If the sea should swallow up my house, I will turn the rooftop inside out and the wind will be wailing, but I will be sailing, faster

(click pic for big)


I haven't started packing yet. In fact, my clean laundry's still outside sunning itself. But I know what is definitely going into my suitcase.

A quick break for coffee and to post this, before I resume (and ideally, finish) this tedious exam paper-marking. Listening to A Fine Frenzy is helping a little.

Another period of uncertainty and working out faith. Fourteen days of being thrown into the deep end of the lake (for the -th time this year) with nothing to hold on to except His hand.

These past three days have already given me some neat stories to tell, and there will be more after this is over. And the next post will be from a little room that isn't my own, or from across the peninsula border.

See ya then.



*Axe the sewing kit. I've just been given an extra three-hour workload, so there goes my crafting plans.

These Hallways

It's Wednesday. It's Soto Ayam Day.

The office is charmingly stuffy, with whispers of after-exam gossip and shoptalk. The hallways are noxiously full of gleeful students, chatting about who's the class bitch, about Beyonce/All American Rejects, who's the bigger idiot in the group, etc. in squeaky, hyperbolic tones. Sometimes, kids, can please try a little subtlety ah.

This is not healthy. All these is not healthy.

I've been spending my short breaks compiling a Google map full of pins on places I hope to visit. Next, I need to make lists of things to bring and buy, and then attempt to pack. But before that, I need to finish this pile of marking, assessments and exam papers. And then there's this puppetry workshop I need to conduct tomorrow.





If this isn't brilliant, I don't know what is.

Last weekend we whipped up a meal for Rach and Reb. An excellent way of spending a Sunday, and an equally excellent way of celebrating birthdays.

Railway Town

Two weeks of semi isolation, with only books, writing and maybe an odd DVD or two for companionship. I might or might not have Internet. There is however, a big mall a hop and skip away, should I need to remind myself of home.

Perhaps this time away will help me sort some things that have been floating around in my head. A retreat from the constant doing and moving.

I'm slightly anxious, but also excited.

Also, I've found what could possibly be the prettiest dress on earth.

Chasing After Daylight

While we piled our bags onto the boat, there were mixed feelings of 1) a desire to return to the hotel for a proper shower, and 2) a reluctance to leave, like you've left something halfway done, unfinished.

The trip was too brief. Before we could settle in it was time to say goodbye. 3 hours of engines droning and we'll be on the road again. Back to the dusty town of Bogale, and closer to leaving it behind and back to the familiarity of home.

As the boat rattled through the riverways, there were dark clouds behind us, rain and winds chasing us from behind. Drifting in and out of sleep, suddenly one of the boatmen gestured to us to look out. There was a waft of a terrible stench, and then we saw it - a body floating facedown in the river. Floating around it were uprooted tree trunks and debris. The heavy clouds might have had chased and caught up with him while he was in the middle of the waters.

There was silence before one of us, seeing that the boat wasn't stopping but steadily moving on, asked if we were going to stop and help. Aren't we going to do something, she asked with urgency. They said that there is nothing that could be done.

At that moment I felt fear. Behind us were dark clouds moving in, and 1) I cannot swim, and 2) I cannot swim. So far throughout the trip unpleasant things like these were the furthest from my mind, and even during the parts where we anticipated difficulty, we managed to cruise through okay. But despite the scary possibility of a young Malaysian girl drowning in the Irrawaddy rivers, this I know to be true: It was Him who shielded us, and we hadn't the need or time to worry because we had our sights on Him and the task at hand.

I had initially written this in our missions report, but I didn't want to scare the parents of potential young 'uns who might go on the next trip, so I omitted it. The focus here is not the death we had seen, but the many other remarkable things that He had revealed to us. The focus here is not the possibility of harm, but His promise of protection.

Clutter

The day started out with a realisation that I did not have enough money to buy the storage units I had eyed while at IKEA last week (after a life-saving dinner of swedish meatballs with some very cool people *cough ahem*). So while looking for my coffee press in the store room, I found these odd-sized water bottle boxes, empty and flattened (my family drinks copious amounts of this brand of oxygenated water). In a fit of industriousness I decided to dedicate the rest of my day to some mean DIY.

The boxes were sturdied up, wrapped in cheap paper and then sprayed with adhesive. Covered them in fabric (note box no.3 - ironing skills phail) and made signage holders with clear plastic. It was nicely therapeutic. I've a 5th box made with printed fabric - of lotus leaves, birds and flowers.

I might have just found the long-sought after solution to organising my art and craft supplies.

