Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Quotes

And maps can really point to places
Where life is evil now:
Nanking, Dachau.

-W.H. Auden "Collected Shorter Poems, 1930-1944 (London: Faber and Faber, 1950), "In Time of War", XVI, pp.279-80.

Monday, March 30, 2009

習慣

又在臨睡前,拿起電話.
有些習慣改不了.
我以為,我到最後有把那構思好的簡訊傳出去.
醒來發現沒有你的答覆時, 還納悶了一下.
原來我在猶豫間,睡著了.
那些對話是夢的對白.

有些人活在地球上太久了, 就算將他移到土星上, 他也不知道.

Dizzy up me!

I know it's random, but I had a very long day and a longer week ahead. I'm chilling out to Goo Goo Dolls now and having goosebumps. Why why why hasnt anyone sing me songs likes 'Slide', or 'Iris', 'Name', 'Black Balloon"...??! I would've have followed you home if you did. Not anymore though. I've let the cat out of the bag.

Sunday, March 29, 2009

My Story

The audience held their breath as she steadied herself on the thin wooden plank. They let out a soft cry as her knees jerked, threatening to throw her off balance. With both arms spread out to each side, she bended her knees slightly, regaining balance. Then, she straightened her body, lifted her head and made a 360 degrees flip. Sasha landed with both feet planted firmly on the plank. Instantly, the nerve wrecking silence was broken. The crowd went wild, cheering and whistling and clapping. She grinned widely and took a bow, her sparkling white and blue costume gleaming under the bright neon lights.

Brody cheered for her too though she could not hear him. He was still enthralled despite seeing the same act several times. He could memorize each step, each sequence, and knew that the knee-jerk was just a trick to keep the audience’s adrenaline pumping. That was one of the reasons why Brody loved the circus. Everything was coordinated, every move was planned. The performers rarely fell. They never disappeared. They’d entice you; keep you in suspense, made you believe they were gone; then they’d appear again. How Brody had wished his mother’s suicide was a disappearing act too. How he wished she would stand right up and tell him she was reenacting the stunt they had seen at the circus that night she killed herself. But unlike the circus performers, her soul really disappeared into the night, leaving her lifeless body lying in the arms of her eight year old son.

Brody stood up and made his way out of the tent. He was determined to see Sasha Paladie again, the 23-year-old rising star of Ringler Bros. circus. He wanted to tell her she was still beautiful. Sasha was tall and thin, but she was strong. Brody admired her strength and bravery and secretly wished he had the same courage on the battle front.

Sasha was already leaving when he got to the changing room. She walked in a hurry, clutching the oversize trench coat that draped over her frail body. Brody noticed how she contorted slightly when she walked, as if her bright orange stilettos were causing her great discomfort. He decided to trail her home.

They walked for about a mile until she made a turn into a deserted park. In the middle of the park stood a steel freight container, about 20 metres tall and less than 2 metres wide. The blue paint that once covered the container was peeling and light penetrated through the small patches of rust here and there. Sasha pried open the heavy steel door that let out a creak. Then she turned to Brody and said, “Are you coming in?”

Brody was taken back. He shuffled his feet, causing the dried leaves below them to crackle. “H-How did you I was back…?”

She shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe I wanted you to be back.”

Brody entered the caravan nervously, visually scanning the interiors of the unique makeshift home. It was the same as before. Sasha had managed to fit in a day bed and a small side table. Under the bed laid a brown leather suitcase that functioned as her closet. Beside her bed was a mini fridge, a cordless boiler and that was it.

“Ouch, damn shoes,” Sasha winced at the blisters on her toes. The size 41 Jimmy Choo leather stilettos had been resoled twice and the heel was worn down unevenly. Although they were polished regularly, a small stubborn spot of grease remained on the left shoe. He had given her the shoes before he was deployed to Iraq. They were the only shoes she had and the sweat-stained indent of her foot in the leather base was proof of her physical and emotional attachment to them.

“I knew you hated them. I’m sorry.” He said.

“So what is it that you wanted to tell me?” she asked.

Brody was sitting awkwardly on her old, dusty day bed. “I… just… wanted to tell you, I still think you’re beautiful… and…”

“…and…?” Sasha was the impatient one, never liked surprise or guesses.

