March On, Little Soldier of Sanity

You guys! I totally haven’t really talked about my life in like, the past 6 posts. O Em Gee.

So yesterday I attended the first reading for my short play, rags & Stitches. It was me, the actors (there were supposed to be 7, but only 6 came) and the director, K (another director whose name starts with K! Flashes of The Illusion). It was so cool and awesome and weird. We all got along really well, and everyone’s so nice. K looks like Vanessa Williams in a totally good way, and she’s all glam and grown up and I can’t believe she’s still in uni and not sipping Cosmopolitans or something in Manhattan. Or some club in Melbourne, whichever. They read through the play, with me reading the lines for Insecurity (a character, fyi) and it was almost an out of body experience reading my own words while hearing them being read out by different people for the first time ever. This has never happened before and it just blew me away. Their reactions to the lines, their thoughts on what the play was about, their favourite choice quotes. Its just the best feeling, I think. Having put so much of me and the Rags according to me in there, and to see it grow as a play into this whole different but familiar thing. Its hard to even describe.

I loved how some of the girls who chose a preferred character just slipped right into that character and embodied it well. I mean, if this is what we’re getting for the first reading, then the final product is going to be the shiznit, guaranteed.

At one point, K said “And everyone’s so aesthetically pleasing too!” which was funny and true. I’m excited! I’m really going to try and videotape it and put it up somehow. Or burn it onto CDs and mail them to you guys (if you want to watch it). It will happen.

Other than R&S, I’m also involved with Beatnik cabaret, happening this May 27th. Its this show set in a grungy beatnik basement revolving around this waiter who makes a clay sculpture out of a cat he accidentally kills and becomes the talk of the town in beatnik world. Then things take a turn for the worst, and drugs and a dead cop and rejection come into the mix. We’re parodying the media’s view of the beatniks and the stereotypes of the Beat movement : berets, bongos, cigarettes, bad poetry. So we’ve got all sorts of poems and songs and medleys being performed throughout so the end product is going to be super jazzy and cool, I think. I spent all of Wednesday afternoon cleaning up the space and on Saturday I plan to look for two toy cats for the unfortunate kitty featured in the Cabaret.

I’m the stage manager and doing some similar things that I did for The Illusion (I’m dealing with costumes too) but the style is way less different. I can’t believe how laid back everything is and how I’m just going with the flow. On the one hand, I both loved and loathed the intensiveness of my personal Illusion experience. But on the other, this loosey-gooseyness is pretty nice too.

MSA (Malaysian Students Association) is still chugging along. I had to make a poster for this talk we’re having next week. Had to post those up on pillars and on the blog, had to email everyone, had to attend the fornightly Clubs and Societies meeting, which this week turned into an outright hostile debate that kept us there for a good solid hour and gave me a headache. Those meetings always get so…political, what with various parties quoting the “Constitution” of C&S and whatever. Gist of it is, those meetings are mostly for clubs to request grants for their clubs to be extracted from their share of the communal money pool, so to speak. So someone presents their grant, and the Council (the rest of us) get to ask questions and express dissent or approval. I’m not even going to talk about what the hubbub was about last Wednesday but I’m so glad I won’t be free for the next meeting. Reclaim my Wednesday night for once.

With all this extra-curricular stuff going on, I’ve been struggling a bit to make time for my assignments. I have two essays left and one group presentation for Drama. The group thing is going ok, we’re doing Hamlet’s last scene and presenting it through three different directorial styles. I like my group and our dynamic, but I just hope we can get enough time to rehearse and get it all together. I also have lines to learn, cause I’m playing Osric (I hope I spelt that right).

For Cinema, I get to write about two episodes of Arrested Development (wish Dem wasn’t in the mountains, then I could make him jealous with this information) ! Just need to pick which 2. And hopefully get my hands on some library books before they all get snapped up.

And English…yeah. Keep putting that off.

