Can one hear silence? To feel a sense of oblivion...trapped in a vacuum. Your existence reduced to an echo in an attic. To feel weightless and spiritless. Are these possible?
posted by Michelle at
9:47 PM
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I know I should be tucked in bed now but I can't. Read a note from a friend who had left for the states and after writing a reply, I'm really emotional. Let me take in a deep breath before continuing...
She has been a very dear friend through the years. I can't say the same for myself though. My ill-temper is testimony to that. All the more I'm thankful for every good thing that has happened to me. No matter how I've changed outwardly, I'm still the same old milo-addict you knew.
My chum is not the only reason for the ususual sudden emotional outburst on a friday night. Under circumstances that I'll rather wish not happen, I learned of the untold stories behind the marriage of five sisters. Women who have outweathered the decades with their spouse with offspring aplenty. Many would talk about their children with a passionate spark in their eyes. Their maternal love evident even in the clipped tone and the shadows that flicked across their eyes. But few can say the same for their marriage. A marriage of love in their youth that is breaking at the seams. Some are holding together, but barely; while some have sunk.
A woman in her middle age with kids on her plate, torn of a family and hardearned savings. A brave single mother who marched against crashing tides of community ostracism and severance of family ties to bring a child she'd nursed from birth with all the love she has. A resilient woman who knows no limits in providing for her family. A stern, virtuous woman married to a loafer, but raised her children into fighters with a stiff upper lip. A simple woman who met a simple man and live a simple life together.
To the plight of these women, my mum described in four words "nothing they can do". Women will always lose to men without the gift of physical strength and a rich coffer. Are we really that helpless? Looking between the folds, the options they've are few if not non-existent.
Their harrowing tales have convinced me to renew my vow to stay clear of marriage. If I ever sound unsympathetic to your relationship problems, please forgive me. Perhaps it's because I've seen the worst of it that bgr is none but trivia.
posted by Michelle at
1:38 AM
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Currently carrying Anil's Ghost by Michael Ondaatje in my satchel. This is the second time I'm reading it within the space of a year. Two chapters into the book and the virgin impression I had of it is slowly fading.
A classic is a book that has never finished saying what it has to say.
- Italo Calvino
Will write a well-deserving review at the end of it all...
posted by Michelle at
10:41 PM
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I chanced upon Bergmann's gallery today. Her paintings struck a note in me. Melancholy, silent pain, lost dreams infused in every stroke. She seems to be in search of something...sometimes it seems she has found it as colours dance flamboyantly aross the canvas but her euphoria is short-lived. The strokes grow heavier, using the cheery colours as a facade. Other than the works made from mirrors, the hue blue dominates all her paintings in various shades. Bergmann's identity remains a puzzle. But everything clicks into place after reading this write-up:
The Inner Blue
Preface to Dagmar Bergmann's painting
Born of migrating parents in post-war Germany, raised in a refugee camp up to the age of 7, Dagmar Bergmann places her works between secret and broken identity, between the color blue so seldom seen in the northern skies of her childhood and the existence of a hidden past which her parents, as refugees from East Germany, never wished to discuss.
Those impossible memories are the shattered mirrors with which she made her first mobiles, and which she later incorporated in her blue paintings. Mirrors of a splintered yet unchangeable identity, the razor sharp edge of that which is broken and which can only be softened by an infinite blue.
Born to migration through no choice of her own, Dagmar Bergmann takes her inner landscapes in search of a blue from elsewhere to explain ‘hereness’.
Jacques-Marie Aurifeille Aix-en-Provence (1999)
The depth of Bergmann's art and inner landscapes are infinite. Though I may never understand the totality of her life except the superficiality my immature eyes show me, I'm more learned than yesterday.
I've put together a selection of Bergmann's works. Embark on your own journey through abstract lyricism. Bon voyage.
posted by Michelle at
1:33 AM
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By the word of truth, I'm obliged to pen this entry because of one fair maiden by the name of gracia. Her generousity with printed images has thrown me off balance quite literally. I'm still struggling to arrange my jaws together. I suppose I've to start learning to look at myself and not recoil in absolute shock. Now that sounds almost impossible...I need more training, gracia...
posted by Michelle at
1:10 AM
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My 2nd hourly time-out. Hit by an "intellectual tsunami". Barely recovered consciousness but I absolutely must caution all women (and men alike) of a lurking, sexist creature bearing a XY genotype.
Ladies and gentlemen, meet Lawrence Summers, brilliant economist, current Harvard's president, former Treasury secretary.
Women aren't succeeding because they lack "innate ability" in math and science.
On behalf of all sisters around the world, thank you for that highly informative glitz, Mr Boss.
Warning: Not for the faint-hearted. Please stop immediately if you experience breathlessness or violent desires. Direct the potential destructive physical force on an inanimate object preferably a pillow. Your computer LCD is not guilty of any of the above charges.
