moment of joy, of togetherness.

And it is with such thoughts that I have told myself, it is time.

Next July, we will be hosting our first installation, or better phrased as 3rd Generation to signify the third set of committee that will be taking over the wheel. It is time to let go.

With the heaviest heart,
melinda

This journey has no distance.

2011-06-15T13:55:00.001-04:00

I was choosing between cutting my toe nails and writing something on here. Obviously you know the winning decision already.

Today’s post will be short; just a quick update.

I have got a million things I want to tell and share with you but as always, these drafts never see publishing light. Maybe the time is just not right yet. Be patient with me, loves?

Now that I have no dreadful deadlines to meet, or tests to study for, life is what I make of it. My organizer is empty unless I make an effort and the things I read are crap unless I source—so I guess its a valuable lesson : to make the most out of nothing :) Believe it or not, there are days I am rushing from meeting to another, and then there are others I wake at 12, have lunch with friends till 2, pool until 5, read till 8, gym to 10, and then finishing off the day with good supper.

It’s a different day for me everyday :) Almost too wonderful. But to believe life is really that wonderful, then hm, you might just be deceived. Again, life is what I make of it now.

Not everyday has been easy. I took this break to heal.

Well, healing is a beautiful and tiring journey all the same. I still fall down sometimes, crying over scratches and bruises. But I know this journey will bring me to a better place. It’s not easy; but then again, what is?

*hmm ,

It’ll be worth it :) We’ll see how far I go this time :)

With Love,
Melinda

Old friends

2011-06-13T14:20:00.001-04:00

I just gotten back from a dinner with a couple of my old friends.

On that table, there were 3 boys whom I’ve known nearly my whole life; 2 girls who’ve seen me grown from the tween I was into this person I am today; and then another 2 boys who inspired most of my love for this country.

Its a wonderful feeling sharing meals, old jokes and memories; something no new friends can ever replace. Sometimes we love how new people do not judge us for who were, yet it is with old friends that we don’t need to justify ourselves with. All they want is a piece of the past with them because the future is often lonely.

Those 3 boys whom I’ve known my entire life were making fun of me the whole time. Yet they waited for me in the car while I watched TGIF on youtube for 8 minutes; they opened the door for me and even bought snacks for me; they’re the ones who would post little hearts on my wall or even call me up just to have a laugh. On the way home, we were laughing about some racist joke of our own race, and I casually said ‘hey! we learnt chinese together okay?”—then it struck us for awhile –we were in the same primary school, learning the same mandarin characters together. Suddenly, we missed the class we studied in, the teacher and our ever loyal class monitor.

The other two girls made high school bearable. One sat with me for a year, after some major dispute with another classmate. The other shared many things with me, including and probably exclusively, dirty comments. Probably many of my views of the world were changed with their words and advise. They were the most encouraging girlfriends to have throughout my graduation year and I just cannot be anymore grateful.

The two other boys, both Chindians, are the most peculiar of the bunch. Both share immense love for Malaysia and also a brain for witty comebacks. They speak a different sort of language and their brain waves ride a different frequency, but it probably tuned me into reality. One of which, during the past few months, have been hammering my senses back into place. He talked me into sense one night and got me back on my feet during this whole recovery. My sudden urge to live a better life came from him, and he adds on to the list of people I am indebted to for life.

In between, I’ve lost a friend. Someone who would be someone I can openly thank and be indebted to, but fate didn’t allow that. I guess some friendships don’t end just how we wish it would. But that’s okay that things can never be the same: when we can accept changes, life becomes a lot more peaceful.

But losing a friend cannot be compared to the companionship I’m about to lose in just 2 months. Reality is taking and scattering us all over the world – one to London, the other to Manchester, and myself to New York.

Looking at the photos taken in the past, I’m being reminded how many people I’ve lost touch with. While some I cannot blame, the others I regret. And this time, I know I am leaving my comfort zone of always having someone to a place where my network only consists of a family friend. It’s terrifying.

But we’ll keep the future to worry in the future; for now, at this moment, I want to thank and be grateful for having such wonderful friends along my life. In just 2 months, these are moments I can never share and feel anymore.

Things will change as we go our separate ways, but the memories, pictures and the silly old jokes will always bring me back to the jolly and carefree days in the class of 5 Cempaka.

With love,
Melinda

Mirror

2011-06-08T12:21:00.001-04:00

If you wanted to know and understand the true feelings of a person, throw him in a room; leave him alone and watch his thoughts. A jovial person, contented with his life would quickly take the opportunity to reflect and self heal. He would start humming and singing, even busy his mind with things to do.

But for the sad, it is the opposite. He would at first look alright, maybe still smiling from a memory or even taking deep breaths to soothe himself. But after awhile, he tells himself he is alone. His thoughts take over his actions and he sits there, just staring into space as the devil uses this solitude to create the worst of thoughts to torment him. His heart would sink and everything around begin to look even more valuable than he. He replays his mistakes, his regrets, his unexceptional achievements and his substandard personality.

He will wail and be washed with disgust.

Our strength is so easily tested with the element of loneliness. The weak will easily be swallowed by their suppressed thoughts, while the strong will rejoice in the silence to amend the wounds.

I wonder if loneliness is the mirror of our essence?

Alternative

2011-05-26T15:46:00.001-04:00

Last week, a few of us hopped on a bus and travelled across states to arrive at the Penang island. As I dragged my luggage out from the bus compartment, the air began to feel different. I was away from home.

Taking a cab and watching the street lamps, bushes and road signs pass me one by one, the insecurity and regret crept in. The commercials were different, and maybe, their leaves were a different hue of green, too. Everything was unfamiliar, almost like an uncomfortable pause, a bad omen. But slowly, as we turn into the city streets, the aggressive driving, the trishaws, the hawkers struck a chord and memories were resonating—this is quite familiar, I think.

As we unpacked and travelled in our borrowed car, the entire island was unfolding childhood and pre-teen memories. I remember the boring walks, the oily food, the endless drive to nowhere, the dirty beaches, the laughing adults, oh, and my dread. Why, I thought, the heck did we decide to travel to Penang?

But as the trip went by, perceptions were altered, and I was even becoming envious of the Penangites. I suddenly loved the culture. We got the pleasure to admire and breathe the air of forgotten temples, praised churches, and a magnificent mosque. I got to exercise my broken dialect of Hokkien and even uprooted the history of a temple (which I can’t seem to stop bragging of), negotiated on prices and got the right kind of food on my table. Uninteresting, but speaking this dialect reminds me of my grandmother.

Who is very much alive, if you’re wondering.

I also had the chance, with the directions and aid of local friends, to devour in excellent Indian food followed by a little glimpse into the nightlife of the island. Maybe it was selfish, but I rejoiced at the mundane and terrible nightlife. I loved how the island, as I know of that evening, was not tampered and distorted with a nightlife. It remained innocent to my eyes, pure and maybe a little curious. The night was not spinning wildly out of control, the music was not taking over the town, and the alcohol definitely did not ruin the faces of the beautiful people…it was still standing on its feet of culture and peace.

And maybe you’re wondering just when would I start praising the food, the “culture” of the food, or the “culture” of the hawker streets. Hm, such …stereotypes of Penang tourists.

We touched down at some ‘renowned’ and ‘authentic’ spots for food, but they were unexceptional anyway. Nothing fancied me (other than the usual Ice Kacang) and its a relief I didn’t have to force spoonfuls of fats, carbohydrates and cholesterol into my system. Truthfully, Penang has so much more to love for than its sub-standard food. There are so many unexplored sides of Penang; many overshadowed by the skanky plates of kuey teow and assam laksa.

But yet nothing, whether the culture or food, contested the grandeur of the trip, the intimate moments I had with the sea.

I would love sitting by this lamp, with my legs crossed, hair let down and eyes bare; simply letting my thoughts translate into words, but time is short and a long day awaits me. I also refuse to let these words rot in the drafts folder, just like many of its sisters which never saw publishing light.

So this is all that I can share. Maybe tomorrow night, I’ll be awakened from this same urge to share and write for you.

With love,
Melinda

Light

2011-05-24T13:34:00.001-04:00

Light has finally broken into this land of thick smog and darkness. Slowly, the flowers are budding and the green is once restored to this proud land I call home. The air I breathe is lighter, fresher and livelier. & its becoming so easy to smile now.

The past months have been a road of pins and needles and a forest of thorns; but I have become tougher pushing through this painful place. I never truly understood the significance or the meaning of rebirth, but now I understand it.

And to conclude this closing chapter, I would like to quote ‘ The thing I like about the past is that it has passed.’

I have very few months left here in Malaysia, and I have also recently gotten myself out of college—on a semester break, by the way. These coming months would be days of healing , living and loving.

& one thing I learned is that to be happy, you have to actually want it and then work for it.

So, that will be precisely what I’d be doing. Searching for happiness—or maybe in a more Buddhist fashion: simply be. I have many people to meet, to apologize, and to love again and also many things to complete and conclude before I leave this life here in Malaysia for the American dream.

With all these time on hand, I also promise to write more. To share the little things that have inspired me, the little stories that amuse me, or even the humble thoughts that enlighten me – whatever it is, I promise to furnish this place with more words and memories.

Till then,

Melinda.

Home.

2011-05-09T13:47:00.001-04:00

This place has always been home to me, but lately, it feels like a stage. I’m beginning to see strangers watching and judging my thoughts and feelings. While I take pride that my home has welcomed such guests, it still feels foreign and strange.

& maybe that’s why I haven’t been here often—I don’t know the etiquettes in pleasing guests. I took on the form of keeping quiet, shunning away, while they walk around this home, admiring all the antiques of memory I have collected.

But I have been intimidated by familiar faces all the same, even those I have considered family in this home.

I am metamorphosing into a different person. My heart feels a little different and I don’t feel the same half the time. I wonder, if you have been witnessing this? I wonder if this has affected you; I worry if I would no longer hold such a place in your heart; I wonder, if you would still love me just the same?

In these fears, higher walls have towered.

This home has always been somewhere I felt free and alive—to cry, to inspire, to express. But now that I realized I am not ever really alone here, I’m beginning to tug at my clothes, comb my hair and maintain my composure. ---Have you felt this space between us? This sudden void that I have created here that makes this place, or this person of myself, so unfamiliar to you?

I hope you have not begun to call me a stranger; it is just these eyes that watch that I must remain sweet and innocent. I am not hiding nor am I ashamed of my feelings with you, it is just this new light that is cast onto this place that I feel so insecure. I am changing, I know.

But there is also always that first step. Tonight, I thought of writing something for the new guests who have been visiting us and sitting in on our conversations.

Well, *clears throat, hello.

This is my home and it is a place I cannot live without. I hope you came with the best intentions and hold a great heart to listen to me. In great times, celebrations are all around, and in the bad, we mourn together.

If you are an accepting person, with just a little curiosity for the life beyond your world, this is where I can welcome you. I am excited to have someone new within this small, warm place and ever ready to clear a seat for you to listen in; to cry and laugh with me.

But there is one request and it is the only rule I command here: never insist your opinions holds the only truth, giving you the power to judge my feelings.

This is a place that took me years to furnish and build. Don’t tear it down with your opinions.

Hopefully, this fog subsides with time and bravery.

With love,
Melinda.

Picture credits to Desertman

You’re a miracle

2011-05-02T15:25:00.001-04:00

I once heard that the possibility of forming a habitable planet as Earth is the same as a tornado sweeping through a junkyard and piecing together a Boeing airplane. True enough, the Earth is a collection of a miracle after another. The Big Bang, the position of the Earth from the sun and its size, kept our water liquid and sustained our atmosphere. Through the evolution of photosynthesis and the emergence of chlorophyll, life was given to the first breathing, oxygen-producing organisms known as autotrophs. Through millions of years, these organisms evolved into algae, then into shrubs and finally a forest of flora and fauna—our home.

Then there is evolution. Where mutations in genes gave rise to new species. Whenever a genetic code is replicated wrongly, a mutation arises and it gives the species a variation. The emergence of the male species is brought about by the mutation on the ‘SRY’ gene. This mutation was slow, but eventually it caused the X chromosome to shorten, thus giving rise to the existence of males. If not for this mutation, the sex of mammals would be determined by temperature. Then, there is skin color. Early humans originated from the Africana savannas, which we later dispersed and migrated from to other regions. According to this theory, the early Africans (our ancestors) were dark skinned. As a mutation occurred in chromosome 15, SLC24A5, skin color began lightening. This single mutation is the reason why everyone in Europe is light skinned.

Now, imagine our ancestors, the Africans, moving from one region to another, migrating, eloping, giving birth, evolving, –each movement brought them to a new place. Their kids would meet new people, fall in love, and give birth. The mixture of our bloodlines, our genes, that slowly shaped our community. Again, with the help of fate and destiny, environments might change, and they migrate again. Migration after another, it finally comes to when your parents meet. Two different bloodlines, brought about by chance and fate, meet in that single moment.

And then there’s you.

It could have been another month, another ovum. It could have been that other sperm, but no, it was that sperm and that ovum. But it isn’t just that simple. Through meiosis, the duplication of your genes, all the genes and alleles were reshuffled. With the random crossing over of genes and the segregation of chromosomes, each gamete (ovum / sperm ) is a result of 1 out of 8, 388, 608 possibilities. Not to mention, out of the 4 oocyte that forms, only 1 may mature into an ovum.

Just half of your genes from your mother (the ovum), you are 1 out of 3,355,4432 ( 8, 388, 608 x 4 )possibilities. Let’s not even overwhelm ourselves with the sperm count.

Your existence is beyond a miracle. Out of that 33, 554, 432 possibilities, you emerged. Your personality, your eyes, your dreams, your handwriting (brought about by the specific hand muscles), your passion—it’s a fucking miracle.

And then, you met someone, who knows me. Or if we were lucky, we’ve met before. So here you are, reading this. How and why? The universe, evolution, gametes, fate and chance, is why you are living and breathing this very second.

So tell me, isn’t your life worth fighting for?

Broken expectations

2011-04-20T14:24:00.000-04:00

by Farrago

Always, broken expectations punch unfathomable despair and foul thoughts into me; a kind of pain that strikes me at the heart and spine. I am writhing and fighting the drowning thoughts, holding onto the only plank of wood I find. I'm gasping for air, but all I breathe is smog. This venom of despair, agony and desperation is inching in my veins, finding its way to break down every passing organ, to finally reach my heart.

I wonder if hope is all I can do?

I have been cold and impassive, trapped within a paralysis. Even as I step under the tepid shower, feeling the warmth cascade through my body, the arctic within me remains untouched. It perseveres to restrain my spirit and my innocence, fettering me within my own cage.

I wonder when will this iceberg falter?

My eyes are sore, weary and numb from searching for these dreams and places to be that it has stopped shedding tears. The view of the world is beginning to dim to an opaque darkness, and inside this cage, everything fades into annihilation.

I wonder if you can hear my breath shortening and my existence shrinking?

by Joverton

But I tell myself, I will survive. I always do.

Don’t sleep now.

2011-04-14T12:17:00.001-04:00

I lit a an incense, crossed my legs, closed my eyes and began to breathe. Inhale and exhale. Bringing the mind together.

Slowly, with every breath, I saw how choked up I was. I saw the haze, the cloud, the dying soul within me that refuses to open up. I saw the ignorance in me that refused to look at reality in the face, and the stupidity in me that looked forward to a love that won’t last.

I saw the mask, but I could not rip it off. I could not mitigate the choked up feeling in me and I couldn’t wake my soul. I just stood there, watching it with so much worry, so much sadness, so much guilt.

Why wouldn’t you wake up?

your kingdom awaits you.

Grace your fears, fight for your life.

Don’t give in now. Not now when you’ve come so far. Not now, when you’ve bled and cried so much.

Please, wake up.

2011-04-14T11:58:00.001-04:00

What would you love me for?

To you,

2011-04-07T12:55:00.001-04:00

Everyone’s been feeling empty lately; a little lost, a little unsure, a little anxious—and I guess a plague of hopelessness has swept in without us realizing.

I’ve been feeling very lost. The voice in my head has been repeating doubts and fears to swell my eyes and spiting anger that can only be tamed with alcohol and music. I wish I could transcribe that pain into words but some feelings are only meant to be felt not shared. I don’t wish you would feel or understand the way I feel.

Then again, I should know better that everyone is fighting a tough battle everywhere. So, I thought I’d write a few things, to those who’ve been fighting and crying.

To you.

To you, who feels alone,

Sometimes it feels as if everyone else is having fun, in their own bubble, while you’re outside watching with awe, or maybe even envy. I don’t know what’s the best thing to do, but I know a little of how you should look at it.

Look at it with an open-heart. The happiness of others doesn’t lessen yours.

To you, who feels lost,

The world always seems powerful against you; as if everyone else has somewhere to go or someone to belong to, yet you don’t. But that’s not true. Because everyone feels inferior on the inside, whether or not if they show it.

Know that you are beautiful, but not everyone is going to be able to see that. Take a deep breath, and let your worries and inferiority go. With faith and confidence, your heart will be your be your compass and soon enough, you’ll find your way. I’m sure.

To you, who feels discouraged,

Challenges never fail to put us down. With its mighty mountain, steep journey and endless hike, challenges always make it feel impossible. But hey, when you were 5, you never thought you’d ever be able to sum 1000 with 1200. The numbers seemed huge, and it just felt like something beyond you. But look now, you can add it up with a blink of an eye. So what makes you think the challenge ahead of you is impossible?

All these bumps and falls only make you stronger. Don’t give up now that you’re becoming stronger.

To you, who feels homeless,

A roof may not always be the best shade; sometimes what you need is only an umbrella and someone holding you. That would have done it, no? But roofs are strong and roofs are build with sweat and blood. You may hate the loneliness under it, you may feel afraid of the outside or you may fear the one who built it, but always remember this is the only one place you can trust.

Hold on tight and love while you can. Don’t run away from something that only wants to protect you.

To you, who now holds a hollow heart,

Breathing with a punctured heart is never easy and it is something I can only imagine. We’ve watched, heard and read so many love stories and yet, we never fail to break our hearts and bleed our tears. I guess, love is a lesson no one ever learns from.

But your heart will always be yours. It is yours, and only yours, for the rest of time and eternity. It will be there as long as you’re willing to listen to it, feel it. Sometimes it cringes, screams and hurts your thoughts, but let it. That is how the heart heals; let it burn and hurt.

A heart is like a phoenix. The death of one is the rebirth of a stronger, more beautiful one.

Finally,

To me, who’s been running away to far out,

You have no limits. But your time here, does.

With love,
Melinda

Chances are its a mistake

2011-03-19T08:49:00.001-04:00

I don’t think I have ever been as happy with myself before. This place and time where I adore nearly every thing and rejoice the smallest moments. I wish I could describe to you how warm my heart feels these days, but intuition tells me this may not be the right time.