So I’m busy, and I actually mean it. I’m excited about everything going on around me, but there’s also that constant white noise of anxiety happening in the background. And my holidays are coming round so fast, so I hope I don’t crash from the inactivity after all this buzzing about.

Anyway, that’s what’s been going on. Thought you should know. Take care! Trade you my enthusiasm for some serenity?

OPEN LETTER TO MY CLEANING LADY (WHO VACUUMS ON THURSDAYS)

Hi.

I don’t know your name, but we’ve said hello and good morning to each other in the past. Also, there was that one time you said I was beautiful while I was near the stove making spaghetti. This was after you asked me where I was from, and whether or not I spoke Chinese (because you knew Malaysians that spoke Chinese). This was unrelated to the compliment, which greatly flattered me and made me flustered enough to turn away and awkwardly stoke my pasta.

Anyway, my name is on the door of my room, but it’s in some weird writing I kind of regret, and you might not know how to pronounce it. I don’t blame you in the slightest.

You come in every day to clean our floor (I’m not sure if your services extend to the rest of the tower, although now that I think about it, they must. What a job that must entail) at roughly the same time. 8 or 9, I’m guessing. I can’t be sure because at both these times I am usually sleeping. Except for Monday and Tuesday where my day starts with 10am classes, the rest of my week usually goes by without me experiencing any mornings. I can make a rough guess because of the noise I hear outside, you bustling about in the closet near the kitchen, the door slamming repeatedly as either you or the other cleaning staff clears out our recycling and gross leftovers that we threw away (there are some real food wasters on this floor, don’t you think?). I don’t mind the noise. I live in an Australian dorm, of which my building is the closest to the on-campus bar and also the Arts Centre where this place holds its events. I’m used to it.

But there is a noise that kind of scares the bejeebus out of me, and it makes its appearance every Thursday morning.

Now, every Thursday I have my drama seminar at 12. It’s a two hour class, and my only class for the day. There’s usually no reading to do for it (I do it beforehand anyway, Cleaning Lady. I’m a diligent Malaysian) so I sleep in until 11 and then shower and have a bowl of cereal before I leave for class. I don’t expect you to know this. I don’t expect you to care.

However, I’m beginning to suspect this schedule of mine is not really fitting in to your schedule, which apparently involved vacuuming the rooms.

The first time we crossed paths over the vacuum, I heard you rooting at my door while I was asleep, so I climbed out of bed and opened it for you, rather groggily. You were really shocked (for which I am sorry) and then you thought my being in my room while you were trying to vacuum it meant that I was one of those kids that didn’t want to make use of the cleaning service, or had weird privacy issues or whatever. I hesitantly explained to you that it wasn’t that, I would very much like a weekly vacuum what with my weekly carpet build up of bread crumbs and hair and dead skin. I just didn’t want you to do it right now, seeing as I was in the middle of sleeping. You nodded profusely, and said I didn’t want a vacuum this week and we agreed to disagree as you moved on to another room.

The second time, I was just exiting my room for a shower when I saw you three doors down with that big orange vacuum. I desperately tried to convey that I was going to take a shower and if you could please vacuum the room while I did so, so I wouldn’t get in the way, that would be awesome. I think you understood. This language barrier is getting to be a real pain in the ass, isn’t it? I’m never very good at expressing myself anyhow.

Unfortunately, my timing was completely off, and I step out of the bathroom all showered and ready to dress just as you hit my room. You were too busy with the wires to see me get out so I quickly duck back in and check out my forehead break-outs for 15 minutes until I’m sure you’re finished with my room. This was tedious and awkward, at best. But it worked, and I quickly went back into my clean, vacuumed room to change.

So what I want to say is this : I’m sorry for being such a flake, and a slacker. I don’t see any of my other floor mates having to have the same discourse you and I have had. They’re all out of their rooms (learning, having lives, existing outside the four walls) when you do your work, and I’m still there, impeding your efficiency. And its not like I hate cleanliness, even! I positively love it.