Sex and Science
Harvard's controversial president struck a nerve on campuses around the country when he questioned whether women have the brains for math and physics.
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/6856839/site/newsweek
Guy Of The Storm
The brash, brilliant Summers put his foot in it-again. Is the former Treasury secretary a blunt leader, a liability, or both?
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/6856840/site/newsweek
Different or Not?
Larry Summers was wrong. But that doesn't mean men and women are the same. http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/6854347/site/newsweek
posted by Michelle at
2:42 AM
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A prized find made during one of my countless French leave while labouring over an extremely distasteful paper.
Newsweek, Jan 31st issue (2005)
Welcome to Girls' State
For women seeking office, Washington is the hot spot.
An excerpt that pretty much sum up my sentiment:
All three of Washington's top women have compelling life stories. Murray, a homemaker, was so angry about education-budget cuts that she got herself elected to the state Senate. Gregoire started her career as a clerk typist, put herself through law school, then became a crusading anti-tobacco attorney general. Cantwell, the first college graduate in her family, made (and lost) her own fortune as a software executive during the 1990s. "When I ran for Senate in 1992, I had women saying to me, 'Don't you think a man should do that?' or 'Put your name on the ballot as Pat, not Patty'," says Murray, who was re-elected to a third term last year. In Washington, no one dares to offer that advice now. Women rule.
An earlier issue dated Jan 10 , 2005 celebrates the elevated status of women as well. Our sisters in the former epitome of deep-seated conservatism and over-bearing patriachy China are finally making a headway for themselves, in the right places.
Whether this sudden enthusiasm in women's rights is an overhype or a truthful congratulatory note, I'm proud of us gals! Watch out guys, soon you'd have to hold up the corporate glass ceiling with your golf clubs. Women rule.
Cheers, petites amies!
posted by Michelle at
1:38 AM
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Jan 25, 2005. This day is going down in the record. The day of absolute demolition. A reality check. Taking a saying out of context, "Sticks and stones will break my bones but trials will never hurt me." Brought my laptop out on a learning voyage and I've never felt as satisfied as today. I love making little discoveries on my own and today I found aplenty.
Mark Twain once wrote that "heaven was copied after Mauritius." I'm building a Mauritius now...complete with lush sugarcane fields, jagged volcanoes, azure waters on soft white sand, and swaying palms. And I think I just heard the bamboo windchimes on the balcony playing the night serenade of the ocean maiden. The notes still resounding in my mind...
posted by Michelle at
9:39 PM
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Before I retire for the night, let me empty my whirling thoughts. Tonight or this morning's theme is children! The little monkeys who raid the cookie jar when you turn your back, the stubborn donkeys who must have that giant Pooh bear, the chirpy angels who crawl on your tummy in the morning...what can we do without them?
Children see more than grown-ups do. My 5-year-old brother can sense atmosphere change in the room like a radar. He neutralises the charging tension or brooding shroud with his sackful of antics. And oh my, aren't we enchanted by my darling christopher robin? *Grins*
The birth of christopher has thrown the family into ecstasy and mayhem. Gone is the quietness and order. We've grown attuned to his endless chatter and sounds of Disney playhouse cartoons from the tube. On the days chris goes shopping with dad, the household swings to silence. And we ask each other, "Isn't the house so quiet?"
Children just have this irresistable charm on adults. God has made them to be loved. Their laughter is infectious and their baby scent is full of sunshine and goodness. We can't help but love them. And children know how to love just as much too.
However on some meadows and orchards, children cannot be seen. Behind the curtains, some children cry through the darkness. In some rundown shacks, children are slaughtered inhumanely for their organs. On dingy neon streets, children peddle their ware to preying paedophiles. In affluent cosmopolitan cities, latchkey children return to an empty home. Our angels are trapped in every imaginable slit of society. But I'm powerless to stop this tragedy.
The African countries are deeply embroiled in civil wars. Likewise for Israel and the Palestine. In Africa there're child soldiers; In the Middle East there're child suicide bombers. Some have barely reached puberty. But here they are, put at the forefront of a war. A concept that escapes their understanding but taught to them in the hard way.
In The Smoke Jumper, a pair of twin brothers under the age of 12 were captured by the radical troops and forced to commit atrocities beyond our imagination. They raped their mother and sisters in succession and clubbed them to death, one by one. Burnt their home, village, and neighbours to blackened remains. This brutal unspeakable sin was to 'toughen' them up and severe all secular ties. When the children grew too weak to fight, they were left in the bushes to wilt.
Perhaps we cannot prevent this world from being a world in which children are tortured. But we can reduce the number of tortured children. And if you don’t help us, who else in the world can help us do this? -Albert Camus
With this, I thank god for giving me a zoo of siblings. I can't believe how lucky I am.
posted by Michelle at
4:57 AM
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Browsing through online mag has crawled to my fav-pastime list. And I've found some great mags! Not only are they a pleasure to read, they boost my ego once in a while. Haha..here's an example.