“I finally found out what that word meant,” he said, pointing to the Chinese character tattooed across her back. “Pvt. Chen who had just transferred to our station taught me. It means Loyalty.”

Sasha did not reply. She was always reluctant to tell people what that tattoo meant, just as she never told anyone that she had spent seven years bound in a wheelchair. It was the result of a bad training injury sustained when she was on the national gymnast team. They were just pieces from her past, like a bad movie one should, but never could, forget. What matters is that she’s here now, loyal to her dreams of joining the Cirque de Soleil one day. The dream that her gymnast mother had of her winning the gold medal in the Olympics was over.

The only fluorescent light bulb in the small space flickered as a moth circumnavigated around it. Brody chuckled as he observed the moth.

“You know, I always lie awake on my bunk bed watching that little fellow fluttering around the light bulb above me. Sometimes, it will burn it self and fall dead on me...”

“…I used to think, aren’t we all like that sometimes? Drawn to play with fire when we know it’ll burn us? A lot of pain are self-inflicted I tell you. God up there must be having fun watching us make these stupid mistakes” Brody thought our loud.

“I wanted to come back Sasha. I was tired of firing arms, tired of picking up my dead brothers’ bodies, tired of seeing innocent women and children run when our tanks invaded their homes…”

Sasha did not know what to say. It did not matter anymore. It was too late. At least Brody too, was loyal to something. He was loyal to his country.

“I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.” Sasha said as she turned off the lights. Brody watched as she closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks. Beside her laid a newspaper cut out that read-

‘Lance Cpl. Brody J. Johnson, 18, was killed while conducting combat operations against enemy forces in Anbar province…’

* * *

My Elements

Characters:
1. Brody, 18, Soldier.
Brody is a skilled soldier. He is shy and at night he lies awake and watches the moths circumnavigating the light above him.

2. Sasha, 23, Circus Performer.
Sasha is very tall, thin and strong. She has never told anyone that she spent 7 years of her life in a wheelchair. She refuses to translate the foreign words tattooed across her back.

Location: Frieght Container
A freight container, the kind that can be seen stacked on top of another at a port. Inside the container, light penetrates through small patches of rust here and there. A repetitive thumping noise can be heard in the distance.

Object: Shoe
An orange stillttoe shoe, size 41, once expensive. The shoe has been resoled, and regularly polished. The heel is worn down unevenly and there is sweat-strained indent of a foot in the leather base. There is a small spot of grease on the leather.

Writing Media Text Short Story Assignment

You have randomly chosen four story elements; two characters, one location and one object. You need to go to Blackboard to check the briefs of these elements. You will then construct a short fictional narrative using all four elements. You need to stick to these elements – your teacher has made a note of what you chose. Let the elements speak imaginatively to you.

The situation does not have to be ‘real’, but seek emotional honesty. Avoid cliché. Try to make plot grow out of character, not the other way around. Think about how each character will respond to the other – stories work best with conflict. Sketch your story outline before you begin.

Have a beginning, middle and end.

Make your story between 500 and 1,000 words, but briefer is often better.

Feel free to edit and re-write for as long as you like, and be cognizant of the process that you go through. Your musings and process will make an ideal journal entry.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Then i finally cried. Two, three streams of tears. Then i stopped and fell into a deep sleep. No dreams. Just deep, dark pitch of sleep.

Monologues: Part 1

I'm most lonely when
I come face to face with myself
And my fears becomes a deafening silence
And my dreams, a fading mockery
I'm most lonely when
I meet my own ghost.
And she sits there, at my kitchen
sipping coffee, watching me.
And tells me stories about
my past, times when this room
was more crowded, lively, nosiy.
They were here once, when the music played,
she said, now they're gone.
One by one, they made their way
out of my door, without me noticing
So now i'm stuck here
just me and my ghost.
Let's sing a song, i said,
picking up my guitar.
And we sang, and we danced,
and we laughed, we laughed!
Then we got tired and snuggled up
Close to each other, i didnt know
heartbeats belong to ghosts.
You think they'll ever come back?
You think he'll ever come back?
I asked.
You'll never know... she said.
Maybe it is you who keeps running.
She said. And sips her coffee.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Mish-Mash