However, I just don’t see you changing your schedule for me, and I accept that. I will continue to duck back into bathrooms and telling you that NO! I DO WANT A VACUUM, I DO! It’s a song and dance we’ve both unwittingly signed up for. Thank God you think I’m beautiful, right?

Sincerely,

Syar

(Second room from the left)

Ed : I wrote this before we changed cleaning ladies. I have no idea what the current one’s stance in on my looks. I don’t much intend to find out.

Big Sis : but i get to read first because i have cancer
Syar : *rolls eyes*
Big Sis : privilaged u see
Syar : eja privilege pun tak boleh (can’t even spell privilege)
Syar : ish
Big Sis : privilege
Big Sis : issit?
Syar : eh
Big Sis : issssit?
Syar : I also don’t know now
Syar : privelege?
Syar : that doesn’t sound right
Big Sis : haaaaaaaaa
Syar : or look right
Syar : its privilege!
Syar : it is
Big Sis : hah!
Big Sis : i smart
Syar : no, you spelt it wrong
Syar : then you made me doubt my spelling
Big Sis : then i got it right
Syar : no you didn’t!!
Big Sis : yeah…beaaatch..scroll up and see
Syar : you spelt it AFTER I spelt it right
Syar : copy cat
Syar : scroll that!
Big Sis : I HAVE CANCER!
Syar : yeah, and you can’t spell
Syar : oooh, BURN!
Big Sis : well u have uneven toes
Big Sis : SO THERE!!
Syar : yeah, but I don’t have cancer. ZING!
Syar : man, I’m on fire
Big Sis : awwwwwwwwwwww….
Big Sis : i can’t believe u said that
Syar : oh shut up, don’t pretend like you’re offended
Syar : if I can’t say these things to you, who am I going to say them to?
Syar : its our version of lurve
Big Sis : it hurts…deep
Big Sis : *points to Brenda*..right there
Big Sis : she took one for the team
Syar : no
Syar : no she didn’t
Syar : she came in and infected the team with cancer
Syar : infected it with her giant squishy pumpkin of cancer
Big Sis : that’s right….she’s such an ALBANIAN WHORE

Why an Albanian whore?

Big Sis : i don’t know..those 2 words just go together

It’s funny because SHE HAS CANCER.

——————————————–

After copy pasting this, I kind of leaned back from the monitor. Obviously, my sister and I have a very sharp, silly type of humour and this is how we banter. How we’ve always bantered. But cancer is serious business, and no matter how much I can laugh at the stupid things we say, I think about her going through chemo, having to shave her head, having needles jabbed through her skin for constant blood tests. The nausea, the fatigue, the pain, the hassle. And the very real fear I’ve managed to squeeze into one tiny thumbnail that still exists, rattling in my heart. The fear that things won’t be ok. And Universe, hear this, if it ever comes to that, I will personally kill you, but if it ever did *knock wood times a million*, would I regret posting these snippets?

No. I don’t think so. It’s real and unvarnished now, and it’ll be as real and as unvarnished any time I read it in the future. This is the way things are. I can live with that. And she will too.

Today I met Neil Gaiman. I did, I really, really did. He was right in front of me, messy hair and everything!

I found out Neil would be in town a month or so ago, from a post on his blog. I had set aside this Monday to skive off all three of my lectures as soon as I found out he’d be speaking and signing books at the State Library of Victoria. I have a movie screening every Monday, and for a while I thought I’d be watching A Scanner Darkly on the 5th (today) so I went DVD-hunting, in preparation to skive so I could go attend the talk and signing. This led to a fruitless search, a desperate combing of the handout, a discovery of an error in the handout, a miraculous discovery that led me to miss Die Hard 4 (yawn, Bruce Willis) instead of A Scanner Darkly (Robert Downey Jr! I will not forsake thee).

It’s been a great day. I almost made the super-friendly clerk at Borders faint because he was making chit chat about Neil Gaiman (”So, you’ve read Pratchett, right?” Natch, duh) and he didn’t know Neil was in town. That was a nice bit of NG-fan camaraderie there. I found my way to the right library entrance eventually, and found myself in line with a girl who almost looked like Neil, who had the coolest spider-web earrings and blouse.