I realized it is okay to make mistakes. Come to think of it, nearly every wrong turn I’ve made brought me on the right road. All that made me cry and my heart cringe has pushed and dragged me onto journeys that led to adventures. You would not believe how many things I love about myself were truly mistakes I’ve made before.

I am made up entirely of mistakes, wrong-turns and bad decisions. Yet I don’t think it is anything bad.

My past might have been slightly daunting, slightly twisted, and slightly morbid but I got out of it alive anyway. A friend once told me, it doesn’t get any easier. And true enough, I don’t think there was one day that wasn’t harder than the day before. I guess this is the point in life that you begin to feel the rush, the pressure, the weight of the world.

And because of it, I’ve been making mistakes more than ever. It is a terrible feeling, these mistakes. One moment you feel worthless and stupid, the next you feel that ‘screwing it’ was pretty cool. There’s no right feeling when it comes to mistakes, I guess. Its just how you’re going to move on from it.

I believe the world is too beautiful, too large and too wild to be staying safe from mistakes. The only way I’m ever going to be able to breathe life is to have faith that mistakes will make me stronger for the next.

After all, none of me was never right at first. I grew from mistakes. I am made up of mistakes.

what about you ? Are you taking enough chances this 2011 ?

With love,
melinda

Bewildered

2011-03-05T10:20:00.001-05:00

Writing makes me hear myself better. It is like wearing a stethoscope and placing it against my heart, to hear it cry and cheer. I know it scares you sometimes, how I would suddenly throw in an emotional entry filled with unflattering words. In a way, my heart has its jerks and it spills what it hides from me here.

Being here, at this age, at this point, all is uncertain. One moment I can be unafraid, bold, and all ready to jump off a 99-story building, believing I have wings. The next, I am digging a hole in the ground, wishing to just hide and shrink from the world.

But these things, like how a monk once told us, is what makes life amazing. The uncertainty, the mystery, is what makes life worth living.

It is crying and laughing at the same time, unknowing which emotion to really feel. This mixture of all sorts of feelings at one moment, the confusion, the exhilarating confusion—is what makes this life, this moment so breathtaking.

And when I understood this, I realized, you know, I don’t need to be happy all the time. I don’t need to be sad either. I just need to live.

And to live, is to feel bewildered. Bewildered by how life is one moment and then another—each different, each unique, each giving us a new sense of hope and despair. Living, is undying.

Today and tomorrow, let the smallest thing spark the most overwhelming gush to breathe and jump on your feet again.

Live to be wildered ;

With love,
Melinda

Little love

2011-03-02T13:07:00.001-05:00

I’m listening to What Are Words by Chris Medina and the song brought me here to write again.

Maybe its because of the overwhelming love, sorrow and loss that brings me here, to you, to speak to you because you understand me most. Maybe because I feel a void in me that I need to fill by writing, because only you would listen.

Dear readers,

there comes a time when you would have to make hard choices. A point where you’re gripping onto your car steering wheel, crying because you realized you made a mistake, because you disappointed many, because you’re losing friends. This is the point you feel like sinking to the ground and becoming a part of nature, to just return, fly with the wind, and rush with the waves freely.

this is where I am. I’m screaming inside, trying to break free. Trying to understand. Trying to hold you and beg to save me.

I’ve been crying for so long, so long, so long. And now I've ran dry of tears and pain. I am sitting here, awake at 2, watching this screen, typing these words to tell you, I’m tired.

I’m tired of … this. This, you, everyone.

Tired of listening to what you have to say. Tired of trying to understand your heart, your intentions, your joys, your sorrows ---why should I give a second to a person who won’t even lift his and her head to look into my eyes, to see the genuine sincerity in me.

I’m taking a deep breath and I’m saying I’m done with this.

I’m done with crying and everyone else on the surface of the planet. I’ve been this way far too long and no tears were ever enough to prove to you how hurt, how much damage there is within me—nothing will be enough for the world to hear me.

So I will grab it by the neck. I will stand up against it, stare down and say : listen to me. Listen to my heart: its gone.

Help me convince it to beat again.

With the little love left in me,
melinda

Over tea.

2011-02-18T04:34:00.001-05:00

Today someone asked me what happened to my blog. Every time he visits, he only sees ‘February’. I laughed.

My absence has been good. I’ve been out there in the world, just running free, wild, fearless and eager. There has been some very good moments but I will keep that for another day. I just thought I should drop by and ..well, say hello.

If this were reality, we would be in a cosy cafe. I would order an iced lemon tea, a slice of cake and maybe a basket of French fries. The day would be nice and cool; the wind blowing gently, the sun shining dimly. All would be beautiful as we look at each other and ask ‘so how have you been?’

This is the moment I am sharing with you.

I have been good. Good like a stroll in the park; a warm cup of Milo; a cold, comfy nap—this kind of good. I have been stepping out again, gently, carefully, excitedly. Very lovely, if that is the right way to put it. Faith, adventure, love and patriotism are things I’ve been committing to these past weeks.

And I love it. I adore it. I enjoy it. I feel alive with all these things I am holding on to, chasing after, sacrificing for.

I breathe in the air of anticipation, or eagerness and I radiate a sort of… rush. As if I need to be somewhere else, to be doing something greater than standing in a line, or sitting down with a book. Every moment, my rushing bloodstream yells at me to just stand up, do something, anything—run, jump, scream, laugh, sing. Anything!

This is me, yearning to live life, yearning to take a chance on everything.

So tell me, how have you :) been?

February

2011-02-02T13:56:00.001-05:00

In the night, my friend, Eva and I ran towards the sea, kicking and dashing away the wet sand and feeling the humid air brush our skin. Everything was cold, dark and unknown. The sea felt like a stranger to me, like a shadow lurking and watching me.

Charcoal had stain our palms so we were washing our hands in the dark sea. It was so dark, the water almost seemed opaque. Then when Eva stood up, she looked out the sea then said ‘ let’s scream! Let’s just scream into the ocean.’

One second we were looking out the horizon and then the next, our eyes were closed shut and we were screaming our lungs out. We were screaming with all the strength we had, pushing out every last breath and letting the piercing sound escape us and into the endless ocean. Everything was poured, heaved and thrown out into the ocean, to splash, dive and sink into the deepest part of the sea. Nobody heard us and with that, all our worries, carried by our screams rested in the ocean—never to be found, never to be judged.

Later on that night, all of us—friends and strangers alike--stood there screaming, shouting, gasping, laughing and then screaming again altogether to the ocean. Again, all that was deep within me was eradicated and dumped into the forgiving ocean. All that I doubted, hated, worried—everything just went straight back into the systems of mother nature.

I was home. I was home. Everything around me felt so right. The sand, the wave, the beach, the moon, the clouds—they were smiling down on me, telling me to cry if I needed to, because they were there for me. All that surrounded me became a large blanket, roof and wall, camouflaging me from all that was hurting.

My friend and I took a dark spot on the beach and just stared together into the darkness, listening to the crashing waves. We didn’t say much, didn’t share anything but just took in the night with every breath. Each slow sigh was a sign relief. When we were finally drunk with the night’s beauty, we placed our cokes on the sand and started taking odd photos of ourselves, just laughing and whining about bad angles and horrible lightings—all was alright again.

Right now, all that were out of place suddenly seems beautiful again, a kind of mistake I love or a cry I cherish. To me, this moment makes me feel like I’m on top of the world, in control with a racing heart, ready to love, care, try, gamble, take chances—everything.

I hope February is not too late to pick up where I’ve left my life back in November.

With love,
Melinda

Beauty

2011-02-01T04:45:00.001-05:00

The window was wind down and the cold, fresh wind rushed into my car, making my hair feel light as air, flying with wind. My hands were tied to the steering wheel as we drove through the thick green forest, the large lakes, the occasional heavy trucks and the villagers who would stare as we past. The music was good yesterday morning and it got me singing and head-banging like a rocker as I tailed my friend’s car.

For about two hours, we drove in deep into the forest to find ourselves diving into the river, cooking burgers and skipping rocks. It was an amazing morning.

I felt alive, really. I sat there and let the stream rush through my resistant body and watched leaves float, tumble and roll with the gushing water down the endless river. I watched the water swerve past my hands as I tried to grab hold of it. I guess this is how life is. Every moment is gone before you know it, like water brushing pass you in a river. I tried so hard to catch water in that river. I placed my hand in the river water to obstruct the flow, but it all just rushed through my fingers, sprayed upwards and flowed side-wards. All that I tried, water was just brushing through me. Like time.

But it didn’t make the river any less beautiful to me; the way water flowed past rocks and created this beautiful curve as sunlight broke into it, the way it sounded as it rushed through ground and down below, the way it could take away all my body heat and leave me shivering…all that, it makes the river so lovely. Not to mention, the stream of water was slightly violent yesterday and it carried a few cans of our beer along with it ; that was pretty entertaining to hear all the boys scream and reach out to only save one can and sacrifice the other.

I wonder if you ever had the chance to love the river? To love life because it is so spontaneous, it is so careless, it is so rough, it is so…lively?

I guess I’m beginning to see beauty again.

With love,
Melinda

Bravery

2011-01-28T01:42:00.000-05:00

It is early in the afternoon and I am blogging from college, rather than the usual dark, bedroom setting. It feels slightly weird, but I guess I can bear with it.

I'm in the library. It's artificially bright with rows and rows of computers lined up one after another, while students are chuckling at the back of me, teasing about some relationship issue. I can't really be bothered with the books that seem to be calling out to me, and I can't seem to find anyone to talk to. After all, it is a Friday afternoon- most classes have already ended.

Hm, what a good time to sit here, write and talk to you :)

*

I'll admit, I haven't been as strong or willful, just disorientated and bitter. These months have been tough. While I don't quite know how to describe it, I hope you take my word that it has been hard.

I haven't been reacting to it very well, but I'm trying my best, loves. Please know, I am trying my best to fight this whole battle, war, emotion--this shit. I'm fighting against this every day.

After my last entry, I lost confidence in writing again. I was afraid of writing another post so morbid that it would bring me deeper into this state of sorrow. *sighs. And I guess I still can't escape it. Everytime my finger comes to the keyboard and I open the writer, some deep and sad emotion would find its way with words and end up here, to irritate you.

I feel so sorry of how my blog has taken a new aura, something darker than before. My blog tends to reflect me more than mirrors can, and it is only taking a form that I am taking. But I don't plan to keep it that way.

I don't wish or want to stay this way.

So I guess this new year's resolution had a deeper meaning to it than I thought before. My world is crumbling uncontrollably and I am lost because I don't know where to turn, what to do, who to seek--all these questions rushing into my head as I frantically try and salvage the situation.

Well, I'm going to take a chance and believe it will be alright. I need to take a chance and try and rebuild the world I had before. I need to trust myself, to let myself know that if I could have done it once, I could do it again.

I need to be brave, to be strong, to be willing in receiving all that's flooding my gate.

All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.
Anatole France

I have to be brave.

With love,

Melinda

The kingdom that perished

2011-01-20T11:00:00.001-05:00

Yesterday I came home, walked into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. I took off my contact lenses and washed them absentmindedly, while my thoughts ran and ran in a huge labyrinth.

I finally placed the last lens in the casing, screwed it tight, and right when I lifted my head, tears ran down like how violent waters would when a damp collapses. I had not accept that I’ve been weaker, but there I was in the reflection, looking like a disaster victim. I was trembling, my face was painted a deep red, and I was clenching onto the sink so tightly. My heart was dropping, churning and shattering in my chest and everything in me screamed in echoes, wanting to collapse, black out and disappear.

What is happening?

\\\

Once upon a time, there lived a little girl, in a beautiful kingdom. It was built with dreams, with hopes, with patience and with grace. She was strong, she was determined, she was eager to run out and fight for great things.

But then a war came. People threw anger, betrayal, disappointment and hatred into her kingdom. It slammed onto the stargazing tower she spends every night in; it burned the garden she sang and grew her beautiful roses on; it shattered the stained glass windows she spent years painting; it broke the bricks that built, shaped and protected her home, her heart; and that day, all the candles she lighted were blown out by the screams and the wind, all falling to the ground along with the castle, the village and the dreams.

She walked through her ruined kingdom with teary eyes, with grief, with regret, with confusion; why would someone do this to her? Her bare feet was scarred with shards and burned by the wax her thousand candles spilled. She strode through the land with her war-stained gray gown, letting her hair fall to catch the falling tears that ran through her face as she saw her kingdom burn slowly into dust, into inexistence.

She held onto her gown tightly, and sat on the ground. She lowered her head, held her knees tight to her chest, and cried. She cried for days, for nights, for weeks, until it became an overwhelming stream of water that ran downhill. Soon, all that was broken and burned were taken away by the steady stream, washing it away into the ocean that lay beyond her land. She cried everything away, until nothing was left inside of her.

No one saved her, no one heard her tears; all they saw was this new river that cut through their land. Forever, the land was divided into two because no one had courage to cross the river, to save the one who cries.

With love,
The girl in the gray gown

Hold my hand

2011-01-18T11:46:00.001-05:00

Just as I was closing off the internet browser, my phone beeped. A message. I picked it up and tapped on the screen, but before I even saw the sender, I knew exactly who it was; maybe it was the time, maybe it was intuition—whatever it was, I knew it before I even saw it.

And when I saw that familiar name, I shuddered slightly then smiled. I ran straight into the living room, grab hold of the house phone, and punched in the number—exactly as how I memorized it long ago. Funny how I can never forget telephone numbers.

I heard someone answering on the other end, and for a millisecond, there was a sort of awkward silence that only we could have felt or understood. And then I greeted with ‘ OI, YOU DIED IS IT?’
She laughed.

*

Tonight, I finally had a decent conversation with Bree ever since her departure. She told me about Taiwan, about college, about food, about love, about her. I felt alive, like a part of me has returned. Or that some form of kindness or love has been poured back into my heart, and restored to my chest.

Just 5 minutes into the conversation, I was beginning to cry uncontrollably, mumbling out pieces of a sentence incomprehensible to strangers. But with Bree, it felt like I had used 500 words to describe how I felt.I pulled down all my walls and told her how empty I have felt, how lost, how alone and how much I needed her. 6 months of needing to withstand the cold, harsh world without her warmth, her words, her touch, her smile. You cannot come to imagine the sort of emotional torment of being left only half here in the south-east.

And then at moments, I would hear her speech stuttered, and feel all that sadness seeping through the phone and into me. My fingers turned cold as she confessed how she has been feeling the same way there, just sitting in her dorm eating to fill that empty space I have left. But no, she is happy there. All the friends, the company, the academics, the lecturers—everything. And I asked why didn’t she blog about it and then silence. She didn’t trust herself to write anymore.

Just a year ago, all things were so bright, so lovely, so perfect. Things were going well for her, and did it for me. It was Chinese New Year, we just had dinner at the restaurant down my street and we took so many photos together, laughing, hugging and smiling. I was in someone’s arms, and she was nearly there, but things changed—obviously. Today, I am here fed up of the entire relationship scene, or at least just dying to get out of it. Here I am, in high heels, short skirts, conditioned hair and made up face. There she is, falling into the arms of another, but with the bravest soul and heart, ready to accept all that holds for them.

Funny how things can change within a year. Funny how the two of us never changed.

Just a while ago, I was telling myself that things changed between us; that we would no longer be able to connect like how we used to; that we lead separate lives now, separate opinions, beliefs, and et cetera. But I guess hearing her voice, that lie disintegrated and I fell apart. I started crying every time it was my turn to tell my story, my life. I would just say 2 words and start gasping for air, because I have been feeling so beaten down, like there’s nobody to hide with.

And she asked ‘you sound like you’ve been having a hard time.’ And all I could manage was a silent yes that echoed loud enough for both ends to radiate with fear.

But you know, it was a very blissful conversation. We were crying and laughing, but it was the nicest I have had in a long time. Now, typing at this end of the world, I am ever so grateful to have her as my soul mate, best friend and sister.

*

I will be seeing her next Monday. I will be rushing to class, then back. We will be going to KLCC and taking the desert we love, shop at bookstores, and talk about everything that crosses our mind.

It has been long.

We’re all coming to this age which either our friends or we, our ourselves are going abroad. If you have a friend, as special to you, as how Bree is to me, spend all the time you can with them now. For when they leave, the pain never stops.

With love,
Melinda

Parking at ss15

2011-01-17T09:47:00.001-05:00

If you haven’t already heard, my lovely Saga was towed this evening by the ever-efficient MPSJ. I have considered to write something regarding the system for quite a while, but never got around it—well, of course, until this towing-bullshit happened.

But before I move on, I’d just like to make a declaration that it is entirely, 100% my fault for parking at an unclassified parking lot. (that is, not parking in that yellow box). It was bad judgment on my part, and I hold full responsibility.

Now, on with the my piece of opinion.

First, a little introduction to our problem. SS15 houses three renowned colleges: Taylor’s College, INTI College and Metropolitan College. Each college has hundreds of students per course. All three colleges have very similar programs like SAM, AUP, A-LEVELS, Foundation on Business, Arts, and et cetera.
So do a little bit of mathematics and assumption on your part. It doesn’t take a genius to figure how many thousands of students flood SS15 8am in the morning every other weekday. To top that off, we have Sri KL (a famous private primary and high school), 3 major banks (Bank Simpanan Nasional, Maybank & Public Bank) and hundreds (no exaggeration) of restaurants. If you didn’t know, there has been a construction going on a piece of land that is located between INTI college and Metropolitan College. It will be an apartment.

Now, add the number of customers who would visit this ‘hotspot’ of banking, food and entertainment. Then add shopkeepers, bankers, owners and staff. Now we get another flow of traffic flooding SS15. Do keep in mind, what I am naming is all within 1km radius from Asia Cafe .

Imagine the amount of cars that need space for parking. Students are obviously going to park at one lot and take it up for over 4 hours or even more. Shopkeepers and staff alike. Parking space are only allotted to the commercial zone, meaning the all the shop lots we see outside college. None of that was designed to cater students.

So then this raises a lot of debate and complain.

Who’s job is it to provide the parking. MPSJ is obviously just carrying out its duties. They are simply giving tickets to those who offended the law and obstructed traffic flow. There is nothing wrong with that. While many complain that since parking is already scarce at SS15, shouldn’t the officer’s ‘close one eye’ and let us off? But then, here we are, asking officers to disobey or ignore the law when we have been crying for a corrupt-free and efficient country.

Point here: it is their job and they are doing it very well. If anything, they deserve a pat on the back for keeping SS15 free of illegal parking and excellent driving comfort (no pun intended!).

Is it then the college’s fault? After all, it is their students crowding and complaining! Shouldn’t they be accommodating to student’s needs and ensuring the best comfort and quality education? But then, always remember, their brochure never boasted ‘FREE PARKING!’ or ‘ SURE GOT PARKING!’ –nope, don’t remember seeing any of that during education fairs. These colleges promise excellent and quality education—that is their only obligation they have to you, the student.