It's turning out to be a very colourful academic week. From analyzing martial arts as a form of nationalism to writing a hard news story; from understanding comics to hypertexuality; from understanding texts to sound, from collage to photomontage... i feel like an elastic rubber band now... after hours of working on my journal, i feel liberated yet restricted. I wish i could dwelve in these topics more, especially the one about collage. I was having fun browsing through arts sites this morning and felt so ashamed that i've came to know about Braque, Lutz, Herzel and CK Wilde only now. Collage is not simply picking up garbage and putting them together, it's about interpretation and sending out a message. Each work is philosophy in the making, and how i wish i had the intellect and knowledge to understand them. Or about sounds, experimental music, documentaries. I find myself facing them like a virgin to a seasoned lover. Naked, vulnerable, nervous, embarassed, clumsy.

Quotes

'Art is a biological catalyst of humans. As such, it may and must analyze and define social taboos. Art is the visual extension of philosophy-philosphy is the art of thinking. Art comes from thinking, and not from talent."
- Alexendar Sterzel (n.d.)

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Week 4

It's Monday morning and Melbourne's wet weather has returned after a weekend of familiar Malaysian weather.

I'm slowly easing into Week 4 of the Academic calendar though it's my 6th week here at Melbourne.

I have a press conference today and a news article due tomorrow. I have readings to still catch up on. Not to mention heaps of journal entries to log in. And that personal montage to play around with.

I resolved not to abuse food again. I'm done with unhealthy emotional eating.

Deep down, I'm still trying to recall why chocolate tasted so good.

Walsh, my second home?

Some attractions are destined and unavoidable, like my instant affection for the atmosphere at Walsh residence and a bunch of guys who live in Unit 5 of Walsh Main. For those of you who think I'm talking Greek now,let me explain. The student accommodation that I live in---Rooms International has 3 main residences at 3 different locations---Bouverie residences (which includes Swanston East and West), Walsh (which consists Walsh Main, Ground and West) and Monet (a dorm style accommodation). I remember feeling very serene the first time Jessie brought me to Walsh on my informal work orientation. Walsh West is shrouded in trees and shrubs whilst Walsh Main has a nice open deck area where communal livng spirit comes alive. The first time I met the Unit 5 boys i was amazed. I couldn't help smiling at the way 2 chinese boys and a 'guai lou' were cooking together and how neat their apartment was (but i have to say, it has deteriorated slightly now...)

I guess we started hanging out a lot after Kelvin's birthday dinner. Oops, forgive my bad manners. Basically the guys at Unist 5 consists of Kelvin, Ivan, Neil and Adi. They share the apartment with two other girls Linda and Neesh. Kelvin, who is from Sibu, is a third year mechanical engineering student at Melbourne Uni. I have a hard time controlling myself from laughing everytime i see him because Kelvin has such an energetic, animatic and down to earth personality. He's the good guy, big brother type. Really, he just cracks me up. And i know he reads my blog so there u go Kelv, u make me laugh---OUT LOUD.

Then there's Ivan, the Interior Design student from KL. I sort of have the feeling that Ivan's the youthful, teeny one in the gang. The guy who's into live bands, gigs, contemp. design, surfing, travelling, photography and straight tongue-in-cheek sarcasm. He won't hold himself back to diss you if he dislikes you but i think at heart he's a kind, considerate person. He's the only one who'd offer help with the grocery shopping or to walk me home. Oh, Kelv does too. =)

Then comes Neil, the Australian-Canadian dude from ottowa. Neil in general, is like the devil and the saint to me. Having completed his Masters in Philosophy and now a Juris Doctor student at Melbourne Uni, Neil embolishes two extreme personalities, the guy that can work and party hard at the same time. It's a very good balance we can all strive to emulate. 'Sei guai lou' is what we call him and his eyes lits up whenever we do, as if he owns it (the nickname) proudly.

Aditya or Adi in short is from India. I can't say much about Adi because he's ALWAYS on the move, either heading out or coming in...and then heading out again. From our conversation, i reckon he comes from a strict family back home in India (his parents are doctors) and is out looking for lots of fun in life. Cheeky is one word i'd used to describe him.