I’m not going to lie, the minute he walked in and waited by the side of the stage for his time to go on, I kind of had to clamp my hand over my mouth and keep from squealing. Everyone else was so sedate too, they waited until he was introduced good and proper to clap, which was great and civil and all, but I just felt like standing up and pointing and going “Oh my God, it’s Neil Gaiman, he’s here, he’s here!” Yeah. My groupie instinct went off big time.

He was, pleasantly, exactly as I expected him to be. He made jokes, he spoke in the familiar voice I’ve heard from audio files and his hair was as messy as he claimed it to be. He read to us “20% into Chapter 4″ (I think) of The Graveyard Book, which was awesome (he brought the whole book in large A3 spreadsheets, which he left by him so we could peruse it while we were in line for the signing, it looks lovely).

Then the signing. I honestly half-thought I wouldn’t meet him, so I didn’t think at all about what I would say, if anything. Me and this woman in line earlier talked a bit how he said everyone at the Australian signings had been asking him about his bees (he has bees, fyi). And the woman said “Damn, that’s what I was going to ask him!”. I had nothing to ask the guy. He answers questions on his blog on a more or less daily basis anyway. I felt if I ever had the urgent need to get Neil’s opinion on something, I could shoot an email and hope to hear back in a few months, which is great. Thankfully, the rest of the audience weren’t as unprepared as me during the Q&A, and we had some interesting conversation going on.

When it came to my turn, I handed him a brand new copy of Neverwhere (which I had just bought at Borders, and is one of many of his works I have not yet read - am at page 39 now. He signed that “Syar, Mind the gap!”, which at first I thought was random, but Neverwhere is set in London, and is about slipping through cracks. Then I got him to sign a postcard for my sister, which he did. It says “To Dzeti, wish you were here.” He also said I had a very nice name. I left the place grinning, all the way down to the Yarra River where I had my lunch.

Sadly, I have no usable pictures of Neil himself, as all of them are blurry, and one is dark and gives him red and green eyes. I cleaned that up as best I could, but it still looks like he has white dots in his eyes. That wasn’t intentional, but the best my Picasa red-eye tuner can do. Apologies.

My sister’s postcard, with a backdrop of the beautiful city of Melbourne. Because I really do wish you were here. And Neil does too!

And just to round this awesome post about some of the most awesome minutes of my life, I do believe you guys have not yet seen the picture of me petting a crocodile. Voila!

Remember when I wanted to be adopted by Oprah and Neil Gaiman? That dream hasn’t really changed.

So, I didn’t advertise this the day it came out, because I had a strange bout of restraint for some reason. Don’t worry, I’ve shaken it off. Anyway, an old friend from the newspaper I used to intern at emailed me, as she sometimes does, with a survey for me to fill out. It was on patriotism in Malaysian youth, so I dashed off some harried, inarticulate responses.

Next thing you know, I’m quoted! I’m making the news in MALAYSIA while I’m sittin’ pretty in SYARSTRALIA! Tell me *that* doesn’t make me all that and a bag of chips.

I’m all ranty and “liberal” in it, for Malaysian standards anyway. You can find me here, along to a sucky picture my friend Shaiful (also quoted) must’ve dug out from his phone. Suckage. Also, if you click on the “Screenshots” tab above, and scroll down, you can see the thumbnail I added of the article.

SO. Anyway. This isn’t the big news. Ever since my internship, being in the paper back home has been kind of meh. Although still with a tinge of excitement and pride.

ANYWAY. God. A few days after the article thing came out, the friend who wrote the thing emails me. She says I now have a fan, and forwards me this super amusing email from some dude, who may or may not find me here. (If he had a lick of sense*, he would’ve Googled me, but I have yet to receive any stats on a Google of my full name, or any Facebook/Friendster requests, so…I’m safe, I guess). [sic] all the way for this email, obvs.