We should take into account whether it is their responsibilityto provide parking. It’s not a part of the contract. You pay for tuition fees, admin fees—all that, but none of parking fees. Hence, how can it be a college’s obligation to provide you parking lots?

So doesn’t that equation lead to you? You, as the student, the driver, the parker (a word?) and the complainer.

But no, not in my opinion. We are simply knowledge-hungry, diligent, punctual and responsible students who would arrive at class on time at all cost. Or at least, we would like to avoid receiving warning letters. So, when we spot a empty lot, we slot our cars, we look around and notice we are not obstructing traffic. We get off, we pay at the parking-ticketing machine, and we go off to class. Simple.
But we come back, we spot a ticket (or in my case, an empty lot) and we panic. We start cursing in 3 languages and 2 dialects, then plot to burn down MPSJ (kidding!). But yes, point is, we get frustrated. All we wanted to do was ATTEND CLASS. Where in the world is that ever wrong! And it is not like we parked in the middle of the road, annoying the shit out of the rest of the world, and neither did we NOT try looking for a parking.

Heck, we searched for nearly an hour, and cars were double-parking all over the place! The chances of getting a parking is similar to of being hit by lightning, twice.

Point? We are just trying to get to class on time. Then all these men and women dressed in blue uniforms swarm into the area with machines and start issuing tickets—even when they know parking is a sort of privilege or luck there at SS15. So what? They expect us to drop out of college, or use the public transport (don’t even get me started on that!)?

But then, doesn’t this leads us back to point no.1 : It is THEIR job.

So where does this lead us to? The planners.
I’m not sure what kind of education the developer and MPSJ (certifier) received, but they obviously received a poor kind. It doesn’t take Einstein or Hopkins to figure something as ‘complex’ as this: you simply cannot, cannot, cannot, approve 3 colleges, 1 private high school and 1 high-rise apartment to be built on the same part of the city (did I mention they are back-to-back?).
Not only did they so carelessly approved such major construction on the same piece of land, they failed to foresee the traffic problem.

Poor city planning is all.

Are there any solutions? Well…no. If there is any, it would be tearing down one part of SS15, and changing it into parking space. And tell me, who would trade a multi-million dollar row of shop lot for a parking space?
The only thing we can hope is for colleges move out! (like Taylor’s!) This would cut back nearly quarter of their students entering the area (of course, this is based on how their ADP and other programs shifted to the Lakeside)

But again, that would take another century or so to materialize. What about those who are already stuck at Subang?

COME DAMN EARLY AND FIGHT FOR PARKING! :D

With love,
melinda

infected

2011-01-13T12:33:00.001-05:00

Tonight is mine.

I was telling someone that I’ve been feeling empty. No love, nothing for all that I had before. I don’t feel as fulfilled or accomplished. Just trash. I thought, maybe I need to rest, and think it through.

I want to lie on the beach, watch the night sky and hear the waves crash onto the shore. I want to feel the wind on my skin, the sand in my fingers, and the thoughts drowning me. I want to be buried by the night and the world.

I want to be closer to nature. I want to sit within it and feel it breathing with my soul and heart.

Dimension

2011-01-11T10:34:00.001-05:00

I feel out of place recently, as if I don’t seem to really fit in anywhere anymore. But I like that, somehow. But yet, it feels odd, being an outcast wherever I go.

I sit in on conversations, say a few things, laugh a little, tease a little, and frown a little. I used to walk with people, chattering and walking at their speed. But now, I’d just walk away, alone.

I don’t know if I walked away by choice, or because it felt repulsive standing and needing to be with someone. I just do.

My choice of words have been stronger, or simpler—one of that, I don’t know which. I stare more, at myself and others, just to watch their expressions flash and then withdraw in seconds. I remember the words they say, and then repeat it in my head, figuring out why they had spoken or used those words in that manner. Even the simplest ‘hello’, or ‘what classes are you taking’ would result in an over analysis on my part.

Maybe I’m researching in my head. Maybe I’m not.

Maybe I’ve decided to be reserved.

Maybe I think people are too shallow. Maybe I think I’m too good.

Maybe, maybe…there’s something wrong with me?
*
I try so hard to help, to change someone, to change the world, to make it all the better. But you know, sometimes, people don’t need help. Maybe, they want to be left to learn it all on their own.
Attention and Intention.

My intention is to help, but I put too much attention on inspiration. I tell stories, quote sayings to just inspire, support, or show that I do care…but you know, sometimes people don’t need it.

So I feel left out. Puzzled. Why won’t they … try and live? Live. Why choose to walk in and out so aimlessly and lost? Why wouldn’t they see it the way I do?

Expectations, disappointment, and exhaustion.

Maybe there’s not only one way to live? Maybe they are content with where they are, who they are, how they are.

Maybe, maybe, I should try that.

Let the world brush my sleeves and pass, instead of wanting to call for a complete halt to alter their ways. Maybe I should just watch them walk by, and only if they ever stop to ask, I would give directions.
*

Maybe, maybe that’s why I feel like an out cast; the world is spinning at its own axis, but I’m here, in this different dimension, looking out, waiting to make a change.

love,
melinda

Where is heaven?

2011-01-10T09:59:00.001-05:00

Once, an obnoxious and proud man went to look for a monk ‘I am strong and invincible. I want to experience heaven and hell. Tell me how!’

The monk stood up. ‘You stupid man!’ the monk launched into a series of insults. The man, so proud and arrogant, could not tolerate it. He was so enraged his face turned red and blood flushed into his face.
Offended and furious, the man lifted his hands up, ready to hit the monk.

But just as he could slam his hands onto the monk, the monk retracted and calmly said ‘ this, my boy, is hell.’
The man stopped and quickly understood what the monk meant. He was ashamed so he lowered himself. ‘Oh, monk,’ he bowed, ‘please forgive me for my actions and words.’

‘And now,’ the monk said, ‘you are in heaven.’

*
In Buddhism, heaven and hell only exists in the mind; it is how we perceive things. When the monk insulted the man, it was only words that struck the man. Everything else was how the man received it. He took it personally and he was too arrogant and too attached with superiority that he felt so uncomfortable, fearful and enraged. That was hell because of all the negative emotion the man was feeling.

And when he finally realized what the monk meant, he lowered himself. At that moment, shame flooded him followed with humility. He recognized his mistake and he apologized. All the arrogance and anger left him at that instant, and he was free from it. That was heaven, because he was no longer controlled by anger or arrogance.

*
Of course, this is a simple story that serves to illustrate a much bigger picture. In Buddhism, heaven and hell exists here and now, within us. It is a state we feel, not a place we go to after death. It is something we determine.

‘Do not worry about collecting good karma to go to heaven,’ I remember the speaker saying, ‘heaven is here and now, within you!’

But don’t get me wrong. I didn’t say heaven doesn’t exist; I am saying, it is possible within us. Whether it exists, whether we can get there, we don’t know because we have never been there. If your religion says it is there and you trust the bible, Koran, the preachers or the holy spirit, etc, then it will exist. It is in the mind. If we can control the state of our mind, and regulate a heaven within us, then heaven will be wherever we go, whether abroad, whether at another abode, whether at another world or realm, or even after death.

If heaven exists within us, it is where we will live.

And how does heaven exist within us?

Well, that will take me a day to explain. Its very hard trying to describe something as vast as this, plus my limited vocabulary will not do it justice here.

Hence, I open this up to you. Think about it. If heaven exists within us, ---how will your heaven exist within you? A prayer to God? A moment with your hot chocolate and SecretRecipe Strawberry Marshmallow Cheesecake? A good book?

What is it that shapes your heaven?

With love,
Melinda

Disclaimer : Let’s not go into a definitional debate (that means, fighting on how different cultures and religion define heaven) Let’s just take it as how I have described it. And if you happen to be a Buddhist, and you feel the heaven I have described should be a state of indifference (maybe in meditation where no emotions should arise) and not where joy or indulgence exist, feel free to share it. But do not, please, try not to make this into a definitional debate.

Let’s just share our thoughts and not challenge another’s. & of course, by all means, comment if you’d like to (anonymously, if you prefer). If not, keep it within your mind and share it when we meet, whether in reality or dream.

letters at midnight

2011-01-10T07:51:00.001-05:00

It is like being someone you love and hate at the same time. How there’s a split person inside of you; one monster, the other an angel. You question yourself and you ask and ask, trying to figure out who you exactly are.

Are you a bad person? No. But it feels wrong, still.

I sit alone, and see myself doing all these things. I am so ashamed yet there is no one to run to. I sit here, and wish you were here, with me. To sit here and accept this side of me, love this side of me, and tell me it is okay.
But you’re not.

And maybe that’s why I’m crying.

taking chances

2011-01-05T13:18:00.001-05:00

The lights are switched off and the only source of light I’m getting is from this small bedside lamp. The fan is spinning while the air-conditioner is blowing—an extremely bad combination of ventilation as I find myself coughing yet too lazy to switch off either one. I had just woke up from a 5 hour nap (taken due to exhaustion) and I find myself awake and alert at 1.20am.

So what else can I do but tell you how my day went?

*

Today, I found myself on roller coasters, floats, pools and extreme rides. I woke up bright early in the morning at 8, dragged myself out of bed, and took the car to Yoke Yee’s place. Within an hour, we found ourselves in the compounds of Sunway Lagoon, or in other words, Wonderland.

I truly had an amazing, amazing time just having fun. Incomprehensible as it may be to you, I haven’t found myself laughing and enjoying myself so much in almost a full year. In 2010, I was a bionic robot doing numerous things, but today, I was 5 sitting on rides way above the height-requirement.

It was adventurous and exhilarating to just feel this…right to have fun.

One minute, everything below my feet was above my head and I am rebelling the world that holds me to it every second. I was defying gravity. The rides took me beyond 4-storeys and then threw me down like I was the last thing the machines wanted. I was screaming and laughing so loud my guts hurt after coming off the rides. In between, I would hear Yoke Yee’s exclamation of panic ‘OHMYGAWD’ or sometimes ‘OHMYBUDDHA’ as gravity pulled us in, but half the time we found ourselves just screaming: ‘ AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HAHAHAHAAHAH’

The wisest decision was to start off without warming up. Yoke Yee and I just sped towards the water park and took the first water ride we saw. We took the floats, walked up the (never-ending) stairs and dived down like fat men. We swerved and dived down with the fluidity of water; I almost felt too fat for the ride as the floats scratched against the walls. Everything was a blur on our first ride. We screamed and laughed so loud when we came off the floats that the Marshall probably thought we never had fun before. Adrenaline pumped hard as we we jumped and clapped our hands by the time we were out the gates. Then, we continued running up the rides and diving down with water. Screaming and laughing was probably the only conversation I could hold.

But the one thing that really made today so enjoyable was letting go. It was the screaming and the laughing, the escalating and the diving, the defiance of gravity, the water splashing and all of the crazy things we did today that erased the worries and anxiety I carry with me all the while. Maybe the correct term isn’t ‘fun’ but relaxing. Ironic, but it was relaxing.

I left so many things there in the lagoon. I think I probably left my entire 2010 back inside there, and just let the rides threw it all up towards the sky and hit it to the ground for it to perish. I left all the bad there. I let the waterfalls hit and wash it off my shoulders, my hair, my skin and my soul. I washed, screamed, laughed and threw it all away.

It was so….crazy!

The only thing I regret was pulling my hair up in a ponytail. I should have just let down my hair and let wind carry it. I guess sometimes, I still feel the need to be in control. But oh well. After the entire day, I showered and eventually let my (beautiful, nice, amazing and lovely) black hair down. I combed it before the mirror, and just watched it fall on my shoulders just as I want it---it’s a very nice feeling, yes? Having nice hair, I mean. HAHAHAH.
Well, obviously the adrenaline has not pass even at 2.00 am
I guess I’ll leave you at this. To the wonderful best friend who went with me, thank you so much for the lovely day. I couldn’t have asked for anyone crazier to accompany me on those rides, or a better girlfriend to gossip with! You are truly one kick-ass best friend.

*

When the fireworks exploded in the sky, or when people began spraying foam at my face, 2010 was still with me.

Today, 2011 begins. And what a coincidence with all the crazy things we did today, my new year resolution is taking chances. But not the kind of ‘take chance in love’ sort of bullshit, it’s taking chances in life. Its doing things I’ve never dared attempt before, or beginning a change, or saying things I mean, or even just dying my hair green (figure of speech!)

2011, is a year of courage. I am going to take chances.

With love,
Melinda

January

2011-01-02T12:15:00.001-05:00

It is only 1am—3 hours away from my usual sleep time. I’ve been having very bad nights lately because of my medication and condition. But no no, I am not dying. Just the weather and the popular flu everyone is down with. I find myself using the inhaler more often than usual so I can’t help but zoom back a year ago, and reminisce on how one inhaler saved my butt from National Service.
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to a new year, 2011.

Fireworks bloomed, people cheered, and the night dawned. The beginning of 2011. What can I say about today—the second day of the new year? Well, its very uncertain. Somehow, it didn’t start off as how I hoped it would.

2011 feels very gloomy and sad to me, somehow or rather. Or maybe, it is just the university applications I have been doing. I feel very … disappointed with myself; how my dreamer-self only came to being late in Form 5 and not early in Form 1. I feel disappointed that I wasted so many years in high school just letting every class pass like a haze, instead of engaging with it seriously.

I feel very upset with myself, really, truly.

I look at websites, forums, reviews and read about all these amazing people who get admitted into such great universities. And I can’t help but feel so shallow and lackluster. *sighs.

I read of the great, the good, the amazing, institutes. Where all the dreamers, achievers and leaders are at; somewhere I can feel inspired and alive. And yet, when I look at some requirements, I feel myself vomiting within; like a huge protest within me, demanding for an explanation of why I cannot be a part of that beautiful community.

I feel humiliated and ashamed, that my academics are only making improvements now. But even more, I feel weary and tired.

I need to breathe. I need inspiration. I need something I can work on and thrive. I need, I need a shoulder to lean on. I need a sign. I need … I need myself, again. I need to feel like that fiery spirit, that everlasting optimism, that determination and strength.

*sighs.

December has been a horrible month for me, and I just hope, January will be better. Then again, everything is what we make of it. *breathe.

I will make January better.

With a little less love,
Melinda

eighteenth

2010-12-22T07:37:00.001-05:00

The celebration of my eighteenth is finally over. The party is over; my party dress is in the laundry, helium balloons are floating about, and scrap paper from the cards I made are scattered all over—I’m officially, eighteenth.

The only thing missing would be the cake. For the first time, I didn’t blow out any candles, –it would have been 18 this year--serve any cakes or anything of that sort. It feels a little odd and empty, but it’s alright because it doesn’t really matter to me.

What matters, is what I got for my eighteenth.

*
I was denied for my application to Brown, following that is a whole lot of events that were big flops. I lost my temper too many times, fell sick, –and the list goes on. Heck, the party wasn’t even as I wanted it to be.
It was quite frustrating, needing to acknowledge it was my 18th yet do a lot of disaster-fixing. I had my own emotions to tame while at the same time, people to manage and entertain, and things to do and complete. I would’ve locked myself in my room and venture into a state of contemplation, but there was no time or space for that.

Well, I had a terrible 18th.

I spent a lot of time trying to understand these things--and that included shedding some tears and anger. I tried desperately to console myself, to find a reason to why everything fell apart on this momentous week.
I speak a lot of the world, of the language of the world, of the Universe and what I mean when I say those things are …well, everything. People call it fate, luck, God’s will—I call it the universe: everything. I once heard a metaphor that said the world is interconnected like a web of diamonds, and everyone in the world is the little diamond that interconnects that web. When something happens to someone, the diamond shakes and vibrates, and suddenly you’ll see a wave of vibration radiate through the web. If a guy stroke the lottery, everyone around him would radiate with glee and greed. If someone died, everyone around that person would be sad. –everything spreads. Nothing happens out of nowhere—everything that happens to someone, affects the other.

That is the universe.

I wanted to understand, why the world gave me such a terrible gift on my 18th. It could be on any other day…any day, but why all on my 18th?

I breathe, sat down and thought for a long while. I even wrote an email to my officer at Brown, to ask how can I improve my application. I reasoned with myself for hours and hours—until I got an answer.
So I began. My application was denied, but I learned so much from handling that rejection—knowing what was important, what was my purpose, what was...disappointment like. From Fellowship Night, I learned to lead better—to let go; to just breathe. Disappointment has been the theme of my 18th, but I know better than to sulk.

I got the best gifts the world could've given me on my 18th birthday. On my 18th, I didn’t celebrate freedom or legality; I celebrated growth. From all of these, I became braver and stronger. It has been the best gift, because it made me realize, the world is bigger and broader than a perfect birthday; it made me realize, life will be the craziest roller coaster ride beginning today.

Just a note, I did receive a reply from my officer at Brown. While I won’t try and elaborate, you can be rest assured that the email made me feel a whole lot better.

I started my 18th with disappointment, but it won’t ruin or end me. Breathing and living my 18th, I am a different person, because I now value the importance of failure: knowing how to stand up, embrace and learn from it.

The greatest gifts are not the one that rewards or flatters but the one that teaches.

*

I hope you’re having a great December :)

With love,
Melinda

three in the morning; thinks.

2010-12-13T14:28:00.001-05:00

It is 3.13 am, 14th December here in Malaysia but 3.13pm, 13th December in the States.
I feel somehow connected to Taylor Swift’s birthday; like two days mashed in one?—a blur line where both sides are right but you just don’t know where to be?

Okay, too much bullshit because it’s too late in the night (or early in the morning?) to actually make sense. I’m in my brother’s room—camping here because my room is going through some ‘turbulent times’. The room is dark is dark now, with only a lamp supporting my eye sight. I have papers, cards, pens and all sorts of tools lying around me as I’ve been up to some arts and craft to burn some time away. Besides, I’m preparing for the 18th party this Friday :)

A little too excited!

*

Well, why am I awake on this odd Tuesday?

One, because it is my birthday and I have just been overwhelmed with lovely messages. It makes my heart swell when I read them! :)

Two (probably 80% of the reason), is because my admission decision to Brown will be out in 2 hours. It will be released at 5am on my 18th birthday. Haha. Life is….full.. of… surprises, and shit?

Well, I contemplated for awhile whether or not I should tell anyone about this. I mean, if I don’t get accepted, it would be a little embarrassing? But in the end, I decided against it because I want to remember how this feels.

Right now, all sorts of thoughts are rushing through my mind. My heart is skipping beats at intervals when the word ‘Brown’ flashes across my head. My fingers are numb and I tend to lose my breath in this whole process.