I've been frequenting Walsh a lot (and...aiks...even crashing over at their place). I enjoy cooking and having dinner with them, or drinking coffee (or beer) and just chatting. So Kelv, is it ok to name Walsh my second home? Especially now with that cool Coffee maker and Neil's milk frother?

I kinda think i need a girl friend though.

Saturday, March 21, 2009

Quotes

'We learn from history that we learn nothing from history.'
-George Bernard Shaw

Smoke House

I think we live in a smoke house, you and i
our faces are veiled, we don't see each other.
We breathe in and breath out,
it's all just smoke, why do we bother?
I got wasted by strangers and woke up alive
Put on your shirt, make memories revive
yet i'm still kissing waters,
making love to air, why do we bother?

I get to say goodbye and hi again
I never really meant them
I get to say goodbye and hi again
I never really meant them

I think we live in a smoke house, you and i
our eyes are holllow, our a mouths a gaping hole.
it's all just smoke, why do we bother?
I reached my hands out to touch you
But i made a hole in you, turned to ashes
now i'm still kissing waters
making love to air, why do we bother?

I get to say goodbye over and over again
i never really mean them
I get to say hello over and over again
I never really mean them

* Note: The poem does not fully represent the writer's state of mind.
Readers are advised not to make misinformed judgement.

Friday, March 20, 2009

Fluff

If i left a strand of hair
on your shoulders;
If i knew you too much
yet know nothing about you
it means nothing, because
some clouds are not white
they are meant to be black.
some touches are meant to be void
some hugs wrap you but
dont fill you up.
some attractions are toxic
addictive, enigmatic
but they mean nothing
they evaporate once its exposed.
why then do we rely on such instincts?
life is a fluff
and we live in a bubble
waiting to pop.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Here Comes the Sun

I've always loved that famous Beatles jingle, especially on a sunny day, how apt! Well, the sun is out now in Melbourne city, for two consecutive days after hiding itself the past week. I love the sun! Perhaps being a Malaysian, it is intrinsic of me to feel attached to it, or the mere biological fact that my body is anti-resistant to cold. Either way, I wish I can soak up the sun and store it in my body like a solar system!

I woke up at 4am. Well, actually I havent been getting a sound and peaceful sleep lately and don't bother asking me if anything is bothering me because that will bother an insomniac more! After finishing the first half of my Orientalism reading and chatting with Jimmy, my lethargic body was screaming 'CAFFEINE' so i took a warm shower, did laundry, got dressed and headed to Vic Market---I decided to treat myself to a Skinny Cap. and Chicken Wrap. I am a morning person and what I love about mornings most is seeing dawn break. I love seeing the blue, red and orange hues splashed across the velevty blue sky. I also love the bustle of mornings, how everyone is up and about, energetic and enthusiastic, full of anticipation of the day ahead. Of course, there are some who looked like they slept standing up the whole night but i digress. Anyways, it is this period of the day when the engines of labour starts warming up and getting ready to burst into full force!

After breakfast, i navigated my way to Melbourne Uni's Ballieu Library; found a cosy study area by the window and continued my readings. Why Melb Library instead of RMIT's? Simply because I remembered Liang Jie's detestment against RMIT libraries and decided to find out for myself why he favours Ballieu instead. My conclusion is: do your readings at Ballieu if you wish to put on an academia's hat. or...if like me,you simply enjoy watching a live montage of mixed personalities through a glass window on the pretext of studying.

From the theorist's table...

Michel Foucault:
'The search for descent is not the erecting of foundations: on the contrary, it disturbs what was previously considered immobile; it fragments what was thought unified; it shows the heterogeneity of what was imagined consistent with itself...'

As Grasses

What holds us?
The center of this universe
Or are we,like grasses in the wind?
Trying to stay firm on the ground
Often failing.
Maybe i'd just pin my heart up tonight
And you can feel free to abuse it
Take advantage of my nakedness
Strum me a song with broken chords;
And come tomorrow
Summer is over.

Monday, March 16, 2009

'Signs'

I watched a short film on Youtube about communications called, "Signs'. This short film was produced by Peter Hughes and was featured at the Schweppes Short Film Fest. The central theme of this film was about the deconstruction of communication between people. At first, we were introduced to the male lead,who appears to be lonely and depressed although he has family members and colleagues around him. He appears to be looking for a companian, a solace, a place to belong. Upon a chance encounter, he spotted a girl who worked in the opposite building. Hence, a friendship blossomed between them as they communicated with each other using--- Pen and Paper! I won't get into further details in case you might want to check out the video yourself. As mentioned earlier on, this film deconstructs the 'conventional' way of communication whilst shedding light on another way of communication--through written words.