I’ve been a little sad about something this week. Namely, the shrinking nature of this blogger circle I (and chances are, you) am (are) a part of.

I started blogging about 3 years ago, proper. And there were many people that I had read or started reading that bolstered my blogging experience. Omar and Jazz were my first tastes when it came to blogs and their potential. Then I turned to their sidebars and then it seemed as if there was no ends to the blogs I could read. So I read, and read and read. And commented. And linked. Most returned the favour, and our little non-exclusive but tight knit network was born.

Seriously, 3 years. I only just realized this fact when I was off being sad.

Some of my favourites are already gone, pretty much definitively. Katie and Lou come tops. Nadia, whom I still talk to everyday, said she hasn’t had anything to blog/write about in ages. So she hasn’t. X just took down his blog (and I’m actually a little hesitant about taking down that link). Omar’s going on blogging hiatus. Andy has not put up a new Douchebag of the Week in many weeks, and his last post sounded like a definitive end, anyway. He might still be posting at his fantasy baseball blog or whatever, but I don’t read that because sorry guys, no awesome blogging is gonna make me care about sports. Dem has long been gone, lost to the depths of Yale, periodically punctuating his absence with reminders that he’s still there. Jon does the same, and keeps surprising us when he comes back. Again and again.

But it’s just not the same.

And don’t get me wrong. I’m not holding their respective RL’s against them, because mainly that is why most of them have quietly “logged off”. Omar and The Wife recently welcomed a new addition to the Phillips family, and I couldn’t be more happy for them. X started being ‘boring’ because he’s off being happy with Brooke. Dem is in love with Yale, his new home, and who can blame him or hold that against him? Katie is newly married (! I hope she doesn’t mind me sharing this fact) and also very happy. Jon just moved states, and is job hunting and is all sorts of real life busy. Quick check shows me I’m right about Andy, so he’s alive and happy with his Fantasy Baseball* team (how does that work exactly? No, don’t tell me, it’ll go over my head anyway).

Also, the blow of their absences is really very much softened ever since the introduction of things like Facebook, and Twitter. Also, things like meeting up in real life, mail packages, personal emails about non-blog things. Friendships have been formed with most, if not all the people in my biggest link list over there in the sidebar. I know things about these people that I feel privileged to know, and cherish the “friends” that have become actual friends over these 3 years. (aww, group hug, anyone?)

And, luckily, there’s still the (totally awesome) (semi**) active bloggers. Cadiz, Jazz, Jam, Glo, Cate, Lia, Luisa, Becky, Chris and Rose. Its not like my reading list has completely withered down to nothing, you know? (Although, boy representation on that list is down to Jam, who is BFFs with Victoria Secret - *wink*, and Chris. Thank goodness for Chris’ metal manliness. J/k, Jam) And I’ve found some great new bloggers even after the initial blogger circle, so that gives me hope too. People are just shifting about, moving on, growing and redefining. Its just what happens, how things go.

I guess my main problem here is that I have not seriously considered not blogging. Its a significant part of my life and my writing, and recently, this year…there’s just been this feeling I had. The buzz of old ideas, reshaping themselves in my head, and the small taste of small new ideas, that feel just ready to break through the soil. I’m going to keep writing, and I hope I’m going to get better. I aim to get better. And this will always be the place I record my highest highs and lowest lows, to share my achievements, mistakes and lessons.

So who do I keep playing to, when the audience really needs to be changing diapers or contemplating their girlfriend having tentacles?

This is where I get selfish. and lazy. Confession time : I don’t want to restart that whole cycle of reading, commenting and linking. As far as I’m concerned, the blogs I read are the good ones. The ones that aren’t all teenage emo crap (ahem, Self) or spam or just lame lameness. And to have to find a good bunch ALL OVER AGAIN? Just shoot me already, y’know? Where am I going to find another Andy? Or another Katie?*** Its just not gonna happen, so don’t even bother ok? PSSSH.