I have promised myself to stay strong even if I get rejected. My dad says that rejection is good, because it’s all a part of life—and plus, he says, its good practice for the future.; not all the time, we get what we want. So I’m keeping that in mind. This will all be a good ground to experiment and learn from :)

I’m also trying to imagine the words “ SORRY, YOU HAVE BEEN DENIED” or the “CONGRATULATIONS!” in front of my eyes. I’m trying to picture how it would look like when I open the website so I won’t enter a state of shock. Oh gosh, this is all very scary for the weak-hearted. Either ways, I will have a heart attack.

This is all so bad, I can almost vomit.

But!

I told myself that I should not have any expectations. I shouldn’t expect to enter and neither should I expect to be denied. It is fair both ways.

And, if I get denied, it only means someone else more deserving and competent got the seat—that is only fair and right. I should not wish for a miracle to happen. I will get what I deserve.

---this is beginning to sound like a prep talk in my own head. I swear, this has been going on for the past 2 months ever since I clicked ‘submit’.

Oh gosh, now my stomach is churning again.

It is 3.25 am now. One and a half more hours to go.

Kill me please.

with love,
melinda

Heedless fantasies

2010-12-12T09:27:00.001-05:00

Photo credits: http://katheairene.deviantart.com/

I once told a girl from youth that I want to be a nun, but the only thing keeping me from it is my hope to find Prince Charming. So if I don’t find that prince, I’d be a nun.

A day later, she quoted a Buddhism quote that goes along the line of not “dwelling in heedless fantasies” to me.

I smiled, then laughed.

*

Words so easily deceives. With words, people listen, trust and picture. So I wonder, what have I done with my words all my life? Have I said the right things, or the wrong things?

Has the world so easily believed that I had such a fragile heart?

With love,
Melinda

Cocktail

2010-12-10T11:02:00.001-05:00

It was like drinking a bad cocktail drink.

Imagine putting in anger, disappointment, guilt, confusion, resistance, fear and –surprisingly--revelation into a shaker. Then imagine, letting a novice bartender shake that with too much vigor. The bartender pours clumsily into the tall glass, bubbles foam and the colors of it blend terribly into a algae-green. But you take it all in with a quick gulp. It burns as it goes down your throat, you tongue resists swallowing it so you tilt your head up and force it downwards. You heave a deep breath of relief and land the cup down with satisfaction.

It is like, feeling too many different tastes running simultaneously through your tongue. Slowly, your head begins spinning wildly, your heart begins pounding and you feel it in your ears, your breath becomes slower but heaver, your vision begins to deceive you as people’s faces distort. You feel flustered and heated. Slowly, every single thing in that cocktail seeps into your blood and takes over completely. You feel all of that—anger, disappointment, guilt, confusion, resistance, fear and suddenly, revelation. Revelation!

You breathe. You try to breathe. Your fingers turn cold, but your face is heating into a deep red.

Everything seems out of place, out of order, and out of control.

*
This is how I feel right now; in a state that resembles the drunken. But it wasn’t a real cocktail that I consumed but a form of emotion I allowed into myself.

I’ve been raising my voice more than I want to, and losing my temper more than I should. I feel like I metamorphosed into a person I disprove of. I don’t like getting things done this way. I don’t like using fear to motivate.

But it is effective, I don’t doubt that. People are suddenly flooding my inbox with emails of completed tasks and paperwork, but yet I am not one bit happy. I hate that everything which arrived in my mail box today was done out of fear; that every second of completing that task, everyone had my screaming voice running through their heads; that everyone went to bed last night feeling puzzled, worried, ashamed, guilty or maybe even angry.

I hate that I was the culprit for a gloomy day. Suddenly, everything seems darker, more serious, and more intense.

They tell me I shouldn’t feel guilty, that they were proud, or they thought it is as it is: that I should be this way. But is this the only way to be a leader?

Isn’t there a plausibility that I could lead gently but with conviction? with care but with resolution? with a steady voice but with affirmation?

*

So I lay down on the couch, picked up my book and began my adventure in fantasy. I let my mind run with words, let myself believe nothing mattered any more than what was happening in the book.
I left my world and escaped somewhere far, somewhere safe.

But even with all that adventure before my imaginations, tonight I am asking myself a question repeatedly : would I rather be loved, or feared?

Would you rather be loved, or feared?

With Love,
Melinda

Surrender

2010-12-08T11:03:00.001-05:00

I got back from a Buddhist Young Person retreat yesterday. It’s all soul-searching, meditating and letting emotions go. It was pretty intense for a person who likes serenity in the heart. I spent the last 5 days taking care of 47 participants, so of course, I’m feeling worn out and tired at the moment.
I’ve learned a lot from the retreat, but I’ll keep that for some other day to share. Tonight, I want to share of I feel.

I feel empty, hollow and lonely. I spent the entire afternoon clearing out a lot of things, packing them into boxes and sealing them off. Then of course, I dug up many things that I wanted to forget. I’m very good at this you see—hiding things then forgetting them altogether. Today, one by one, it all came to my face.
My heart squeezed and bled. I felt so punctured, empty, gone, and sad.

*
So I stared into my heart that night. With my legs crossed, back straight, breath coming to a slow pace and eyes closed, I looked inside and saw myself. I saw the girl I locked in a room in my heart.

I locked her inside long ago, because I was afraid of her. She is neurotic and demanding. Whenever I hear or see things she doesn’t like, she screams at the top of her lungs and I hear it all ringing in my head. I would collapse to the floor and try to push her away.

I struggle when I hear her voice, cries and demands. She’s the person I put forward whenever I feel sad or betrayed. I’d put her right in front of me to take all the bullets and stabs and beatings. I would put her at the front line of every battle field I come across, then quickly lock her into that room again, to let her struggle with the pain, unheard, forgotten and alone.

How do you think I stay strong, anyway?

You’re wincing and looking at me with disgust. You wonder if I’m neurotic myself. But I’ll tell you, you have that room inside of you too. Someone, a part of you, that you’ve locked away. Someone you utterly hate of yourself; maybe a mistake, maybe a guilt, maybe an anger—something, you’re hiding someone from everyone else, too.

So hold it before you judge.

Tonight, I’m a little bit of myself, and a little bit of that girl. I don’t know what to feel in particular. But I feel very empty.

So empty maybe because it is as if the whole world turned its back on me so I would face that girl; to breathe and take her in as a part of me. But I refuse, and I do not want to.

Yet, I want to surrender. Surrender all that I’ve kept within me, surrender all the empty hopes that I have so it would stop hurting her, surrender surrender, surrender.

I want to surrender.

*
Have you ever surrendered something? Something you love or hate?

Surrender: to let go, let it sway, and let things happen as it is. Let go, let be—return everything back to nature.

Surrender.

Tonight, I’m trying to surrender.

With love,
Melinda

Dear Malaysia,

2010-11-28T04:07:00.001-05:00

I’m tired, of belonging to a country of which racial issues supersedes all other issues. Where politicians fight for racial purity, for racial benefits, for racial status, for racial empowerment.

A hundred years ago, our ancestors came to Malaya, to seek economic betterment. They came to improve their lives—that is no crime, that is survival. A hundred years ago, our ancestors were tricked here to work as labor; they were tormented, cheated and ridiculed. They bled, sweat, cried to make their lives better. That, is what my ancestors did. They didn’t come here to rob or steal. They came here for survival, and no right man would punish the descendants of those desperate men. We don’t deserve to be punished even after a hundred years, for trying to survive.

Over 80 years ago, you fought for the country. You cried, you fought, and you prevailed through the British colonial times and demanded for your rights. That is noble, great and deserves the highest of respect. We do not doubt that, nobody does. You held your tradition, religion, integrity high, and went against the communist. You fought for the country so relentlessly, which we can only ever be grateful and in debt to for our current independence.

Did my ancestors fight for the country? Well, that I do not know because I’ve never read it in the History book before. So I’m guessing they did not.

53 years since our independence, when so much was envisioned for, hoped for, fought for, and we’ve only still been squabbling over racial issues; of who deserves more benefits and protection. We used to be at the top, remember? When our country developed ways of plantation and became the biggest exporter of rubber during industrialism? When our country’s economy was booming while our neighbours can only wish they were as advance as we were? When we were free from corruption and the Hong Kist had to learn from us, when we were under the spotlight of the Europeans, when we … were Malaya?

I was born into this country, a young soul, with so much imagination of a better home. I imagined a country who loved me, who would fight for me, and give me the best education, best health care, best of everything that they can afford. But as I grew up, I realized the colour of my skin determined my fate here. Because I am fairer, with smaller eyes, I am no longer as deserving.

What crime did I commit? I did not break a law, I never said anything mean of the country—I loved it. But why didn’t it love me back? Why am I always only second best?

Dear Malaysia, why and when did we start putting our race before our country? Since when did our colour supersede the success, triumph and glory of our country? Why did we start separating ourselves because of our past and origins?
Let’s not desperately look back, to argue if a Chinese or Malay founded Kuala Lumpur,or if Hang Tuah was a Chinese or Malay. Let’s stop asking for more privilege for our race, or religion—whether tear down the bumiputra status or quota system. Let’s just, stop it. Stop recognizing each other’s race.
Let’s recognize Malaysia.

Don’t judge us for the skin we bear, our the origins of our ancestors anymore. But look in the heart and soul we bear that belongs here. Our loyalty, blood and soul belongs here now.

They say, people would only fight when they have a common enemy. Shall we wait till World War 3 before we unite and fight? Must more blood be spilled, lives shattered and hearts broken, before we see through each other’s skin?

Well, don’t you think Malaysia is worth that fight? that chance of integration, of moving forward, of glory, triumph and power? Don’t you think if we put our country before our race, ethnic and traditions, we would march forward?

Dear Malaysians, why not put our country before our differences? For there is no greater pride for a citizen than belonging to a country of power, genuine democracy and equality.

With love,
Melinda

Sprint

2010-11-20T11:14:00.001-05:00

It has been raining for the past few days, and you cannot come to imagine what a good mood it puts me in. The wind, the cold, the air—mm, that all feels good. Like every night, I am in shorts, but with my hair let down tonight. I just had a dentist appointment, so my braces are in blue this month—fret not! It should be pink next month in time for my eighteenth :)

*
I feel overwhelmed tonight. As if my brain is pressing too hard onto my eyes, making me squint and wrinkle my face too much. I think that’s kind of annoying, because that would give me wrinkles way before it’s due. But hm, that is how I feel right now. I feel uncertain, anxious, worried and confused with everything that’s happening and everything that’s going to happen.

Finals is a day more (considering how it is nearly 12am now), and I have not finished studying. I would most probably be in time for Chemistry, but not so for Calculus. *sighs.

But I’m more afraid of December than I’m afraid of Monday. I’m afraid of receiving my results and admission decision. It feels so hard to swallow. I’ve made it all the way here to actually apply for the University, yet I dare not accept rejection. What a whimp, I know.

*sighs. But let’s not talk about that today.

Let’s just talk about something else :)

*

Well, I’m getting a new phone on Monday :) After months of dealing with a 6-yearold phone, I’m getting a new phone. It is sleek, simple, affordable, and reliable—everything I was looking for. It wasn’t planned though. My family and I just walked in, looked at phones, and *pooof! What do you know. We made ourselves a reservation for a hotpink, Nokia X3 :)

*

I had Wendy’s for dinner :) While I was slightly disgusted by the pile of beef stuck between my bread (or aka a burger), I took it in anyway. Obviously, it hasn’t agreed with my digestive system because I feel awful right now :( The thing about vegetarianism, is makes your system less efficient towards protein. :/ Ohwell.
Or of course, it could be the coffee I just took :)

*

I had brunch with miss woon this morning :) It was nice seeing her again after so long ! And oh, we’ve already made plans for next Saturday :) I can’t wait! :)

*

I cracked a joke today :D HAH.
*

I got attacked by Bryson. He wrestled me on the floor and demanded that I gave him my legs and eyes or he wouldn’t release me.

Though I’m not quite sure how that is a good thing since my joints hurt after knocking onto the floor, it is pretty cute, no ? :)

*

Hm, :) It is 12.05 am right now. 3 more hours before my subconscious mind allows me to bed. So I guess it is back to the books, knowledge and wisdom. I guess it isn’t that bad.

It is after all knowledge. And no extra knowledge will ever hurt, yes ? –I guess its just all in the mind. *breathe.

I should be excited and hungry for knowledge, yes? :) It is, going to be worth it. I’m this far, and THIS CLOSE, to finishing the race. *breathe.

One last mile, mel :) SPRINT!
*

lovelove,
melinda

Ahead or behind ?

2010-11-18T14:36:00.001-05:00

It is, yet again, three in the morning and I’ve just finished half of what I intended tonight. Another hour to go before I call it a day.

The room is darkly lit to camouflage myself from the world, and ventilation is pretty bad to just feel the stillness of the atmosphere. My hair is tied up in a high ponytail, I have a cold cup of Milo by me, my books are all over the table, but the best thing now: silence. Right now, it feels as if the whole world has stopped for me.

*

I began this semester with high hopes and motivation. I had set high goals for myself because now know impossibility is possible, so long hard work, perseverance, passion and purpose is there by me.
But, things started shaking up a little. I got ahead of myself without foreseeing the consequences. I joined too many activities, took on too many responsibilities, and socialized more than I should. I got ahead of myself. Well, I don’t regret it, really. Being with the Dodgeball team, with BUDDY, Choir, Editorial Board—and even doing my application for the early decision—, shaped my entire semester with a huge, big fat lesson : Balance.

I always talk about that mental picture: the one where I stand atop a cliff and just, balance.

I think, it is one of the most beautiful image my mind has ever created for me. It is something I look to.
I’m trying my best to learn how to juggle between all my commitments. In my diary, there scribbled ‘balance’ all over the edges. They are bolded, boxed, italized to keep reminding myself to balance, balance, balance. It is tough to need to stretch my time for so many things, but I’ll tell you its worth the pain.It is taking a deep breath before bed, sound asleep with a fast heartbeat, a strained mind, and a physically worn-out body that keeps me running during the next.

It is knowing that I did, can and will do my best. And that comes first, with balance.

Tonight, I’m overwhelmed with worry, anxiety and stress because of the amount of syllabus I have to cover. My finals begin in 4—no, 3—days, and I still have a pile of books to finish up. I’m worried to an extent I’m becoming desperate for time.

Balance, balance, balance,—but I forgot to put academics into the equation. It was there, but a small number. I thought I had it all, really. That I was going to be able to excel just as I did last semester, without realizing this was a long semester with double the amount subjects. I forgot.

Now, that simple miscalculation is bringing me to the brink of collapse. I cannot believe, I ruined my semester with a mindset of ‘wanting’ instead of ‘striving’. I knew what I wanted, but I didn’t plan my route out. I just simply wanted.

That, is pure stupidity. Shall you ever have that mindset, may karma from your past life, bless you.
Right now, I know three things :

I have to give more than my best, and do all that I can
There is no time for self-doubt
Regret should fuel me for the better, not ruin the current

Time is running out.

I have already set up a huge study-constitution for the next semester to really strive for it, and not just sit here and want it continuously without much ardour or work. I’m giving myself a tight slap in the face—not literally—yet patting myself on for this race.

I will do nothing less than my best to balance out what I short changed the academic part of the equation.
*breathes.

I will do all that I can, and what comes shall all be what I deserve.

Helen Keller:
When we do the best that we can, we never know what miracle is wrought in our life, or in the life of another.

With love,
Melinda

Dear Woon Yoke Yee

2010-11-13T05:13:00.001-05:00

I’m glad we made it through High School together. You were my date for prom; my 911 operator and my source of strength and motivation all through it.

I’m so glad you’re the theme of my high school days. I’ll never forget the days at scouts, club meetings, recess and sport days! It all seem so far and hazy now, but at least, whenever I look back, I see you there with me –through it all.

You’re 18 now yet I still find you just the same when I first met you at 13—kind, innocent, sincere :) We grew up together and shared one of the most intimate moments, too. I’m glad through college and everything else, I never met someone like you. Why? Well, because it gives me that kick that I found someone so special that it isn’t possible for a replicate.

2010 has been great to us ever since I got my license and car. We would just travel in circles hunting down places to eat, but end up spending more time in the car than we thought. Oh, not forgetting that night after the campfire at Puay Chai when we had such a long talk. I switched off my headlights, the radio was turned on, and we just lied on our seats and started confessing to each other. I guess, those are the moments I cherish so much because I know, you are one person who can love me entirely, inside and out; no matter how many silly mistakes I make.

18 is a huge number. It means, you’re going to be out there soon, on your own to embrace the world.

If you ever make mistakes, I hope you know I will still love you no matter how bad it gets.
If you ever lose faith to stand up, I hope you know I’ll be there to bolster you through it.
If you ever fall in love, I hope you never forget of the things I told you about it.
If you ever fall out of love, I hope you know I’ll be waiting with you till the hurt stops.
If you ever cry, I hope you know I have a container-sized supply of tissue and inexhaustible time to spend with you.

When you do become a woman, I hope that’s when we dare look back and laugh at our mistakes together.
When you graduate, know that I’ll be extremely proud no matter what you will pursue.
When you become a wife, I hope you’re prepared for me to hate your husband. (kidding! Haha)
When you become a mother, I’d like to be the best auntie they’ve ever had!
When you become someone significant and respectable, know that I always knew you’d make it.
Eighteen is only the beginning, the grand opening, to the rest of your life. It is when the rollercoaster drives you sky high and hell low. It is that time of the life that we’ve dreamed and talked about all through high school.

Walk through the rest of your years fearlessly.

I love you..

Yours sincerely,
Melinda

Grain of Faith

2010-11-06T09:33:00.001-04:00

Today’s a hot day. I’ve got my air-conditioner on full blast, fan on high speed, pants rolled up and hair tied up. The laptop is back, so I’m enjoying the privilege of blogging while laying down.
It is quite a relaxing Saturday.

*

The best journeys are the hardest ones.

So far, 2010 has been an amazing, amazing journey. And it all started with BUDDY.

I was given the opportunity to be Youth Leader this year at BUDDY. It was such a simple task, I thought. But it turned out to be a huge, unknown land to explore, learn and map out. I’ve never held any post higher than IT Head, in my life. I was small, unimportant and irresponsible.

But, for some odd reasons, people at BUDDY gave me that privilege to lead an entire youth group. I had big plans for it—that, I’ll be honest about. I had big plans to make BUDDY the most active, well-known Buddhist group around. I wanted to make it a place … of comfort, friends and love.

When I took seat, our fellowship dipped to the point of extinction. I was a wreck, lost and frustrated at how everything was falling. I had no sense of leadership and many lacked faith in me. After all, I was only 17 yet leading a group of Buddhists that have been serving nearly their whole lives.

I didn’t know where to start, what was wrong and how to go about it.

But, I had the most supportive group of committee that bolstered me. They were equally lost and unsure how to iron it all out but they stood by me all the while. Weeks of meetings, discussions and debates, we constructed events and plans for BUDDY. Everything planned for was always an inch further from our comfort zone, and soon we all grew—very slowly—but we all grew together.