I wouldnt say this film was genius, as the plot was probably stereotypical and predictable. However, it does provide some interesting insights and food for thought. Sausser argued that the relationship between the spoken word (signifier) and object (signified) is arbitrary and meaning comes through signs. Sausser suggests that these signs are the union of signified and signifier. From Sausser's theory, Derrida develops the perspective of Deconstruction, an idea that argues that the meaning of texts is indeterminate due to the lack of 'truth' or a center. Hence, we allowed to constantly deconstruct text and work our way around it. Applying the theory in this context, the method of communication is hence deconstructed. We do not have to depend on spoken but on written words to convey our messages to the receiver.

I personally like this idea because i think the most effective way of communicating is through body language. I believe a touch can say a thousand words in the fastest, most effective manner. Just recently, i realised that sometimes we form a secret code through our touch and gestures, but other times it is a universal language.

I tried to think of expanding the plot of the story. The ending left me knawing at what could entail in this unordinary couple's life. I asked myself, why did she insist to communicate using placecards even after they met in person? What was the motivation behind it? Was it because she was deaf? Or perhaps she had a painful past she wanted to hide? Would they continue to communicate this way for a long time? What about sex? Won't their communication method falter during sex? Can they device a new way to have sex too? Perhaps raise a placecard that says,' Touch me here'? LOL.
That would be interesting.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

Goal of the week

Goal of the week: Finish up pending tutorial prac. exercises. Readings!!!

Words to strike off: Procrastination. Lack of self-control. Desperation.

Words to live by: Discipline. Determination. Organized.

Reward: Friday night, play hard.

Saturday, March 14, 2009

It's not the alcohol anymore

I remember everything clearly. Every sound, every time the door opened and closed. The sound of the Americans shouting Kattenchblaza! My own heartbeat. The bad mixed odour of cheap wine and puke. At one point, I almost cried. It wasn't about the alcohol anymore. I should've just cried, it would've been easier.

Intoxication

Intoxication.noun.
-overpowering exhilaration or excitement of the mind or emotions.

Note to self: Never repeat it again.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

We fall all the time.

By the way, I didn't get any role in the drama i auditioned for.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Wednesday.

It's past 9 of a wednesday morning and there is still no sign of the sun. It seems, Melbourne, in her ever changing mood swing, has sunken low into her moody days again. Funny how we are easily affected by the weather. The rain falls from the sky as if someone had emptied a bag of sand. Quiet, unintimidating, yet extrememly unnerving. It's the type of rain that dances a tango with your mind. Should I or should I not bring an umbrella along? Just as you think it would be fine to do without an umbrella, you find yourself regretting that split decision halfway through your walk. Long winded, persistent. Like a manipulative lover, who won't stop crying just to get things done her way.

I gaze out of my window and my mind begins to work. What goes through my mind are things that i'd need to do today- assignments to be completed, cards to be sent out, readings to be done. The decision I make works it way around the controlling weather. A huge part of me is reluctant to step out of my house in a wet weather like this.

And then my thoughts rest upon you, as they always do. The thought of you somehow always slips into a corner of my mind, like a child who folds his arms, and smiles cheekily at his busy parent, knowing he will always triumph at the end of the day. Without saying a word, he says,'let's go out and play!' So i linger for a moment there, nestling into your bed and recollecting the smell of your sheets. I confess, with all these to juggle on my own, I don't think of you as much as before, but each time it is stronger than before. It is better this way, i reckon.

I tell you this-how I stop to think of you when I'm busy. You said you do the same too. If i were to go without news for a while, you'd hurriedly text me to catch up. You used the word fade. I think that is a beautiful word.

Do you miss me? I've had to ask. How much?