From The Ladies Home Journal:
The Universally Flattering Workout Outfit: A pair of straight-leg or boot-cut workout pants in a dark color and a fitted tank or tee.
Hmm...in that light, I definitely fit into the gym style hippie list. Cheers!
Joke aside, women's mags are not bimbo staple. Women's mag are like crystals. Some speak to you...you recognise them at first sight. Some speak a different tongue...think MarieClaire meets punkgirl. Finding the right mag is like finding a good, old girlfriend for the moments in between.
My adolescent years have revolved around low self esteem. A consequence of my body image. Growing up among reed-thin friends and thinner-than-before twiggies on the tube and fashion spread is a constant challenge. I'm an awkward fit. From the tried-and-tested diet and exercise regime to the orthodox slimming pills and mild eating disorders, I've tried them all. Looking back now, how silly I had been.
While browsing through a Christianity bookstore with a chum some time ago, a book written for kids Low self-esteem caught my attention. I flipped to the first page without much expectation but left the bookstore with restored confidence and a smile. God makes all of us different because He has greater plans for us. He believes our acheievements are beyond our body. Think Simon Birch, the little boy with a bigger-than-life-size heart. Imagine if God has made everyone into perfect Brad Pitt and Catherine Zeta-Jones. We feel awkward when we bump into someone who wears the same outfit as us. What more of staring at our mirror images everywhere, everyday of our lives. We're beautiful not of the face we've but of the warm smile we give, the sturdy shoulder our loved ones can always fall back on, the great heart that loves all unconditionally. Given a choice, I want to be a beautiful plain-Jane-next-door rather an ugly and cold diva.
I shared this reflection not in praise of christianity but of life philosophy. I believe in the goodness of manna from heaven. It comes from all ends of the world. All that depends is how willing are we to receive it. The values I have learnt, I keep and share, and hoped to live by these values everyday of my life.
In the crazy life I'm leading, these little things from heaven are like an angel's touch. I feel loved.
We're born beautiful. Make-up and haute couture accentuate our positives and make us even more beautiful. Strong faith and values keep our mind, heart and soul beautiful.
Stumbling upon Barbara Brickner's interview was a godsent gift as well. Please scroll to the next entry to see her photograph. What came to your mind? Another typical hollywood glamour girl?
Yes, you're partially right. She's a catwalk legend. A cover-girl. A diva. And an inspiration to plus-size girls. Brickner is a size 12 plus-size model . Size 12?! I believe you're taking a second long look at her now. I'm not lying. She is a beautiful size 12, and proud of it too.
"I love that young girls are looking at us and are inspired in a way...I love that I can talk about my body with pride now. I love that this job helped my own attitude about size. I love that my daughter will have a chance to love her body, no matter the size, in a way that I didn't have an opportunity to because of our societal views."
"...beauty can come in all sizes. It is a state of mind really. I am so blessed to be able to share my story with people I work with, friends and family, but most importantly it's about these girls. The fact that being a plus model might change a young girl's perception is really the most honorable thing I can do with my accomplishments as a model."
Reading Barbara's story took my breath away and put my mind on a standstill. An identity revolution in motion.
After close to two decades of self-depreciating and self-loathing, I'm proud of my body. I love myself for who I am. I'm beautiful.
posted by Michelle at
4:56 PM
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I've taken to photography recently. Pictures of still-life, of shadow play, of impossible combo... Pictures that speak volumes. However only the au naturel element appeals to my picture diet. Dynamics and spontaneity. These I value. One day I'll want to be the eyes behind the lens and show you my world.
Till then...
posted by Michelle at
1:33 AM
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An interactive presentation of the 86, 000 most frequently used English words.
posted by Michelle at
1:09 AM
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I found this picture on another fellow weblog. A crisp note with "Love You" scribbled on it. Special attention is drawn to "You" with an underline.
A quick note John left on the kitchen counter for his wife, Trisha? A note that is always tucked in between the cookie jars awaiting Trisha. Everyday. The banalities of life has led me to believe love depreciates with time until a friend corrected me. His dad bought his mum a rose every sunday of his living days.
This is love. Beyond impulsive declarations of the overused & sometimes exploited "I love you". Real love is seldom visible to us. It penetrates every niche of our lives and becomes part of our souls, eventually.
I believe many women would want to grow old with a John. A man who can bring you back to your flirty twenties when you're surrounded with grandchildren. A man who won't let your heart fade with age.
An ideal type? Perhaps.
posted by Michelle at
11:40 PM
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It's 5.39pm now. Draining my mug of coffee as I switched my mind to inertia mode. A much needed and timely time off for the little neurones up there. 24 more hrs to a long weekend. I can hardly wait for the respite! Flinching as the deafening ticks of the clock resounded through the room...