Today, I have a youth group that’s growing. Very gently, but growing nonetheless. This small group of Youths that are so committed to BUDDY that it blows me away. These young souls come for practices and events, sacrifice their time—all of that, just to be a part of BUDDY.

Isn’t that just, amazing?

I cannot come to describe how crazy, amazing, out-of-the-world this journey has been for me at BUDDY. People here made this year such a fulfilling one.It kills me when I pinch myself and say ‘this isn’t a hallucination; you’re really the leader of these amazing people.’ And then I’d snap and tell myself to buckle up because I have responsibilities and people to live up to.

If you asked me just a year ago, maybe the May of 2009, if I ever imagine myself being placed right at the heart of such great people, I would tell you it wasn’t possible.

When I look now, at where I am, I thank the people who once saw the potential and faith in me. It reminds me that anything is possible, and it all starts with a small grain of faith.

My term ends next May so I promise with all my heart that I’ll bring BUDDY up a notch (two, if possible). The next 6 months is going to be one heck of a rollercoaster ride. Though I cannot promise that I won’t fall, tumble or break down halfway, I promise to do my very best and nothing less than that. I promise to never back out, never give up, and never lose my sincerity and principles in leading.

I couldn’t have done what I did so far without those at BUDDY. And that means I can’t go on without you, Buddies.

So, are you with me?

With love,
Melinda

Speak Now

2010-11-03T13:23:00.001-04:00

The Story of Us Back In December was Enchanting.
But ever since our Last Kiss, it's just been Haunting.
So I'd like to Speak Now:
*
It’s November now. 11 months since it all started, 5 months since it all ended. What a quick love. The kind of fun and satisfaction you would expect to get at a fast food restaurant, huh?
I find myself looking back, sometimes. Often. Always.
Maybe because I miss you, maybe because I miss myself. You’ve changed me, you know? I’m no longer air-headed, no longer blonde, no longer stupid—I’ve grown a lot since you’ve said ‘things changed’.
I put up the strongest walls since you’ve left and sealed the world out. No light escaped from me and no one knew what really went on inside though a hurricane swept my heart each night. I graced through place to place, with a smile—that was the hardest wall to build; to pretend I was alright without you; to pretend I was stronger than they thought; to pretend, you were a toy I got bored of.
Pretend. I hated that. I hated acting, plus, I’m horrible at it. To need and force myself to it, I was in the worst jail. But I told myself, that I’ve got to be a lady: to know how to carry myself; to not whine, cry, complain, grudge and hate;
Because I had pride.
I hope you know that’s what happens when you take someone else for rebound. When you decide to choose your second best, and suddenly realize she’s too crazy for you; to realize she cares more about your future than you did; to realize she’s too serious when you wanted to have fun; to realize she loves you more than you can.
I hope you know.
*
We met again. Twice.
Both times, things just didn’t seem right. The first time, my walls tripled in width, length and depth; I couldn’t bear it, truly. But you were nice; you tried to make it like it was before everything started. The jokes, the teases, the laughs – but , it just doesn’t feel the same, no?
The second time, I briefed myself through and through to bring down my walls by a notch. I wanted to make effort to be friends again. But I guess fate says no, because your walls were up this time.
I guess, we’ll have to wait till time has such weight that it buries the memories of us, –and thence, we’ll be friends again.
*
So I’m looking back today: the month, the days, the moments of joy.
But you know, I’m happy that everything that happened, happened. At least you taught me this : Never trust a stranger.
*
Tonight, I just wished, things …
Hmm, I don’t wish for anything to be different. I like how everything turned out.

With care,
Melinda

never fail.

2010-10-28T11:38:00.001-04:00

Tonight, you cannot come to imagine what happened.
I decided to have a long, overdue breakdown. Weeks of hard work, gone in the snap of the finger. Really, like what Buddha said: nothing is permanent. A few days ago, I lost my thumb-drive. There saved all my university application essays, resume, editorial board article and assignments. Everything that I’ve worked for the past weeks was in there.
Someone decided to take what’s not theirs.
My world shook, fell apart and then silenced for while. But it was easy for me to move on, because I kept telling myself one little fall only makes this journey a whole lot worthwhile. I’ve already gotten so far, so I should keep moving, even if I had to pick up all the small pieces and do it all over again.
I rewrote most of the essays last night: my article, my essays, my assignment.
I saved most of the files into my computer this time; ‘should be safe’ I thought.
I came home tonight and found out my dad decided to send the computer to fix and service. All my files are in there.It won’t be back in 2 week’s time—and there’s no way of reaching it now.
You cannot come to comprehend the kind of disappointment from losing my files –twice. After encouraging and cheering myself on for the last few days and the whole of last night: I suddenly lost everything again. I cried and cried and cried, even worst than when my heart was broken. I cried tonight because I was overwhelmed with disappointment.
It really felt as if the Universe was trying to tell me something. Bad things don’t happen so much in a row that affect directly at one thing – my university application. I really felt something was wrong, something wasn’t right, something bad is coming. I was going to surrender to the signs.
But then, I took a deep breath, and asked deep inside myself. ‘do you want to continue ?’. The response was so immediate it felt sincere-‘yes, yes, yes, yes’ was all I heard echoing back.
So tonight, I’m going to redo everything again. I may fail once, fail twice, fail thrice—but I will not fail to try again.
I was looking for some inspirational quote to pucker myself up again, and came across this that gave that warm, fuzzy feeling :

When the world says, "Give up,"
Hope whispers, "Try it one more time."

I’m going to try, and try, and try. I’m going to save my files everywhere on the internet, thumbdrive—whatever.

I’m going to make this work.

with a little less love but more determination,
melinda

Vegetarianism :)

2010-10-26T09:46:00.001-04:00

When I first became a vegetarian—well, partial anyway—I promised myself one thing: to do it because it felt right. I told myself that it would be “I don’t eat meat that’s why I’m a vegetarian” and not “I’m vegetarian so I don’t eat meat.”—there’s a difference between the cause and effect, if you’re bright enough to understand. I don’t want to call myself a vegetarian just because I had a title or characteristic to uphold or live up to.
I wanted to do it because my heart & soul called for it. Not because I wanted to stop animal cruelty, or global warming.
It is as simple as I want to do it because it’s a part of me.
But it’s been a few months into this diet so I’ll give you an insight on how people respond:
‘Partial vegetarian?! What’s the point? What does that even mean?!”
“You’re eating eggs! Aren’t eggs living organisms too?”
“Is this because you’re into Buddhism now??”
“Aren’t vegetables living organisms too?!”
“Whaaat. Why do you still eat meat sometimes?”
“Isn’t vegetarian like, unhealthy?”
“Ohmygawsh , I can never be a vegetarian! I love meat too much! You’re crazy la”
“I .. hate.. vegetables.”

People are very spiteful about it. They tease and poke fun of it, without ever even taking into account how I would feel. I’ll tell you : it hurts.
People are so defensive being carnivores that they’d rather insult my diet than understand it. No one understands my reason behind partial vegetarianism. But you know, that’s okay. What’s not okay is how people don’t even want to listen or care, then plunge directly into challenging my food choice, like eating meat during family dinners.
Well it’s because I don’t want to ruin people’s meals by saying “Hey! I’m vegetarian so can we please not go to that restaurant?” or tell my parents “Ma/Pa, I’m vegetarian. Can’t we go someplace else?” or tell my grandma when she cooks meat “Ah Ma, I don’t eat meat anymore so I’m not eating your roasted pork.”
I don’t want that because I think it is pompous, showy and insincere of being a vegan. After all, I decided on this diet because I wanted to learn how to be more compassionate and sensitive to another’s life. Sure, vegetables and eggs are living organisms too but at least, at the very least, I try to avoid eating something that had a heart.

No, I don’t mean to be defensive either, but it is just a bit frustrating needing to smile even when people put down my diet. It is my choice, so why can’t they respect that? Why must people laugh at the ‘meaningless’ of being a partial vegetarian? Sure I still eat meat on weekends but … I’m slowly changing; why are people penalizing me for not being a perfect vegetarian? And I don’t want to declare perfect vegetarianism because I still want to respect other’s diet. I respect my family enough to share a decent, normal meal that they would like.
I respect my friends enough to not convince them to dine at a vegetarian restaurant, or give a long face when they forget that I’m vegetarian.
I’ve respected everyone else’s diet, but no one really cares if I had to compromise everyday by struggling to keep a meatless meal with them. I would suggest a vegetarian restaurant but everyone would just cringe and then dive into a heated discussion on how they love meat, hate vegetables and think I’m crazy. And when I went to restaurants with them, I wouldn’t even dare tell the waiters to rule out the meat, because everyone at the table would stare at me with disgust. When my platter arrived, I would put the meat aside before eating and everyone would stare again. Well, I’ve respected them in my ways, so why couldn’t they at least, not insult my choice? –I don’t even expect encouragement or a pat on the back but just an acceptance of my choice of meal.
It has always been as simple as that.
*

Everyone has the right to make their own choice. If it doesn’t affect or offend you, well then accept their choice or decision. Even if it does affect or offend you, be understanding enough that it is only a matter of choice that both of you have made.
As a very wise saying goes “If you’ve nothing good to say about it, don’t”
Respect people this way: respect their choice.

With love,
melinda

Supposed to be

2010-10-24T13:29:00.001-04:00

I was supposed to be pretty; supposed to be smart and intelligent; supposed to be respectful; supposed to be loyal; supposed to be mature; supposed to that girl every one would love.

I was supposed to be perfect. Supposed.

I’ve lived a fair share trying to meet that expectation. Enough, is enough.

Gift-A-Chance

2010-10-17T12:38:00.001-04:00

Remember that ‘pretty big’ project I was dropping hints here and there in my blog? Well, here it is :)

A few months ago, Kylie and I came up with this idea of a charity drive for the orphanage children. We wanted to come up with a list of books that we’d ask INTI students to donate. But after calling some orphanages, and getting some pretty rude replies, we decided to change focus.

Naturally since Refugee Children were such a big thing at the back of my head, we decided to design a charity drive for the refugee children.

We called a few sponsors, arranged for a few meetings, got everything ironed out, and whoosh! Our first college charity project, done entirely independently by both Kylie and me.

Our project was named Gift-A-Chance.

The project aim was to design a fixed curriculum for the refugee children since they didn’t have a fixed curriculum. We managed to come up with a pretty simple one: standard English and Mathematics for all.

Books were all sponsored according to their needs.

We included in basic stationery from Faber-Castell. They were split mainly into three categories, Kindergarten, Primary 1 and Primary 2. And the books given were all suited to their age (:

We had extremely charitable sponsors who sponsored the bags from Penang. And then books from a few other publishers all around.

Extremely grateful for their support :)

We had 38 bags up for donation. The idea was that one person could help sponsor and ‘gift-a-chance’ to a refugee kid by sponsoring one bag at the donation sum at RM 15 to each kid. After donating, they would write an inspirational message they’d like to give to the child.

These were cards made by Briana before she left for Taiwan. She made it especially for the charity I was going for. I kept it for a long time, waiting for a special occasion to use. And this project just seemed like a good place to put these pretty cards to use.

(: And this is us posing like we’re crazy happy :)

In less than 3 hours, we managed to get college students and lecturers to sponsor the children. We started at 10am sharp and finished everything by 12.

You had no idea how thrilled we were! I mean, we didn’t realize it would be so well received. Like awmaigawd :D

We all want to make a difference, some kind of difference.

All you need is a little initiative. This was a complete independent project. With no connections what so ever, Kylie and I called up suppliers and publishers one by one. Travelled and got into a few accidents before pulling this project together.

It might sound a little scary with the ‘accident’ part, but trust me if you had better driving skills, that wouldn’t happen :)

All it takes, really, truly, is a little bit of initiative and enthusiasm.

And, you know, it really was a great experience :) To be able to help the refugees seek help from my own college community was an amazing thing :)

If you’ve been reading my blog long enough to know about the refugee situation, or if you got involved with one of those events at BUDDY , and felt like you want to do something. I hope, sincerely but humbly, that would take this as a small, microscopic inspiration to do something for them as well.

I could connect you with the school, or even help you out with your project—anything, so long as you’re willing to help this community of children.

our poster on Gift-A-Chance goes (inspired from iwrotethisforyou.me):

Elvis was born in a small village in Sudan, he died hungry age 9, never knowing what a guitar was.

Michelangelo was drafted into the military at the age of 18 in Korea, he painted his face black, shoe polish and learned to kill.

Gandhi was born to a wealthy stockbroker in New York. He never forgave the world after his father threw himself from his office window, on the 21st floor.

& everyone somewhere, is someone, if only we give them a chance.

The rest, is really up you :)

withlove,
melinda

Liu XiaoBo ; Nobel Prize Winner

2010-10-10T22:22:00.001-04:00

I was studying Chemistry this morning when I read the headlines on MSN.com of Liu XiaoBo’s Nobel Prize award.

I was a little baffled. But nonetheless, I did a little bit of research from Nobel Prize website and read a few more articles from the internet before I decided to share what I thought of his receiving this award.

Last year, Barack Obama received the Nobel Prize award which infuriated many because they claimed he did not contribute much to humanity. Everyone argued that the prize was awarded merely to pressure the US President for performance and peace.

Clearly, the Nobel Committee was awarding it to set expectations, instead of to praise an accomplishment.

This year, Liu XiaoBo, a Chinese activist currently fighting for human rights in China, doesn’t seem to be that different. Instead of setting expectations for a person, it seemed as if the Committee was setting an expectation for the nation. After Liu was awarded, many parties started urging and pressuring the Chinese government to release Liu. Liu is currently behind bars as he was sentenced 11 years of imprisonment for “inciting a subversion of state power”.

I was just contributing to the poll statistics on Nobel Prize website, when I saw the results: over 50 % knew of Liu XiaoBo’s efforts in China before the prize, while the rest of 40% –including myself—, never even heard of him. I’m sure a handful of you would rest fairly well in that 40%.

Now, China is infuriated at the Norwegians for awarding Liu such a prestigious prize, for the Chinese implied that the Nobel prize was unfit for such a man as Liu. While of course Liu has advocated nearly 2 decades of human rights in China, and went for peaceful protest after protest, I cannot help but still find the Chinese government justified.

By awarding Liu this prize, the spotlight has been directed toward the Chinese government, and internationally it is currently being criticized. This, in my humble opinion, in interfering with a local matter. The Chinese government has forewarned the Norwegian committee that if the award was presented to Liu, it would tarnish relations between the two countries. After presenting the award, China suddenly gained an extra unwanted spotlight on their human rights. People are praising the committee for such an excellent choice while purposely slipping in statements to urge China to free him and grant full human rights to their citizens.

While I respect human rights to the fullest regard, I cannot accept the compromise of a prize such as Nobel’s to be given to a man with little popularity and work. It may be argued that the Chinese activist has done much and has put the emphasis on human rights, but nothing has yet been accomplished. His efforts should definitely be recognized, but there has been no results to deserve such an award.

So where is the ‘peace’ that he has instilled in China? Other than strikes, protests, the Charter 08 petition, and his perseverance, there’s still hardly any peace instilled in China in terms of human rights.

"Liu Xiaobo has been awarded the prize for defending freedom of expression and democracy in a way that deserves attention and respect," Norwegian Prime Minister, Jens Stoltenberg said in a statement. So, defending freedom of expression and democracy—the well-advocated value but unsuitable for many countries like China—, is the base of Liu’s entitlement?

Do not get me wrongly. I do respect and even advocate human rights; I do recognize, admire and respect Liu for all his efforts; I do feel that human rights should be granted to the Chinese ; but I don’t agree that the Nobel prize should be given to Liu because his efforts will promote human rights. It feels as if the Nobel committee had their reasoning all upside down.

The Nobel ‘Peace’ prize is to recognize and award peace. Where is peace when all the prize has done so far is pressure Chinese government to release Liu and instill human rights?

Yet again, Nobel Prize has been awarded solely to focus international attention on a matter, instead of truly fulfilling its purpose that was set forth in Alfred Nobel’s will to honor outstanding achievements.

with love,
Melinda

Diary ; what do you write it for?

2010-10-02T14:31:00.001-04:00

I have 4 diaries in my life collection. One written when I was 12, the rest at 15, 17 and finally, my current one- 18.

Each one records thoughts I dare not share with anyone because things I write in there are thoughts I want to burn from memory and let it perish entirely from me. It is where I pen down things I don’t want to remember.

You have to know, that I write so I’d forget. Writing expresses my soul in this way that I’d be relieved from the burden of thinking of it. Sometimes, my thoughts linger because it has no where else to go—so I write it down; let it escape,let it stay elsewhere.

When I open the pages to these diaries, I revisit places I forgot. Much like listening to old music. :) You might think these diaries are written in the most flamboyant of words and expressiveness of language but know that I’ve deceived you in my blog. My diaries are written with this most primitive English words, and simplest of language and narration. They are written fresh and raw off my head, with no pretty words to distract the hidden purpose. They bare(not bear) the truth.

When I blog, it is filled with long sentences, with peculiar words at times. But know that it is all a craft I’ve learned, to distract you. I elude exposing the core of my thoughts and instead, plant all sorts of words around it to distract you from seeing through me.

There’s one diary, that I’ve hide in a place I refuse to remember. I do not want to ever see it, yet I dare not throw it out or burn it. It recorded too much pain, too much sorrow, too much betrayal that I’m not yet ready mature enough to face. I’m afraid of it.

Will you be afraid, if you were me?

A few nights ago, I let the thought of dying pass me. I imagined how faces would change, emotions aroused and lives changed if anyone were to ever flip open and expose those hidden raw thoughts.

I would assume that after reading those pages, people would watch my corpse be buried with disdain. People would remember me, just as how they would remember the ant they stepped on yesterday.

But does this make me a horrible person? To write of such events inside? To expose the truth of myself that no one I know is ready to accept?

But wait. Just as you’re mind tries and jumps into conclusion, to think of an idiosyncrasy that you would reject, please don’t. Because you would definitely be wrong, and you would end up judging me for the wrong reasons and purpose. So please, hold those thoughts.

I would like to say that you and I are no different. There’s a side of you that you know no one is ready to accept—well, most of us think that way. Some hold this as a grudge against the society, to be so judgemental. Some conform and be someone more liked and accepted. Some expose it anyway and hold it up high.

Some, like me, write it down so they don’t have to think about it. This way, we don’t hold grudges, conform, or worst, hold it up high and pretend like we don’t care. I spray these thoughts with words into diaries and leave it there as it is.

A diary, is that way for me. It keeps everything I don’t want to let anyone know.

And I hope, it stays that way forever. If you ever happen to come across my diary; either if you’re close enough to clear out my drawers when I’m dead, or if someone sneaks it out of my place and into your hands, or even if it was published-- refuse it. Refuse to read it.