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Experimenting Reading and Hypertext

For Writing Media Text tutorial last week, we were handed a large piece of paper containing fragmented lines of a short story. Our task was to reassemble the lines back to its original piece or form one of our own. The purpose of this task was to analyze how we read and interpret text. We were told to note what influenced our decisions and how we piece together the fractured story. Was it our our own experience or prior knowledge; that helped us link the paragraphs to form the story? Or was it just plain common sense or logical thinking? What I've posted here above is the product of our team work and the most logical story we think the author was writing.

This exercise is similar to a game of jigsaw puzzle. The process of putting the story together involved several stages. Firstly, we scanned the overall text to get a gist of the story. Then, we started grouping the sentences together according to its context, place and time. For example, we lined the sentences that described the 'fat man' in a group, conversations between the main charatcer and her best friend Rita in one, and everything that had to do with food in another. Next, we chose two sentences to each begin and end the story. By doing that, we were able to form a loose structure of our plot, which also made it easier to fill in the gaps. By having a preconceived notion of what the story was about, we just lined the sentences as we go along according to the most logical sequence. For example, we knew that the order of serving the fat man his food was the bread and butter, salad, soup, main dish and dessert because that is what we do in real life. We were also aware of the time and venue stated in the sentences. In the end, we managed to construct a story based a lot on our prior understanding of how human nature works and plain common sense. We also presuned the kind of reactions that the characters made based on our own likened emotions

Monday, March 9, 2009

Comments Error

Hi, thank you for leavng a comment on the Friday: Part 2 entry...unfortunately an error has occured and the comments can't be displayed. So, i'd appreciate it much if you could comment once again? =) The glitch is regrettable and I apologize for any inconvenience.

Sunday, March 8, 2009

Friday= Part 2

I left the theatre in a hurry. YikHan called several times to ask if I wanted to tag along to an orientation event organized by the Australian-Asian Club at Club 7. Clubbing. Hmm... I was reluctant. You did say you wanted to check it out one day, so I thought this was the best chance, plus you can meet some people, make new friends. Hmm. I gave in thinking, oh wat the heck, it's Friday night anyways, and I did want to see how the clubbing scene actually looked like. But i have to have dinner first, then change and dress up, it'll take me an hour. Sure, he said. Just call me when you're done.

So i had Nasi Lemak cooked by my housemate. Funny, i would've never eaten Nasi Lemak back at home yet here I am miles away missing Nasi Lemak. Then i got dressed, half wondering if i'd regret this, seems like I've been playing this mind game all day long.

Next thing I know, we were on the tram, along with the other hoards of asian students on the way to the event. I texted Jimmy. I'm on the way home now darling, will come online soon k? He replied. Oh. I wanted to tell you that I'm going to a club tonight. I wondered what he would say or think. Hopefully he won't feel too dejected. But Jimmy wasn't really the controlling type. He told me to have fun and not accept drinks offered by strangers. I was to read this message only an hour later.

My phone rang as soon as we hopped off the tram. It was mum. Calling at 7pm was unusual. She missed me, i reckon. I miss her too. So what are you doing now? She asked. Oh, i just had dinner with friends. I felt like standing in the middle of the road and killing myself. I will keep your favourite almond biscuits and bring it along in September. She said. I choked. I was close to seeing white lights already. We talked about work, and classes, and we laughed. She was happy i was settling down so soon, and that i've even found a job. Dad is almost home, she said, announcing the end of our conversation. Alright mum, will call you guys soon!

The knots in my stomach tightened. My legs were becoming heavy. I wanted to turn back. More so when I saw the young and hip crowd waiting in a long line just to get in. Youths like me, as lost and confused as I am. But they probably not as confused and nervous as I was feeling then. I felt as if i was wearing a chicken suit. You don't belong here. I told myself. Thankfully, the rules of the game decided where i had to go. The bouncer denied my entry despite Han's persuasion. It's the rules, she has to have a pass, mate.

That's my ticket home. I apologized over and over again and told him to go ahead without me. He couldn't mask his disappointment. I felt bad but it didn't felt right. Like an apparition, mum and jimmy's image floated in front of me.

I hopped on absent mindedly on the next tram I could catch. It wasn't moving but I'm sure it was headed towards the city. It's been cold and wet lately, huh? I said, engaging in a small talk with a lady in front of me. The driver was no where to be seen. Ms X from Brisbane and I conversed a little, our topic random and disconnected. The tram started to move and I chose to remain quiet again, conscienciously wondering if I talked too much.