Confession #2 : This is exactly the way I feel about the Ragamuffins I left behind at home (and the one in Canada) and the friends I need in my 2.5 years in Syarstralia. This is my mentality. I’ve been utterly spoilt, because I made my group of best friends as early as age 12. That’s right, made. For me, the Rags have been this fluctuating, expanding and shrinking group of people since forever and after about 5-6 years of teenage angst whatever, we developed a solidity I knew would last me a long, long time. These people know me pretty much inside out. They get me, and they know me and they love me. Where do you go from there, you know? Why would you want to go anywhere after that, is another question I ask myself.

But just like I can’t go on being friendless here (I’d say my level of friendlessness has decreased to about 75%?), I owe it to my writing (if I’m getting serious about this, and changing my view of this blog’s purpose) then I have to be committed to expanding the pool. Or checking out those other pools, to see what it’s like. Or to get out of the pool entirely and check out what’s going on in the mountains or something. I’ll stop this butchered analogy here.

So I’m still sad and mopey. But I’m also happy and loved. And I guess this year (what with the moving and turning 20) seems as good a time as any to start checking out what else is out there. Even if I’m a little scared/lazy.

We’ll always have voles, yellow monkeys, blueberry muffins, foil canoes, Blog Gods and endless group snapshots in our many, illustrious, hilarious comment threads. And thank God for that.

* That header of his is actually really cool.

** Some more active than others, obviously. Its hard to rate these things.

*** The Office, Season 3, Episode 36 : Branch Closing. There is a Michael Scott “monologue” of sorts that can be referred to, if you need a frame of reference for my emotions at this present time. Because I care, I’ll reproduce it here :

Michael: It is an outrage. That’s all. It’s—they’re making a huge, huge mistake. Let’s see Josh replace these people. Let’s see Josh find another Stanley. You think Stanley’s grow on trees? Well, they don’t. There is no Stanley tree. You think the world is crawling with Phyllis’s? Show me that farm, with Phyllis’s and Kevin’s sprouting up all over the place, ripe for the plucking. Show me that farm.

I just got back from donating blood, and I’m feeling good. I did a good deed, everyone was nice to me, I got to drink my weight in orange juice (without the Juno consequences) and they gave me a free muffin, banana AND two pieces of candy. I’m regretting not nabbing more sweets, but I’m elligible to donate again in about 3 months, and I shan’t make the same mistake again.

Also, no fainting this time!

Even the initial finger prick sting didn’t last as long, and even though I thought I was going to die when the needle went in, I didn’t, and the sting didn’t last that long either. Also, even though my blood was slow going at first, the minute the nurse gave me a stress ball, I was a champ blood gusher! So much so, they told me to cool it, because it was a little freaky.

Things I learned (reaffirmed) about my body today :

a) I’m a healthy weight. I’ve gained back whatever weight I lost in the stress storm that was The Illusion (and Nadia did my BMI calculations a few nights ago, I’m all good).

b) I had a good blood pressure reading.

c) despite my freezing hands (2 nurses commented on this), I have good blood circulation (the first lady extracted blood TWICE from my spliced fingertip to make sure). Downside, I now have no excuse for freezing hands.

d) When confronted with the sight of something happening to me that would normally make me squirm had I seen it on TV, I get the urge to laugh uncontrollably. This happened during that first breast exam, and it happened when the lady was squeezing my finger for more blood. I giggled, and felt my eyes getting bigger.

e) I have good hemoglobin levels.

Sadly, since I *just* came to this fair land of theirs two months ago, and the country I left is well known for malaria, they can’t use my red blood cells, but they can use my plasma. Ah well. Next time, it’s the whole enchilada. No malaria is gonna hold me down.

Here is a picture of my cool looking bandage :

And here is an unnecessary picture of me, in my room, glowing from the act of doing something good, and possibly just light headed from the lowered amount of blood in my body, to refute anybody that says I’m lying about this whole blood donating thing. See, the bandage is right there! And my donor card is totally in the mail.

Now I’m going to go and finish off that purple sweet and call it a day.