Because I wrote it to forget it.

With love,
melinda

Inspire.

2010-09-29T11:49:00.001-04:00

A week ago, I wrote a blog post dedicated to my brother. Here’s the article, if you need to refer : words change lives.

It’s been a few weeks that I caught him using the laptop in his room secretly. He'd sneak the laptop into his room and pretend like he was studying. I know, it isn’t his fault that he has lost interest in studies altogether, but I hope that he at least still tried.

I’ve been hoping and trying to encourage him to study a little. Even if he didn’t bring home great results, I wanted him to at least try and put effort in it. After all, that is what I believe in: putting your heart into everything you do.

I want to encourage and change him. I wish to show him that the world still had a place for a special kid like him, and to show him people would love him just the way he was. Instead of throwing his entire future away by resorting to internet games, I want him to see that there’s still hope in passing the most basic education certificate papers like PMR and SPM.

PMR is in 5 days for him, but he has not studied much. He hardly flipped his book and only knew what was current, energy and short circuit a few days ago when I explained to him.

So I thought, maybe, he needed new people to tell him encouraging things. Maybe, he needed more than 1 person to believe in him. Maybe, he needed to know that everyone struggles with their own flaws and gifts too.

Today, I’d like to ask the biggest, hugest favour from you.

I’d like to ask, if you could drop him an email? Tell him what you’ve been through, tell him the world still has a place for him; tell him nice and encouraging things. It could be short , it could be long; it could be funny, it could be touching. Write to inspire him to live again.

Help me change his life. Help me, make him believe in possibilities—or at least, himself, again.

We’ve all been through rough times, and we’ve always wished someone would care. Maybe, just maybe, my brother feels that way too.

Maybe, just maybe, your email might change his life. And even if it didn’t inspire the next Da Vinci, at least you know you cared for one person.

Could you, so kindly, share a story or advise?

Here’s his email : nicholaslee94@hotmail.com

If , you have spare time today, or tomorrow, could you please, write him a nice email and tell him inspiring things? Every email will count, and if all of you were kind enough, hopefully his inbox would be flooded with encouraging letters from all over the world, from different people.

Help me, make a change.

Thank you, truly.

with love ,
melinda

Within me

2010-09-27T09:52:00.001-04:00

It’s been too cold these days with the rain pouring every few hours. My toes and fingers would freeze up like ice-sticks, I’d shiver under the covers and then wake up and shower myself with hot water.

But I guess that’s alright anyway, I think the cold makes me sleep better. And that keeps night mares at bay—or at least I’d be too distracted by the cold in the morning than to recount the dreams.

*breathes in and out.

It’s been a rough ride, dears.

I’ve been extremely overwhelmed with nearly everything. I thought the summer semester proved that I could achieve excellence in everything I put my heart in.

Well, it did.

But, well, what happened?

I’m trying to figure out how to put the balance in everything that I do. There’s just so many things I want to accomplish, that I throw myself in everything. Well, sure, I could still be excellent in a few, but the rest? Not so.

So I press this button in my head that sounds a little bit like : panic and stress.

I find myself not smiling as often as I should, not greeting people, and not being overexcited over little things. This worries me; its a sign that I’ve just turned into this person who has no time to even admire and laugh silly things. I’ve not been taking photos, sewing or even painting.

I’ve been cramped between books, driving all over the place, rushing from event to event, and typing through the middle of the night for assignments. I go to college without much zeal now, –well, to be honest, I don’t feel particularly excited for anything.

I want everything to stop and let me take a breather; let me reorganize my life and prioritize things. But well, life wouldn’t and I should accept it the way it is. But instead of accepting it as it is, I’ve just been bumming and pretending as if it was going to be okay.

Well, it’s not. A’s are not going to pop on my papers if I don’t drill myself with thousands of words each day, and neither is an event going to be a good one without me scrutinizing at the details—nothing’s going to be done if I sit here and wail about it.

Yet, stressing over it is not working very well.

More often than not, I see myself brushing my fingers through my hair, pressing my fingers on my temples and covering my face under my hair. I would grunt and sigh out of a sudden and feel like vomiting my heart out.

I feel like I’m losing something, or missing out on something important; as if misreading a sign of the world, and doing something completely wrong.

I feel like I’m doing something I don’t want to do, and completely drifting from what is meant to be.

So, the rain pitter patters on the road, and I’m listening to Airliner by Tyler Ward and Julia Sheer. I’m dressed in a huge red tee, with matching shorts, hair in a mess, and cold all over.

You know what I’d really like to do now?

I’d like to picture that mental image; the one I’d stand at the top of the mountain, balancing on one leg and taking the world in as a whole—remember that photo I’ve showed you before?

Feeling the vast of possibilities, the perfect of balance, the control in my soul, and the grace of a serenity, –all within me.

Hm, yeah. I’d really like that.

with love,
melinda

words change lives ;

2010-09-20T12:36:00.001-04:00

We both walked down the park with our headphones on and started jogging. He ran much in front of me, while I warmed up behind by taking a slower pace.

In less than minutes, he went out of sight.

I’m not sure how many of you have younger brothers. And I’m not sure how many in that pool has a brother who is special.

I have a brother with dyslexia. None of us knew until we realize he had difficulties in reading at 12. While dyslexia is curable, I’ll tell you what’s not: confidence.

When I was much younger, I used to have an anger management problem. I would burst into fits of anger, swear and curse as I felt like. Yet, at the same time, I would feel that I had responsibilities to live up to. I would offer and sit down next to my brother and teach him word by word, and sometimes, syllable by syllable till he can fully pronounce a word.

Because I am a normal kid, I could understand things he couldn’t. I would get extremely frustrated, and start screaming at him for being lazy, useless and a failure. I would tell him what a junk he would turn out to be, and what a burden he would be to me and my family. I would tell him a million and one reasons why if he didn’t work harder in his studies, he would fail.

When he drew things, I would always hold back compliments because I never wanted to encourage him to pursue something so stupid and worthless. I wanted him to study and get good results.

Years down that road, now that I’ve learned so much more and understood so much more, I realized that I pushed him down so hard that he never bothered standing back up. I never had the patience and neither have I the capability to teach a special kid like him. With all that anger, impatience and incapability, I ruined his life.

He could never see the world as we see it. He could never sit through a paper and walk out confidently. He would always stare at a piece of blank paper, and only fear the beatings he would get afterwards. All his life, he was rejected by his own family.

Now that he is 16, yet only in Form 3, he is facing PMR in 2 weeks. I watch him as he becomes a slave to computer games, be a topic of ridicule of his peers, and be a laughing matter among my relatives, there’s truly no other guilt heavier than this.

Because I know, I contributed to this.

I should’ve been more encouraging, and I should have loved him just the way he was. Just like how he was the only sibling that never teased me for my weight, and the only one who would buy home sweets for us. He was an excellent brother to begin with, a person with so much talent, but this has all long since been chased away because we could never understand him.

Right now, when the mere thought of his situation drives me to tears because I know I could’ve loved him enough to change him. Yet, I was too young and naive to understand the concept of acceptance.

At the beginning of the year, I decided that all he has is his family. If even his family didn’t believe in him, who would? Everyone else might push him aside, make him a laughing matter, but I know enough that I would do everything in my will to protect him.

When I was finally done jogging, I walked back to the car with him. We both had our earphones on, yet were both admiring the nature that surrounded us. I realized that my brother and I had more in common than I ever thought. Now, I share hobbies like drawing and photography with him.

Only when I truly submerged myself in his world, did I see his struggle and pain. Yet, at any moment I could snap out of that world because it is only imaginary to me, but to him, it is his entire world.

Art, music and photography has brought us closer in ways I never thought possible. But it is through this spectrum that I can slowly know and recognize my brother just the way he is; his talents, hopes and dreams.

Everything you do, everything you say does impact someone in one way or another.

I changed my brother’s life with the harsh words I used when I was younger, and made him inferior this way. So, if faith and sincerity is enough, I would like to change it with patience and belief. I want to redeem myself, at the same time be that sister I’m supposed to be.

Words and emotions are very powerful.

Please, whoever or wherever you are, use it very wisely.

with love&care,
Melinda

a place I belong

2010-09-17T12:57:00.001-04:00

Everyday on the way back from college, I would pass by the Kelana Jaya Stadium. I’d see the emptiness of the running track, and just imagine myself run down it with the wind in my face.

Today, I felt starkly abased and disappointed that I decided I should take a jog and let myself meditate on everything that happened. I drove home, took out my sport shoes, pulled my hair up in a ponytail and left the house again.

I arrived at that place; as I anticipated—empty, strange yet exhilarating since it was a place I’ve never been before. I plugged in my headphones, hit play and started jogging.

Step after step, I gained speed, and so did my thoughts.

I couldn’t understand why when things started working out for me, it would suddenly all just crumble and blow me off. I would struggle to comprehend and manage the situation yet still be dazed in confusion. I’ve been doing so well academically and suddenly it all just started falling apart.

It’s not that I didn’t try. I tried so hard; 6 hours a day of facing papers and ink, memorizing and pressuring myself to read every paragraph carefully. Why didn’t it work out now? How could everyone else manage to score double what I did and yet only throw in an hour of practice and memorization?

Am I really that shorthanded and incompetent to need to do triple work?

Why, why, why, why, I thought and thought.

I felt abased, truly. To need to be hurdled among peers who had score so much higher, when they knew I studied like a machine tirelessly.

Can you understand or feel that sort-of disappointment and self-pity?

But in deep thought, when I peel off all everything else and looked at the core, I realized I’ve lost myself in trying to gain something as materialistic as scores and marks.

Why, in the sane world, do I want to have good scores? Why do I work so tirelessly for it? Why do I spend so much time chasing after something that really is unrelated to what I want to do in the end?

Expectations. To meet them all, I strain every last strength to study and gain high grades. I want to gain straight As to enter a top university.

But why, do I want to be in a top university? Expectations.

At the end of the day, I know that whatever now, all these grades, papers, scores, fame, would all be redundant. It’ll all be chocked up in closets, behind lamination, to only collect dust.

At the end of the day, what truly matters is why I’m doing this. The meaning, the purpose in gaining an education.

I realize, slowly, through each gasping breath I caught while I sprinted, that I lost reason and sight of what was important – my life.

I want to live a content life, from now till forever. To want things such as great grades—those will only ever impress everyone else to me. There is a purpose beyond studying.

I won’t study for grades, I won’t study to impress, but I’ll study because I know of my purpose. The education I’m gaining is going to fulfil that purpose. Every second I spend reading and learning, I am investing in a future second of serving the ones who don’t have the privileges to learn.

This, I realized, is what my life should be about. Doing things stemming from the purpose of my life.

The sun was already descending, and it was almost eye level with me when I jogged the last lap.

One thing that disappointed me was the lake. It was yellow and murky, almost as if dead things reproduced in side, instead of a habitat for the living. But yet, I would watch the wind blow against the surface, shaping ripples on it, and birds flying just above the surface. The trees were all nicely trimmed, with flowers and deep-green leaves. The benches looked like those off a movie with England settings, and the playground looked tempting.

I wanted to lift my head to admire the sky, but the sun was too piercing that my eyes refused. Slowly, I jogged across the half last part of the track. I turned my head slightly and was slightly confused at first, then awestruck.

I stopped in my steps and admired.

The sun was so bright that it made the lake reflect the sky. I could see the sky clearly from the lake that played a mirror. I could make out the shape of the cotton-candy clouds and the bright blue sky.

It was then I felt the universe conspiring to lighten my mood. Nature, with its magic, was playing tricks to provoke a smile.

It is in these signs that I know, I’m on the right track to somewhere.

Somewhere that I, somehow, belong.

with love,
melinda

of the hidden words

2010-09-15T11:13:00.001-04:00

I found this entry chucked in my drafts. It was written, hm, a few months ago. Thought you might want to know a little of what went through my mind ;

This is my latest obsession (:

I loaded it into my phone and allowed it play over and over again while I tried to sleep. I wanted to continue listening to it in my dreams, you see. I wanted it to be the background music as I ran around my scary, hectic dream world.

I’ve been dreaming of odd things again lately. Always feeling like I lost myself in the dream, like, like, losing control.

Well, I wanted to let the song play throughout my sleep. But didn’t even manage to take an hour of it on replay. Embarrassing as it is, I couldn’t stop the pain that was running out of me. I felt numb and could hardly breathe listening to the song.

The lyrics don’t mean much. I can’t figure out what she’s singing about, but yet I felt like I was drowning when I was listening to the song. Amanda Seyfried sings so well; its like listening to a small piece of heaven.

Being selfish stops me from being hurt, but it doesn’t make me happy.

& I think that’s what goes on in all of us. We battle with protecting ourselves and loving the other. We don’t know who we should put first.

We try to be selfless at first. Giving as much as we can. Then we’ll stop and figure something doesn’t feel right. We start feeling exhausted, or sometimes, lost to what we’re doing. We don’t know why we’re doing it, or what we’re doing anyway.

So we start turning selfish.

We start shrinking away, and giving less and less. We start demanding for more and more. We become a self, that wants for itself.

Being selfish protects us because being it means knowing what you want and what you don’t. It is wanting your want, and pushing away the don’ts.

It is when you realize that you’re a person too. And you have feelings, wants and limits. It is when you realize all that you’ve been doing is taken for granted and you’re less appreciated for.

So, you become selfish.

It’s not all sunshine and rainbows here, being selfish. But it isn’t rain and thunder either.

It is an opaque darkness. Alone. Solitude. A moment of still.

Going to a place I once knew.

2010-09-12T08:19:00.001-04:00

I was driving back from Youth Sports Practice, and Rick D’s was on the radio. I was in my sports wear and hair tied-up. I was tired and drained out, but the thing about driving is how the mind can concentrate on driving, yet meditate on other thoughts. Driving through roads, listening to music, and hm, well, just thinking.

Then Rickdee’s said on the radio ‘This is Rick D’s top 40 on Hitz.fm bringing you down memory lane.’

And then, the song in line was a popular song back 2-3 years ago.

Time is a distance we can never travel. It’s like knowing where you want to be, yet not be able to reach. It is the distance we all want to travel backwards. We want to go back and feel the joy or maybe we want to travel back to change something, someone, to feel better now.

Time, time, time; such a precious thing only when you run out of it.

The closest thing to travelling is probably imagining. So some of us, do that. We sit in our minds, and travel to the past the moment we wake, to rethink and rethink of everything that happened. And when we start time travelling in our minds, we lose touch of reality and end up being in complete limbo. Coming day in, day out of our routine, our mind travels continuously, hoping to alter that memory that so haunts us, without realizing that time was running out in front of us.

But some of us, refuse to travel that way. We pick up, and go. Throwing the past all behind, keeping it in a dusty safe and labelling it ‘ never look back’

Then, some of us forget this abstract key they call ‘music’. When familiar music plays, that dusty safe unlocks, and all those thoughts we kept at bay floats and overshadows the current moment. Then, we’re thrown back in the past. Hearing those familiar tunes, the ones we can remember its lyric by heart and hum out of nowhere, we are thrown back to the time we listened to it most.

Music has that sort of power; it bridges the past. It no longer becomes a mind-travel back in time, but a sort of direct touch of emotion we felt before. It becomes a mirage of the worst of remembering. You’d go back, see the scene, the moment replayed and replayed, yet be able to feel it all right here, at that present time as the music plays by your ears. It bridges the past and you. You’d walk over this bridge called time, you’d see your past, yet feel it right here, right there.

You’d feel the pain in your soul, without even experiencing it.

Music is powerful.

And maybe that’s why, I tend to replay the same songs again and again. I could replay the same disc for the whole day, whole week, whole month; so I could record my feelings in between the notes of the song and hide them there. Music has that peculiarity to record memories and keep it in its tune. And years down that road, listening to the same music, all that memory is replayed.

Everyone has those sort of songs, the kind that we kept all our tears and joy with. The ones that would open that dusty safe and bring out what we pretend to forget.

Well, replay it today.

If you still find tears in your eyes, or the welling of your heart, you should be sure, you still dream of it at night.

Well, isn’t today a good day to travel somewhere adventurous? Travel back, and brace it.

I did. And, it wasn’t the best ride in the world, but its always good to travel to a place you barely know yet know.

Like driving, sometimes you don’t know where you’re heading, but junctions after turnings, you find yourself driving to a place you want to go.

with love,
melinda

the good kind of bye

2010-09-06T13:36:00.001-04:00

After a two-hour ride in the train, I finally reached the last station for my train- Seremban. People rushed out of the train, and I, being a first timer, followed where the crowd flowed. Quickly, I exited the gates and found Bree standing there, anxiously looking for me.

I stopped for awhile, watching her in that same black shirt I have and the shorts she always wear, and just soaked in that moment. I haven’t seen her for a month, and that’s long for people like us who can’t live without each other.

We got onto her mummy and daddy’s car, and went for a good dinner.

That night, I watched her run around her room, pack her things, grumble about over packing, and worrying if she brought everything. And during intervals, I would feel the sudden urge to just cry and wail about her leaving. But through it all, I held it together. Not to act brave or indifferent, but to keep a good spirit of her leaving.

When packing was all done and through, we switched off the lights and lied on the bed. The following is probably one of those moments I’d carry with me through old age and death.

She hugged me and asked me to sing her to sleep. After a lot of rejection, we decided to just sing together, softly.

We sang each other lullabies and hymns. I sang her the song my mum used to sing when I was younger and those I sing at temple while she sang songs from Choir and Church. I think, it was one of those good moments, those simple ones that truly represent the goodbye. We cried, but alone, staring at the blank ceiling, blinking and pushing every breath to sing. My heart was heavy at imagining her depart, but I kept that all at bay and made the most out of the moment. I sat there, just singing all the songs I’ve always thought reminded me of her.

I sang her that TaylorSwift song that goes something like this :

“Friday night beneath the star, in a field behind your yard,
you and I are painting pictures in the sky.

And sometimes we don’t say a thing, just listen to the cricket sing,
everything I need is right here by my side.

I know everything about you, I don’t want to live without you.

I’m only up when you’re not down,
don’t want to fly if you’re still on the ground.
it’s like no matter what I do.
Well it drives me crazy half the time,
The other half I’m only trying to let you know that what I feel is true.

Well, I’m only me when I’m with you.”

We didn’t need instruments, we didn’t need lyrics, we just sang. Through all the music, I said all I needed to her through the songs I lulled. There was nothing else I regret never telling her, because everything, everything, was shared through that medium.

The next morning, everything went by like a flash. Going to the airport, and finally seeing her enter the gates. We hardly spoke, and just smiled and waved good bye. I wanted to reach out and hug her before she entered the gates.

But she looked so excited and worried, that I just let her walk pass the gates and down the escalator, into the immigration.

She’s beginning a new life there now, and there’s nothing, nothing to be sad of.