The tram started to chug along its tracks. As we passed unfamiliar buildings, I started to feel uncomfortable. Ms X did say she was from Brunswick...was this tram heading towards Brunswick? Crap. Did I hop on to the wrong tram? Two Koreans mentioned something about the city and hurriedly jumped off the tram. It didn't look like the city I knew so I decided to stay put. Ms X assured me that it will pass through Carlton. Which it did. And she was kind enough to inform me when we were at the Royal Melbourne Hospital. You do know where you're going right? I think this is the nearest to Carlton. she said.

No, i dont know where i am or where i'm going.

But i smiled and said, yeah, i'll be alright. Thank you and nice meeting you, i said, offering a handshake.

It was past 12am. My only assets were my keys, phone and a dollar. I was wearing a skirt under my black trenchcoat and i felt chilly. Where do i go now? 7-11. An old man, with black crooked teeth and grey wispy beard, pointed me to the tram that heads back to Elizabeth Street. He could've passed as a beggar, yet he articulated well and walked in full, fast stride. For a moment, i wondered where he was heading to after he disappeared into the night.

Two young Vietnamese girls and a man who looked like a Bulgarian were laughing and teasing each other at the tram stop. They must've just gotten off work. An Asian diaspora, just like me, fighting for a slice off the white men's cake.

The tram finally arrived and the bald driver looked at me with a twinkle in his eyes. Suzie Wong is probably lost, he must've thought. He could've been right, only Suzie Wong is a stereotype that Asian girls my generation have outlived and outsmarted. But i was too tired to fight. I just wanted to get home. I just wanted to go online and ask how your day went. I temporarily forgot I was angry about that same old issue.

The tram reached the south point of Victoria Market. I heeded the cue and hopped off. The dead silent of the stalls that is brought to live during the day sent a slight chill up my spine. I doubled the speed of my pace.

20 minutes of walking led me home. I emptied my clutch. Turned on my laptop and signed in.

Darling, i'm home.

Saturday, March 7, 2009

TGIF

Friday. Part 1.

It's the day of the audition. As soon as I got off work, I went home, changed into a comfortable pants and reached for the audition monologue. I stared straight down on the script and started fidgeting. Should I? Yes I should. No, I shouldn't. Yea, I shouldn't. But i promised. So, I should. But what if... nah, just go. I wanted to crawl out of my skin, hide under covers. I don't remember being this vulnerable. I finally decided to shut the angel and devil up and decide as I walk.

I sped up across the streets. The girl from the audition rang me up to confirm i was coming. NO! was what I meant to say. Instead, I said, yes i'm actually on my way now, with the best Cantonese I could utter. The devil, perched on my shoulders, started to device a plan. Walk into the audition room and tell them you're not feeling well. No, i don't want to do that. Though, my tummy was feeling a little sick then. Well, he said, you can probably tell them you'd just like to observe and not participate. Yea, i could do that, agreeing with the devil. I can't believe you gave yourself all the big talk before and now you're backing out, angel sneered. I chose to ignore his remark.

I'm just not prepared.

I heard myself telling Felix, the director. Why? Why would you just want to participate? I mean, you came all the way here...? She asked, squinting her eyes sideways, as if I told her I just descended from Planet Mars. Stupid devil, i knew he's no good. I knew she would asked me this obvious question. I heard myself blabbering some lame excuses, trying to justify my meekness. The more i talked, the more i wanted to leave.

Once i finished my 30 second speech, she smiled at me knowingly, as if I were a child who lied about having tummy ache just to skip school for a day. Come join in, you'll have fun don't worry, it's not a competition, we're here to play some games and have fun. I wanted to shrink through my diapers. I took a deep breath and tell myself to just let go and have as much as fun as i can.

The next thing I know we were engaged in a series of warm ups, theatre sports and breathing exercises. Eight of us, three hopeful actors, side by side in a circle. Then came the reading part. Felix told us to give it a go once we're ready. I didn't think I did the best i could. But i was relieved and glad i tried. At least I tried.

At the end of the audition, Felix started explaining the plot and pointed out the criteria the casts have to have. It's a black humour play, centralised around Hong Kong society and culture. It is made up of 62 scenes, each scene lasting up to 2 minutes. Hence, each cast has to be flexible to juggle various roles.