Clocking 3 hrs of sleep for 2 consecutive days and possibly today as well, I'm treading on thin wisps of life. All in the name of academia mania. Save me...
Killing at least 70% of neurones and not to mention depleting 69.9999% of my grey matter, I came to a conclusion. I'm a proscratinator, a perfectionist, a workaholic, a coffee addict. I'm insane.
Someone call the asylum please. I'm losing grip, soon.
But at least the perfectionist is answerable to the conscience and on par with the benchmark of expectation.
One more assignment to tease my wilting nerves...I'm a survivor. A survivor. I will survive!
Sometimes such patriotic, oxymoronic chants are necessary for the purpose of self-fulfilling.
2 more papers and 1 more outline. Bless my soul.
posted by Michelle at
5:39 PM
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Oh god...I'm dying over here. From a perverse motivated exhaustion.
Remind me NEVER to resort to last minute work. Talk about rationality...I'll most likely repeat my mistake again. Gosh...there goes my resolution to sleep before midnight. =(
You shall see a burnt-neurone goo-goo doll tomorrow again. At this hour. With the mountainous workload bearing down on me, I want nothing but to be snowed in for a good old month. Leave me alone and let me finish writing all my essays!
Before I sign off, let me thank my faithful stereo and coffee mug. They have worked at breakneck speed as I poured into my work with fervour.
Feverish and gaga with overspent yin & yang,
mich
posted by Michelle at
2:04 AM
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This is how I want to walk everyday of my life
In solitary
In company
In dignity
In elysium
In immortality
In the hearts of people I've loved
And whom I'm loving still
posted by Michelle at
2:42 PM
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Has anyone thought of inventing a stopper for human actions? Imagine the blunders, crimes, accidents, disasters et cetera a mega people-stopper could have curbed.
Weber believes in an ideal type. Individuals are rational by nature but not all the time. Irrationality - acting at the tug of our heartstrings over the neurones - is almost romantic & captivating.
Balancing my rational versus irrational acts on a beam, and it will tilt toward irrationality. A rational person by nature but irrational in reality. What a paradox.
Would the beam ever tilt in favour of rationality? Or would I continue the plunge into the ravine of irrationality?
posted by Michelle at
1:49 PM
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Each perspective gives only the partial view of reality, so said Karl Popper. What is real to us is confined within the scope. A partial reality leaves sufficient gaps for the imagination to feast on. The intrigue & mystery are both intoxicating and indulging.
If I can reverse time, I wish my reality is never full.
posted by Michelle at
9:52 PM
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To feel the pulse of the earth under my bare feet
To dance in the summer rain
To embrace the breath of life
To caress the warmth of January sunshine
To look above me
And know that I'm a gift of nature.
posted by Michelle at
8:30 PM
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Contrary to popular belief, saturdays are not as leisurely as I would have liked it to be. I have made a huge decision today. First, to see a gynaecologist. It's time to address my prolonged latent problem. Mummy was fuming mad over my sleeping and eating pattern. Not that I blame her. I'm killing myself slowly...This is something I definitely going to put a stop to.
I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Wish me luck.
posted by Michelle at
1:04 AM
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My prayer is answered. I set foot upon the threshold of school before 9. *Cheers!* To a particular early riser, thank you.
But as usual, someone has to put a damper to my spirit. No prize for the loser's identity. An idiot with a big M and a superfluous ego to match. I condemn people who shrink away from a face-to-face confrontation and instead resort to a feeble retort through sms. What an applaudable effort in supporting the continuous growth of local telecommunication companies. COWARD.
A coward who thinks his clever manipulation and snide remarks have gone unnoticed. Get real, ass. Your cards are laid plainly on the deck for the vultures to feed.
You had your chances. Now it's showtime. Try to taunt me on Monday and you're a goner.
I've had my say. Pay heed.
posted by Michelle at
2:53 PM
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A niche to call my own has materialised before my glassy eyes at the wave of the internet wizard's wand...
I named thee "lost in timeless beauty" to bestow u the purity & virtue of a sacred shrine. A shrine of my reflection.
Today should have been yet another banal morning spent soaking up statistical candies in a lecture theatre. And how eager and determined i had been to join the troop of banal listeners. But I failed. Again.Blame it on the sleep bug, the malfunction snooze function on cellphone, the inconsiderate timetable planner...Blame it on me.
I'm upset...pray tomorrow will lift the shroud off my horizon.
posted by Michelle at
11:59 PM
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Posting from a dime-sized island called Singapore and still somewhat clueless about life, not to mention a lifelong paranoia with pimples and weight, it's a miracle I've managed to survive the past 21 years. Welcome to Michelle's abode.