We sometimes cry because we’re heavy hearted, or selfish. We sometimes cry because we’re afraid of losing important things or people. And sometimes, we cry out of joy.

I hope I cried because I was happy for her, out of joy.

Because sometimes, we feel all so welled and chocked up that the only way to really liberate and feel better was to tear. And during then, it was hard to understand the whole myriad of emotions, but yet the only way to comprehend it was to cry.

Sometimes, well, sometimes, not all byes are bad.

Bree didn’t leave me, but left the country.

& that’s a big difference.

Like I said, it’s a good sort of bye, because she’s leaving for a new place, a new adventure.

Yet, she hasn’t left me.

With all my love,
Melinda

last day because its the first day

2010-08-31T11:49:00.001-04:00

I’ve always feared of neglecting how I look, because it is then giving myself the freedom to eat. –Trust me, I’ve tried not caring, and sure enough I gained so much weight I became depressed beyond tolerance. And because of that, I fear gaining weight too, because my mind would torture and self-destruct at night.

This war of mine escalated 3 months ago, and it became more excruciating each passing week. The meals I took were so inconsistent, and I kept suppressing my mental to rid of hunger. I would only ever feed myself half a meal each day, sometimes 2-halves: half a lunch, and half a dinner. And on days that I lost control, it included one egg tart. But yet, I lost just little weight even when I put myself through meal-poverty.

I’m afraid, that if I learn to let go of this side of me, I would gain more weight. I don’t want to say ‘I don’t care about what people think of me’ –because for a fact I DO; we do. I don’t want to be so careless. I don’t want to be obese and say “I don’t care.” Because being indifferent about it doesn’t mean I’m mentally strong, it only means I’m ignorant.

But at the same time, I don’t want to care so much that it becomes an extreme. I don’t want to break down every time someone mentions about my size. Because scrutinizing about it only reflects how much I try not to be myself.

This war of declaring ‘I don’t care’ and ‘I fucking care’, has been a horrible struggle these 3 years. I’m tired already, to be a victim of my own mind. So, the battle between my physical needs and my mental perception finally then came to a point where I thought to myself: how long more before one side wins and take complete control ?

Today, I’d like to declare the first treaty between this two extremes. Because I finally see the possibility to not care and care all at the same time.

A few weeks ago, I posted a blog entry of an inner outcry of my desperation to stop running this race alone.

The next day, I decided to at least try to stop running the race. It was then the first time in 3 months that I fed myself like how a normal person would. I ate 3 normal meals, and actually pardoned myself when my stomach cried itself full. I allowed myself to eat like a normal person, to breathe, to relax; I told myself that it was alright to eat like a normal person.

Sure, my metabolism was still low and those 3 meals probably would cost me another week of starvation to exhaust, but I let that go. I just wanted to feel normal; to stop, just stop the whole war by declaring peace with my appetite first.

But don’t get me wrong, I still did wail about being ‘full’ to my friends. It’s a habit that I can’t change in a day. But then every time I cried ‘full’, I gave myself a moment to think and say ‘don’t worry.’

2 mornings later, I woke up and went about my normal routine. When I got to the table to put on make-up like I always do, I—for some odd reason—didn’t feel like it was needed. I stared at myself and thought ‘hey, you look alright today. No need for the foundation.’ But here, I’d like to ask for your consideration, its an addiction for a mask that I can’t change in one day. I omitted the foundation, but still wiped on a layer of blusher to look brighter for college and socializing. I don’t like looking pale and bloodless.

I went to college and what surprised me was the silence in my mind. I didn’t hear any criticism when I walked past the mirror, and neither did I feel inferior when a stranger looked at me. It was all natural. I walked past a mirror, without even realizing I didn’t have a mask on. It was just so natural.

The next day, I did the same. And so did the next and the next.

Suddenly, it was like the two extreme sides saw the better of each other.

---

Size does matter, let’s be clear on that. I’ve tried my best to look better, but I can’t. The more I struggle, the more I see this fight is worthless. Yet, ignoring that it matters would only be irresponsible.

This is my body, my shell. I’ll take care of it and upkeep it to the most that I can.

There is, a balance.

They say that you have to love yourself first before letting others love you.

But for starters, I’ll declare a halt for this war, and ask both of my extremes to calm down. To just, go with the flow. To just be natural.

There’s no need for running in this race. I should just walk. Like a stroll.

I’m not going to neglect my body, let myself grow fat. And neither am I going to torture it. I should just be comfortable with it.

Like a stroll in the park (:

We all go through internal wars with ourselves. I’m going to at least try, try to face this, and want peace.

What about you?

Do you want to raise that white flag?

With Love,
Melinda

Refugee School Visit

2010-08-29T05:57:00.001-04:00

I’ve been feeling very strained lately for odd and unexplainable reasons.

Yesterday was the final part of the 5-week program that my youths and I have been planning.

I got to know of the refugee problem through an article in Newsweek and got really moved by it. So, in a week’s time we came up with a 5-week awareness program, contacted people, etc etc and got the whole program launched by the start of August.

First week we presented a slideshow and gave out glass jars. The glass jars were to keep everyday change that we receive and then channel it to the refugees.

Second week, we screened a movie.

Third week, we managed to invite a member of the UNHCR to come and share the current issue and also answer questions that the Youths might have.

Fourth week, we rounded up all the money collected in the glass jar and counted them coin by coin. We managed to raise quite a big sum to get basic necessities for the refugee school.

Fifth week, we visited the refugee school.

Entering the place was one of the most heart-wrecking moments. The stairs were small, dark and dirty. We walked up 3 flights of stairs, all excited yet so worried of what we might see. Entering the place, 32 refugee children aged 3 – 14 sat in an orderly manner and looked at us with wide eyes.

I passed through the small door and walked into the apartment that was dimly lit. The place was half the size of an average government classroom. (the photo up there is the width of the place; that was all it fit) Entering the place, the first thing I took notice was how all the children occupied this small space, plus the other 6 caretakers. They all slept there and shared the smallest television and most overused work and text books.

The kitchen was half the size of my bathroom, hardly even a good space to move about. There were no tables nor chairs. They were only using small chalkboard and a table made out of a used door to put things.

We entered and greeted the children. We played games, sang songs and gave out goodies. I sat there, watching all of us blessed youths play with those who had misfortunes so early in life. They didn’t even have a glimmer of grief but all laughed, played and shone so brightly when we were there because they were overjoyed with new friends to play with.

I sat on the chair and showed all the kids what we brought. I showed them them the rows of magic pens, boxes of water colour, brushes, new books, new exercise books, pencils, erasers, paper, etc. Their eyes were so eager and hungry to just see these things. And when I held up the packet of Milo, all of them looked from each other and whispered : ‘oh, milo.’ For some reason, it sounded dull and unfamiliar to them.

It then got extremely stuffy inside. With nearly 50 of us cramped up in that small space, there was hardly space to walk or move about. I looked up and realized there was only 1 fan ventilating the entire apartment and no light bulbs at all. It was then my mind raced and thought of getting sponsors to bring in these electrical appliances. But then, I stopped and realized that bringing in electrical appliances would only worsen their poverty since the electric bill would only shoot up.

I didn’t socialize with the children as much as the rest of the youths. Maybe because I know I had to coordinate and lead the visit, or maybe because I knew myself too well to get attached to them.

The head care-taker was so delighted with everything we did. He kept on thanking and praising our thoughtfulness. I just smiled and repeatedly told him it was our utmost pleasure. He didn’t realize hosting us there was one of the most eye-opening experience for everyone and that his warmth only made the community seem even more friendly and grateful.

We left with the most heavy-hearted goodbyes and everyone has just been talking about visiting them again.

This whole program changed me more than I expected. I only expected to change the youth’s perspective on social work and war.

A few months ago, if you remember, I posted a blog post on how I wrote little cards for those orphans I visited. I’m happy and grateful that with encouragement, I managed to really fulfill that ‘start small’ goal I gave myself.

I’m taking all my first steps, are you?

With love,
Melinda

I don’t want a break.

2010-08-26T12:18:00.001-04:00

I don’t think its the time of the month for me but it feels like I’m just losing my mind entirely.

Things are piling up and for reasons, they are all backfiring me all at the same time.

I just cannot take everything that’s happening. All these expectations and responsibilities. I need time, I need space.

I don’t want a break. I don’t even know what I need. All I know is I want everything to stop and disappear because I feel so weighed down and pulled apart.

I want to go for movies, talk nonsense, dress decently and actually have a healthy social life. All these things that’s happening feel so artificial that I really want a real life for myself to live.

I want to do something I like.

How hard is that, really?

love,
melinda

night-mates ;

2010-08-23T07:02:00.001-04:00

sighs.

I’ve been having repetitive nightmares. It’s one after another, with different people inside but doing the same things. I’d feel so anxious, worried and depressed by the time I wake up. Don’t know what’s wrong with my subconscious mind. Sighs.

I feel so, tied down lately by all these nightmares. I’m a pig who sleeps very soundly every night and most of the time, I’d be so submerged in the dream that it feels entirely real. Like as if my both my subconscious and conscious mind would merge and just be in that one world.

Waking up, would be the worst part of my day not because I dread leaving my bed but because it’s like tearing my mind into two. I’m not sure if you can comprehend that sort of confusion, reluctance and dread to split my subconscious mind and conscious mind into two every morning. I would wake up, still experiencing the adrenaline rush of the dreams, and yet feel my entire body completely immobilized.

I have that kind of dreams, like waking up, and yet not being able to move completely. I’d hear people talking to me in reality, but I can’t move.

These vivid dreams are getting to me, and sometimes I mistaken them as real events that took place. Its getting so confusing having to switch between these two worlds everyday, every night. And to have nightmares every night is like experiencing Saw or Final Destination over and over again each night: wake up, panic and be confused.

Though, my mind is getting slightly smarter. It thinks for itself in my dreams now, which I guess is why it feels so real. I’m not a lucid dreamer, which means I can’t wake up inside the dream then control the course of it. But, ever since a few weeks ago, I’ve been able to make my own decisions and think for myself.

Before this, whenever I dream, it’s always guided, or planned out. I would be in that dream, chaperoned by some part of my mind to make certain decisions. I never used to have a say last time. And whenever I dreamed, it’d feel like living in someone else’s body, seeing her make odd and irrational decisions. And I would never be able to think at all, but just watch and follow the dream.

Well, now I’m conscious when I make those decision in my dreams. I’d know exactly what I want, and the dream would alter and swerve according to what I decide – just like here, in the real world.

It’s getting very heavy for me to need to carry that feeling from the dream and yet go about my daily routine. The worst is how the dreams are tapping into all my fears and putting me through them over and over again, challenging me to make hard decisions.

I can’t tell you what I keep dreaming of because it’s very personal, and because it is so personal that I feel so tortured by my own fear, shame, dread and worry. Every night it replays and replays and replays, different people would act out the same thing, and I would be forced to go through that emotional turmoil.

I feel like the devil is haunting me, seriously. Like some sort of force that’s pushing me to my limits, to see how much I can bear before I crack under this pressure.

Sighs.

I don’t even dare going to sleep these days; staying up all night sewing, reading and writing just so I can minimize the time I spend in dreams.

Sighs. I googled it, and apparently, recurring nightmares is caused by a family history of psychotics.

I swear, I ALWAYS KNEW MY FAMILY WAS CRAZY. (: Hhaha, kidding (:

Ohwell, *breathes, wish me luck tonight? :/

Love,
Melinda

hello ;

2010-08-20T13:15:00.001-04:00

I’ve been unable to come up with a good entry to blog. Mind you, there are nearly 3 – 5 drafts chocking up here which I’ve been struggling to write. There’s just so many things to share I end up losing focus.

So I thought maybe I just need a little casual entry today (: Maybe I’ve just been too eager?

I’ve been busy with running charity programs, preparing my college application, and of course, completing college work.

Sounds simple, but it’s stretching a procrastinator’s comfort, really.

I’ve recently gotten the complete freedom to drive alone, and my car has finally completed its last stage of refurbishment! A new coat of paint! *squeals&jumps! Travelling has been a whole lot easier, and I’ve been a driver for those road-illiterates.

I’m signing myself up for a lot of things, and putting to works a pretty-big charity program. It’s all exciting this month.

College has been fair to me. Delivered my first public speaking speech without stutters, and made my audience feel bad about themselves. I’ve already started on illustrating more mind maps for US History. –Oh my gawsh! US History beat Malaysian’s a gazillion times.

Please do take it, if you ever have the chance. (:

University application has been a bitch, though. I’ve been trying to narrow down the number of which I’m applying to. While writing the essays have been a bigfatfailure.

I just can’t seem to write an essay that jumps off the table, or screams : ADMIT ME DAMNMIT.

yeah. Pretty much describes the situation. (:

My social life… well, my social life has been good.

We’re all constantly trying to match our timetables to meet up with each other. It’s annoying how we all have different time tables right now :/ Ah well.

Oh, Taylor Swift is singing in the back ground right now. Thought I should revive her existence in my playlist since her album is coming out soon. (;

And to end this very casual entry, I close this entry with my opening sentence to my speech

People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in their true beauty is revealed only if there is light from within.”

Go figure.

With love,
Melinda

Feel

2010-08-17T12:39:00.001-04:00

Once, there was a boy. He was deaf.

All he saw, he could never hear. He would run his fingers through the dials on a radio, play with the volume, and never hear a tune. He would see lips moving, and never hear voice. When he walked by houses, he would never be startled by dogs’ bark; or when he wakes up, he would never hear the birds chirp. He couldn’t never hear his mother laugh, or his love cry. His life, was lived only to ever witness.

Not a tune entered his life. It was a life of silence.

Once, there was a boy. He was mute.

He could hear and only see what was around him, but never able to contribute to this world full of voices and melody. He could only ever see and hear what others had to say, but never had the ability to put in a piece of his. He went on, only ever being able to listen and to see. He was fettered, within the constrictions of his own voice box. He had all the potential, all the gifts, all the talent, but the thing that obstructed him from changing the world, was speech.

Once there was a boy. He was blind.

Everything in the world, he could only imagine, and nothing else but imagine. Even in his imaginations, there were no colour, no shape, no definition because he never saw. He let his world be defined by touch and hear; in his mind, he struggled to picture squares, circles, and colours. Oh, how magnificent the books he read through his fingers described of colours and light. These were the most amazing phenomenon that gave life to everything in this world he was surrounded with but could never live in.

Who are these 3 boys?

They are you.

Cliche, but I never understood what this all meant till I felt it on my own. I felt like the last 17 years of my life was lived being deaf, mute and blind.

Try it this time. Try being alive.

Listen to things around you today, listen to people talk, laugh, scream and sing. Hear the sounds of blaring horns, the sound of rain crashing to the ground, or even the sound when your flip flops make when it smacks the ground. Listen to both these noise and music, because without all these, you’d realize how empty you would be.

Speak about things you don’t usually say, but wanted always to. Be someone who’s not afraid. Sometimes, changing the world, is only one voice away.
I never spoke up much, but when I did, I made differences. At first, everything I said seemed ridiculous, but after awhile, when I got more comfortable with speaking up, I made differences. I don’t make huge changes today, but for one thing, I know I made a difference. And sometimes, that’s all it takes, to spread an idea. Because or else, you’d live a life following the crowd even when you don’t want to.

And most importantly, see things today.

Don’t just open your eyes wide and let your mind wander all over the future and the past. Bring it to the current moment today. Let your eyes not tune out of focus and into different times, let it stay on what’s in front of you. Run your fingers through all sorts of things today, feel their shape. Look up and watch the clouds fly across the sky with the wind; see colors today, watch how everything has a different tone. Because or else, you’d only live life like a hazy dream. You’d one day forget that imaginations can only show you things you can imagine, but the world, it can show you things beyond that.

You’d realize when you truly see, the world looks so much bigger, so much brighter, so much more extraordinary.

Feel the world today. As it is.

With Love,
Melinda

running with speed

2010-08-14T05:23:00.001-04:00

My feet pressed harder against the accelerator, and I felt the Airtrek swaying on the highway. The music was tuned up loud to tune down my thoughts, and I felt liberated for a while.

To describe all my thoughts at that time would be impossible. Driving through the road, cutting lanes, speeding up, drifting altogether made me feel in control, like binging. I felt the freedom in driving at any direction I wanted. At that moment, there was a million places that I wanted to go, to just run, to just be alone.

All the songs playing, made me feel slightly less hysterical. Feeling the beat that pounded against my chest, reminded me that I was alive.

*
I like sprinting at the beginning of every race, running out of breath then crumbling to the grounds for salvation in between. It has been how I function and think, a kind of habit.

I can click through all the photos that I've ever taken, and see the changes in my size. Some months, I'm size 3, some months 5, and some months 8. Immediately after size 8s, you could see me turning 5, then 3 and then suddenly back to 8.
I don't think it's because I like torturing myself, but because I fear. When fear controls me, I tend to want to escape it, rid of it. And because I fear of this shell I occupy, of how others look at this shell, I try to perfect it.

I put on make-up, not to look pretty but to dislike myself less. I hate walking pass reflections, because I would have the impulse to stare, scrutinize and judge. With make-up, its a sort of mask I wear, to avoid being judged by myself.

And through all these efforts to try and be someone I'm not, I realize the only person I've been trying to woo, satisfy and impress is myself. I become my own audience, judge and victim; running a race on my own, winning and losing all on my own. In my own world.

*
Feeling the acceleration of the car felt the same as running in the park: feeling the wind blow everything away. In this case, speed made everything else seem left behind and insignificant. Through the roads, through the music that filled my mind, every passing second was like leaving a part behind, letting go, or even throwing it behind.

But I didn't arrive home feeling better, or did I arrive home feeling that I should change, but I arrived home feeling heavyhearted because I knew myself better suddenly. What I left behind on the roads were not my habit, but my illusion and paradigms. I could see so clearly that this has all become me, a part of me, a habit, an organ in me, a part of my life.

It's a race that I keep running, and losing because I've been trying to outrun my imaginations, my fear, my perception. I don't realize I'm racing with myself to an undefined finishing line. And through the years, it becomes something I have convinced myself so, that it exists, that I can reach the end. Not knowing that when I stop running, I'd win.

So how, do I actually stop running?

With love,
melinda

metaphor

2010-08-08T10:23:00.001-04:00

If I could be anything at all, I would like to be a painting.

An art bounded by a thick gold frame, hung on the walls of a museum, guarded by maximum security and admired by the masses. To be there, I must have been painted by a renowned artist, sold to the riches, stolen by thieves, robbed by pirates, hid in an attic, found in the next 50 years, resold and resold and resold. For years, I would’ve travelled through half the world, changed many hands, admired and bought over for numerous reasons.