She wanted to know how much we wanted to be in this play and how much are we willing to sacrifice.

I thought hard as L started to question herself about not being able to relate to the character despite coming from Hong Kong herself. I don't see myself as a true Hongkie, she said. I listened attentively as B told everyone that acting has always been her dream. Why, why do you like being on stage? Felix asked. I don't know. B replied in a soft voice.

Then I said. I said. To be honest, acting has always been my dream too. So much that i've been defensive about it (I reckon they didn't understood what this meant, but I hadnt had the time to explain). But I wasn't given the chance to pursue this dream. So, i would say this is a personal challenge for me. Although i know, to say it is a personal challenge may be wrong and selfish too because it is the dream of everyone involved in this production. But i'm really forcing myself out of my comfort zone. If L said she can't relate to the characters, then i'm far worst. I'm from Malaysia, i don't speak Cantonese and I know nothing about acting. But i also believe we can only learn and grow once we step out of our comfort zone. I like acting, theatre. I like it because it amazes me how our voices, body and facial expressions can coordinate together to send across a message. I like coming into a zone, leaving myself behind, yet not all of me, and bringing essence of me into the character i play. I like finding a relation to a character, because I believe, at the center of humanity lies a core. A common bond that we all share, regardless of our skin colour or where we come from. We cry over the same things. Even crying is a shared behaviour. I know nothing but I'm willing to be rolled over and stretched thin just to learn.

I was all over the place when I finished. But at this point, it really didnt matter to me anymore. The outcome is secondary because i learnt a lot from Felix. The audition was not like any auditions. It was more of a sharing and learning session and I enjoyed every second of the 3 hours it lasted. I came out inspired by Felix and glad that I didnt walk away instead.

It was worth it. But it was 9 20pm now. and i was cold and hungry....

(to be continued : Friday-Part 2)

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Between the devil and the deep blue sea

It has been a windy day in Melbourne today. Last night the Victorian Police unit send a warning message to each mobile phone regarding extreme weather and strong winds. The weather was indeed extreme. We were greeted by a light shower early in the morning (i got partially wet walking to campus), dry and dusty afternoon, light drizzle again in the evening and strong winds throughout the day. The wind is somehow not like the ones back home in Malaysia as it was sandy and had a blade-like chill to it. I finally understood why sunnies were not only fashionable but essential---for the first time in my lfe i actually felt like wearing mine (i usually dont for i dont know what reasons?) because sand and stones were getting into my eyes.

One of the things I still cant seem to get a hold of is the Melbourne weather. Somehow i am always under or over dressed. For example, last week, i wore long pants and jumpers out on a sunny day and immediately felt like an alaskan caught in sahara. Then, vowing to not make the same mistake again, i opted to wear my mini jean skirt and a T-shirt, totally oblivious to the fact that the weather was max 21degress that day. Again, i felt like a bimbo stranded in Mt Alpines. Then today, I pulled off a Marilyn Monroe stunt while waiting at a T-junction. The sudden gush of wind just decided to pull a prank on me and offered the bunch of Chinese guys across the road a sneak preview up my skirt. I managed to draw the curtains (or so i hope). There's nothing sexy nor flirtatious about that,mind you! Not when your hair is all in a mess, both hands are busy holding down your skirt and books while you're bracing the strong winds.

Most importantly,there were times when I felt the wind was practically blowing me off my center. Physically and mentally. I have to confess, the first two days of uni has been hectic and intimidating. Especially during Writing and editing media texts classes. Suddenly I felt like a little primary school kid back at my first day of school. No, come to think of it, I think I was braver then as compared to now. RMIT courses are really demanding and i know i've really got to push myself hard. It's the understanding of a whole new culture and relating myself to it. At the same time, it's about getting them to relate to mine. How as a communicator, am I going to convince this new crowd whose culture seems so far off from mine? Find a balance i suppose. Find the core of all humanity that every human being can relate to. Like coca cola. Everyone can relate to coca cola. Hence the things that i bring to the table must be like coca cola.

It makes last year seem like a walk in the clouds. That said, i really enjoy what I'm learning and the world of communications seem to fascinate me more. I just got to be more matured, more culturally sensitive and observant to raise the bar for myself.