Being hung in a museum, pundits would admire me with watery eyes, critics would point at my flaws, and little kids would stare with confusion. Visitors would stand behind the line, examine and compare me. I could be a painting of a beautiful maiden staring out a broken window, an abandoned house surrounded with wild flowers, a table surrounded with ministers, or even an abstract art. I would be a white canvas, painted with delicacy and imagination, to present the world a piece of my artist’s mind.

I wouldn’t know what I am, but only know it through the murmurings of pundits compliments, critics’ criticism, and little kid’s humour. I would learn about the colours I carry, the breadth of the strokes on me and the world I put my admirers in through the words of those who see me.

Near and far, I would see my counterparts; some in the biggest range of colors and hues that it lights the room, some in the darkest tone that sets the melancholia in the air it surrounds, some brings forward a world of vision unimaginable to lay people. I would see all of them when I’m rearranged in the museum, or brought to exhibitions. I would think they were each so beautiful that it probably diminished my impact, and made me less special. I would learn through these visitor’s murmurs of which was the most beautiful art in the museum, or which was the most valuable.

One day, I would cross paths with mirror. And without ever knowing it to be a mirror, I would see an art before me.

My breath would be taken away, and I, an art, will never speak again.

I would never be the same again. Fearing that the art I saw, was the most exquisite masterpiece. I would never shine again, and I would never carry my art as gracefully as before.

In years, people would start disliking me. People would not love me like I used to because I’ve lost my shine, and one day, they would take me down.

I would be placed in a dark room, kept away under old rags, and I would accept this treatment because I no longer believe I could hold up my pride after seeing such an art. But before the rags are thrown across me, I would yet again, be placed in front of that same mirror by fate. I would look at it anxiously again, thinking it was the same art I saw before.

To me surprise, I would see the art. Struggling, I’d fail to find its spirit, its life. I would see an art turned into a picture. It would no longer carry what I saw before.

And when the rags dawn on me, I would realize that art I worshipped so was myself. Since, I would sit in darkness, sit in regret.

With love,
Melinda

tumblr and blogger

2010-08-07T08:50:00.001-04:00

My dear lovely readers,

If you haven't already know, I got myself a tumblr, here.

Now, just before you panic because you think it's the cue to relink me, or that you hate the fact that I've fallen into the social pressure of tumblr, fret not! Here's a quick explanation and differentiation between my tumblr and blog (:

I used to have a twitter a few months back, but deleted it due to personal reasons (: And instead of spamming twitter, I resorted to Facebook. I don't like updating statuses on Facebook because, well, I just never really liked updating statuses. Maybe it's too prone to public opinion with all the likes and commenting going on.

So, I created a tumblr!

Tumblr will be a version of twitter with photos and quotes for me (: While Blogger, will remain as it is.

Yes, I'll still be blogging, loves (: & if you're wondering why I have been missing, it's the college schedule as well as fascination over tumblr.

I might like tumblr, like how we like new things. But blogger, will remain as a part of me.

Rest assured, I've been writing drafts of new entries (: Hopefully, I'll be able to share them soon.

Well, nuff' said for today. I've got a long day tomorrow. Sighs.

Please, have a good weekend (:

with love,

melinda

smile, yes: smile ;)

2010-08-04T11:02:00.001-04:00

Smiling, is one of the most used word in making another’s day. We hear people say ‘smile’ all the time that it has become such a cliche term. The simple saying of ‘oh, I love to smile.’ –sounds stupid and childish.

But I think there’s this special, magical thing about smiling. Try smiling right now, yes, right now. Just take a leap of faith and smile a little right now.

Do it. Go on. Smile. (:

I’m not a mind reader, but I think whenever I do stretch those lip muscles to smile I feel a little uplifted, and a slightly relieved. And that’s what I meant by ‘special & magical’ thing.

It was a detour down to the hairstylist because my mum thought I needed a haircut. After waiting for an hour in cue, finally, it was my turn. I was still holding the book I was reading when the hairstylist came over. He asked a few questions, I answered like an autobot--since I was too engrossed in my book—, and off he went snipping my hair.

I didn’t really pay much attention, but the way he spoke, the way he tossed my hair about, it felt as if he was venting some sort of emotion to this art he was trying to create. I let him be, feeling maybe he was just having a bad day.

He gave a few comments, harsh ones about the structure of my face. He said he would shape my hair to cover my big face. My heart sunk, and as if punctured, it deflated. Quickly, I just nodded, took a deep breath and threw myself back into the world of the novel I was reading. To some points, he got annoyed with me reading; he flung a stash of my hair to the page I was reading. I don’t know if it was by accident, or on purpose, but I closed the book then and laid it aside. Poor fella was having a bad day must’ve been annoyed that my head was still in one position for too long.

The whole drama took about one hour. I was actually happy with my hair. Yes, I do have a large face structure and though he offended me, I told myself to suck it up. The truth hurts, anyway.

Finally, he took off the plastic sheet and did a little bit of adjustments. He asked: ‘happy?’ in a very beaten down, and tired tone. I was still half admiring my hair, so I quickly gave a happy grin and nodded earnestly. His facial expressions changed seeing me smile. Looking at the mirror image, his brows relaxed, and he gave a very soft smile to himself, like a relief or even a pat on his own back.

When I took up my things, and walked out of the saloon, he gave me a quick glance and said ‘thank you, please come again.’ like the average, friendly, customer attendant.

Walking out, I felt happy with how I carried myself. There was a million and one ways of how I could have used a sharp sentence to offend him back, but I didn’t. –no, don’t get this entry wrong, I try not to ever boast here. For if I did, you would never come back and see me again. So I only want to share a feeling, this kind of contentment when I make another’s day.

I guess, this is the magic a smile can create. Passing on a simple, simple, smile made that hairdresser’s day slightly better. I won’t say a smile would change lives, but to change that moment from stress to accomplishment, was the best thing I did that day.

Wouldn’t it be nice to know, the best thing you could do today, was smile at a person?

With love,
Melinda

Let’s talk crap ;

2010-08-03T11:51:00.001-04:00

Hello guys,! I think I should revert a little and make this a tad bit casual before I sound like a 70-y’old who has no life.

But before I update you, here’s what you need to know about the previous post:

Referring to my previous post, I think there has been a slight confusion on what I was trying to share. The entry was initially written to explain why we search for this ‘love’, this person we dream of constantly. I mean, don’t you find aspiring to meet this person and know them? I didn’t write it to disprove the concept of finding the right person, and I didn’t say I didn’t believe in the whole concept of it either.

I mean, there are so many elements in life that are important, like wealth, health(okay, no one cares so much about this), career, etc. But yet, we spend most of our time on the element of romance, love, affection so on so forth.

So just to clear up the whole muddle, I actually meant to write it to share why I think we spend so much time thinking about it.

moving on, *drumrolls, Semester 2 has begun! *squeals.

Finally. After being a complete bum for 2 weeks, its back to college! Yippeedeedoo :D I’m happy like nobody’s business. My timetable is looking good. With classes ending at around 2 or 4 everyday other than Monday (;

But sighs, after gaining the freedom to drive (yes, I can finally drive alone in my ‘92 protonsaga!)—my dad decided to send it for respray. It’ll take about two weeks. So it’ll be twoweeks of staying back in college till 6, again.

Ohgosh, killmeplease.

So note to self, make more friends who can drive :D

In my case, make better friends with this guy who has the exact same timetable as I do. *coughsrealloud* because he lives nearby, has his own car, and is supposing, a nice person. *grins from ear to ear

Okay.

Sooooooo, I’ve been well gooood. (Y)

Bree Anna called from Seremban to ask if I was alright because she says I sound so depressed nowadays. But hey, its not that I sound depressed, I’ve just been minusing all the “HAHAHAHA”s , and the “OHMYGAWD DID YOU KNOW”s

No biggie.

I’m good, love.

` I just got a haircut. But I doubt anyone saw difference to it :( Ohhhhwell :(

Mmmm,

I’m having the greatest headache in the whole wide world right now. I need to puke, or hammer my head with a nail to set it straight again :(

tttt, agggg, mmmmm, ish.

Sounds of me feeling really frustrated :(

I gained weight, I think.

And um, yeah. *stones. :D

Coooooollleeeeeeeeeegeee, is all that’s in my head right now. So many subjects all of a sudden. Jumping from 2 to 4 subjects gives me the nerves :( but it’s alright! because I picked my favourite subjects this semester, except for stupit-farking-mathematics slamming right in the middle of the day.

So I’m currently taking, Calculus, American History, Public Speaking and Chemistry 2.

Public Speaking is good, just that its twice a week, at 8am. OHMIGAWD. Wait till presentations come up! I cannot imagine going up with my morning face& mood, giving a ‘life-changing’ speech at 8freakingam.

I can almost imagine myself stuttering and forgetting half my speech. How lah to be Obama macam ni. :(

--no, just in case you were asking I do not plan to be Obama. It’s just this thing my lecturer says about being a good speaker like Obama.

So yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

*stones.

Okay, I’m outta rants. You see, I’m a changed person (bullshit coming, wait for it!). I don’t rant like a stupid little girl anymore. I am mature. I am … um, yeah.

Okay. Let’s not go into that. Hahaha.

I’ve run out of ideas! I’m going back to reading my book, because it is oh-so-amazing that I cannot keep my brain off it ! (:

happyhappy day to you, too.

lovelovelove,
Melinda

Why do we fall in love?

2010-08-02T07:11:00.001-04:00

A movie without romance is considered a documentary. Even novels I read tell tales of romance.

It’s always either the search for love, the love found, or the love lost. One way or another, the medium between us and the outside world is always connected with this thin thread called romance. The only way we ever reach out to glimpse the outside world, is through this thread of romance.

Since little kids, we hear and watch all sorts of fairytale love stories. In teenagehood, we hear and watch all about that charming boy who would take us to prom. In young adulthood, in becomes a mixture of belief in The One and casual dating.

All our lives, all of us, are searching and believing in love. Half our life, we search for that love. The other half is struggling to maintain that love.

It becomes this whole cycle, that during the course of our entire life, we fall in and out of love, searching and giving up on love. Yet, in all these, we are circling around this same theme.

I asked myself, and thought a long while, why do we put so much time and effort in something so unsustainable, so strenuous, so..surreal? No one is perfect, so how can someone be perfect for me?

Why does it excite us so, when we fall in love? Why does it hurt us so, when we fall out of it? And yet, through the thick and thin, no matter how much hurt, how much betrayal, how much tears we’ve shed, we’d still fall back in the arms of a person and wear a ring to promise our life to them?

I cannot comprehend the reason behind this kind-of frenzy, and obsession for something so, unreal, things that only happen in movies and novels. I don’t understand why I-- and the rest of the world,-- am chasing after something so, unseen, so unbelievable.

Well, I guess, we’ve been told to wait for the right one, that the right one will love us regardless. The right one will be there to hold our hand and kiss us goodnight, protect us, and be there for the rest of our lives.

We’ve been told since young, that some person would love us. And love is a very peculiar thing, feeling, concept, gift, that is indescribably strong. It’s like magic, ecstasy, security and warmth. We’ve been told by movies, novels, friends and family, that we’d one day find this—or sometimes, it just happens.

We've been told that this happy ending would happen to us.

It’s like being told ‘You’d get a billion bucks one day, don’t worry. That billion bucks will never run out and will stay with you forever.’ Wouldn’t you dream of this everyday, then? Wouldn’t you look for it, wouldn’t you think of it all the time, wouldn’t you dream of how to spend this money, wouldn’t you dream of the possibilities?

Wouldn’t this thought, of knowing you would have a happy ending, keep you alive and spirited to keep looking and waiting for it?

When one breaks our heart, we’re told the the right one wouldn’t be so mean, that the right one is still out there; when we lose hope, we’re told to be patient for that person will come in during the right time.

This person that everyone keeps telling us of every time something bad happens , this person, don’t you want to know them now? –what more, you know this person would eventually belong to you.

We keep searching for it, because we’ve been told we’ll find it, that we’ll have this.

Wouldn’t you then, look for this love, even if it took half your life away?

But did you know, the whole world has also promised someone else that you would do the same to them? that you would be perfect for them?

With love,
melinda

Envelopes with meanings

2010-07-30T14:11:00.001-04:00

I read a book recently and one of the stories it told was about a drawing of a tree. This drawing of the tree, can talk.

This tree-drawing said that Venetian artists could draw trees and if you held that drawing and looked, you could find back the exact same tree. This is because Venetian artists spend time on the smallest details and tries to draw it exact.

It then said that artists from Istanbul, however, draw trees that depict a story, a scene with a kind of meaning behind it. The way the leaves are drawn, the way its bent.. all that. The artists of Istanbul couldn’t draw without a story first.

This is the exact excerpt from the book:

I thank Allah that I, that humble tree before you, have not been drawn with such intent. And not because I fear that I’d been thus depicted all the dogs in Istanbul would assume that I was a real tree and piss on me: I don’t want to be a tree, I want to be its meaning.

-- taken from My Name Is Red by Orhan Pamuk, winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature.

That got me thinking the whole day, and I thought I should write about the meaning behind the things I write on this blog.

I think, as my reader, you should know a little about why I write in the first place.

I’m an effusive person. I like to express myself. I do that through writing, speaking, and singing. Some people like to keep it to themselves, but I like it out there, with you.

If you follow my blog close enough, blessyou!, you’d know sometimes I put things up, then delete them within that hour. I’m like that sometimes—irresponsible. Some thoughts should be shared, while others should be kept till death because these thoughts are not what should be with you. It would be irresponsible to write about personal things, things that you shouldn’t know about me.

So I only share, what I want you to hear. I want you to listen to my story, and learn. I’m not good with words, I just pay more attention to how I feel so I can tell it to you here when you come by to visit me.

And that might be why I stop writing about events that happen, but more of a story, a feeling, a thread of lyrics that you listen to me sing through words.

Because I don’t want to be a person you stalk cyberly, to know exactly what I did, exactly what I wore during that day, and exactly who I saw.

Like that tree, I don’t want to have to be known with such intent. Not because I’m afraid that idiots would assume this is my lifestyle, then hunt me down: I don’t want to be Melinda, I want to be her meaning.

Everything you read, every blog post, carries a meaning of me. I choose every word with care, so you’d be able to hear the faint cries of my shelled soul.

I write to define myself, to present you with an envelope. The rest is up to you, if or not you’d read to decipher me and open the envelope I wrote and folded so carefully with words and pictures.

You, as someone I share with nearly everyday, needs to know that it all means something.

With love,
Melinda

2010-07-29T12:37:00.001-04:00

Watching the shadows burning in the dark ;

Live the moment

2010-07-28T12:12:00.001-04:00

I’ve been going back to books lately, sewing and meditating all over again. Slowly, very slowly, I’m regaining that balance I once had.

For the past few nights, I’ve been meditating. It was hard to even begin at first. Thoughts kept crashing in the moment I had nothing to occupy my hands. Everything of the past and the future kept haunting me as I sat there.

Have you ever felt like that? How horrible thoughts just keep swelling your mind, chocking you, till you’re so beaten up that all you want to do is lie there, and feel the pain torture you till tears wash them away?

So, I sat there, struggling to free myself, to free my mind from all these taunting thoughts. During the first few nights, I failed and failed. I didn’t realize I had so many knots tied to myself that my mind was so weighed down, that it can’t even attain a moment of tranquil.

Finally, last night. I sat there, more beaten down than any night before, eager to finally put an end to it.

It was 2 in the morning, I dressed in baggy pants and shirt, put my hair up to a bun, and sat there with my legs crossed and back straight. Slowly, I inhaled and exhaled.

The thoughts came and conquered my attention, it demanded for me over and over again. I sat there, inhaling and exhaling. Slowly, I breathed. No matter how frustrating the matter came, I told myself to calm down and let go. Let go, of the past, of the future, and concentrate on the present moment.

Slowly, I breathed. My sore shoulders started relaxing, my heartbeat slowed and my breathing came to a very soothing rhythm. Slowly, the knots were untying themselves, slowly I felt liberated.

In certain moments, where I’ve attained that second of peace, some deeply buried thoughts and worries would swarm in and disturb my peace. It was a struggle, because I became frustrated. I couldn’t be mindful, I couldn’t concentrate. My mind was so polluted that it had lost its ability to just stay still. I was screaming inside then, disappointed with myself for losing.

Then I told myself “patience”.

Again, I inhaled and exhaled slowly. And said ‘it doesn’t matter now’. I started letting go. Slowly, slowly, slowly, one by one, the knots started freeing me. The hardest and biggest knots slowly untied themselves unwillingly, but surely, they did finally free me slightly.

Slowly, I could maintain that peace for more than a minute. To just feel the vastness of the world in my chest, to breathe in like a free person, and to sit there, as if on top of the world.

All my worries, my ego, my disappointment, my joy, my excitement, my expectations, faded away. I no longer felt anything. There, I sat, breathing in and out, feeling nothing but that moment.

It was a moment of peace.

I guess that’s what we always forget. We always wait for great things to happen to us, we anticipate for the most amazing moment of our lives to happen, falling in love, or fulfilling a dream, that we forget, right now, is the best moment.

Being here, being able to write my account of peace, is the best moment of my life. So will the next be the best.

And slowly, when every moment becomes the best, your life becomes a collection of the best moments. And not just moments. But the best moments.

Live the moment, my 2010 resolution. – and now, live the best moments with peace.

With love,
Melinda

Catch me

2010-07-27T07:51:00.001-04:00

I brought Bryson out to the park today again.

He’s afraid of heights but I let him run about because I think it’s good for him to learn how to cope with that fear.

He was climbing down from one of those poles, then he screamed because he was so terrified. “Meeena, Meeena! Help me!”

But all I did was walk near him, stood there, and laugh at him. He started panicking, and reaching out frantically to hold my hand, but I shrugged away even more.

“Meena, please pleaseeee!”

“No.”

“Meena, I so scared! I can’t get down! Please Meena!”

“No. Try it on your own. Slowly, okay? One step at a time. Slowly.”

“Meeeeenaaaaaaa.”

“Try it on your own, Bryson.”

I continued smiling, and let him hang there.

He panicked, shook a little and struggled on the pole to get down. Then resumed begging for my help and giving me his fear-stricken face.

Then I said, “Don’t worry, I’ll catch you if you fall. Now, slowly Bryson. Slowly.”

Who would you catch if they fell?

With love,
Melinda

2010-07-27T03:07:00.000-04:00

I am sitting at my college's student centre, and I have exactly 10 minutes to pen this all down.

There's something wrong. I don't quite know what, yet. But something, is going wrong.

Call me superstitious, or whatever, but when I feel that something's going to be wrong, everything I do prevents me from it. Like someone holding me back before I take that action. it's been happening for days, and I've been putting it off as being overanalytical.

But that sound, that sign, that feeling is getting stronger each moment. I don't know what, how or why, but it's worrying me. I don't know how bad this will be, or how mild this would be, but something is going to wrong.

Something is going wrong. & I'm worried.
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