While sorting out my room I went through piles of old things. I have shoe boxes of keepsakes from when I was 10 or 12. Gifts from friends, photos from high school (and me with centre-parted hair, horror), letters, postcards and even the paper parachute which won us first place in an aerodynamic* competition. And diaries which made me cringe so badly. Newspaper clippings of our plays, and my first newspaper-published book review (I was 12).

There's a box labelled 'London, York 2008 and 2009' which is unfortunately, rather empty. Maybe I don't hoard as much as I did back then. It's easier now to let go and throw.



This is the view from our room in Yangon, taken moments before the camera gave way and gave up. There was a temple just next door, and every morning we would wake up to chanting that sounded like it came from a karaoke machine. There's a railway station amongst the green.

I had a cup of 'Shwe Pu Zun' coffee yesterday morning, bought in a flurry at a supermarket near Bogyoke Market. After some deft Googling, I found that it is produced by a bakery cum cafe that grows their own Arabica beans.



* Basically we had to create a contraption that would ensure our egg (christened Bert the III) didn't become a yolky mess after being thrown from the 3rd floor.

Argh.

It's almost the end of the week, and while I do not necessarily agree with people who constantly need to exclaim their 'Thank God It's Friday!' joy, I do spare moments of thanksgiving for the end of the week. I'm more subtle (ZOMG! TGIF!! It's like, FRIDAYZ, peeps! Time to PAAARTAAY!)

O Friday, Relief-Bringer, I sing a hymn for you. And Thursday, you're usually not so bad yourself.

I usually do not rant here, as I would like you to have the perception that I am capable of deeper thought and etc. etc. But today I'm bursting at the seams and cranky. I left my tumbler of coffee at home and I'm upset. The coffee took effort and time to make, and it was meant to tide over my lack of sleep.

Rant 1: If you plagiarise, be prepared to reap the (ugly) consequences. Don't mock me by thinking it'll go unnoticed, don't threaten me by saying you'll hate me, etc. etc. Your fall is by your own folly. You have been forewarned, and I happen to have super innernets skillz. Or the very least, please remove the ctrl+f highlights on the keywords of the essay question.

Rant 2: I'm 24, not 25. You expect me to be moved by your outcry, but during the times I cried for you to listen, for you to understand, you only threw at me unkind words and turned away.

Rant 3: You want me to leave. I am leaving. You do not know yet, but I am. Goodbye, you will not need to bear with me for four weeks. That, I think, is Christmas come early for all. Merry Christmas.


Re: Rant 1, it perplexes me. My earnest heart tells them that this is not how you get about life, but the reality is, this is how people are getting about in life, and with good results at that. My idealism has left me to deal with stacks of dishonestly-sourced essays.

Maybe I should draw an egg on top of each one.

The only good thing left might just be the new automatic gate. No more groping for keys in the glove compartment and getting out to open the padlocks. And, a meeting tonight over IKEA dinner. Swedish meatballs, might you save my day?

(Flip flip)

A Slice of Pie

I've been staring at my laptop screen for the past 20 minutes, with nothing whirring in my mind like it should. Instead, I have a piece of scrap paper by my side with 'RM13-15', 'Lights' and 'Arts practitioner' scribbled in cursive.

It's a nice Thursday, with ample time on my hands, so I'm trying to write an essay that will hopefully convince some strangers that I'm worth the investment they're doling out.

Can I just write, 'I would like a piece of whatever pie is it that you're giving, thanks.' Or 'Pick me! Pick me!'

Oh, I can be subtle too: 'I'm good. Really good. Like, really.'

Deadline is tomorrow.

One an interesting note, I found some bags of unidentified snacks from China on my desk today morning, a gift from a former student. One packet looks like air-dried meat or jerky or something like that.


10/10/09 - Essay written, application sent. Fingers crossed, knees bent (no, not arthritis).

Nomadic-like Roll

My brother can be funny sometimes, like on this wall post:

Patricia Low lots of changes and bad news bears. holding up though, thanks :)

Alvin Low what bad news??

Patricia Low bears. loads of bears. bears carrying bad news in their paws.

Alvin Low alvin the hunter coming to the rescue....

Patricia Low shoot 'em all down!

Alvin Low I got them all!! I got them all!!! *panting*

All but one....

The bear managed to grab me down.......

Bye bye sis.....

....

Patricia Low HAHAHAH. drama-nya engkau.

Alvin Low *fighting for his life*



This year has been a year of uprooting, replanting and pruning. And now, as we elbow into the last three months of the year, 2009 looks set to crown itself the oddest year ever.

2009, you have been very strange. You've not allowed me a single moment of being still or mundane. If anything, you've been like a loaded washing machine, and coins are constantly being pushed in the slot. It has been the longest wash cycle ever. I hope to emerge clean and pristine, not worn and threadbare. Please. Thank you.

More changes to sweep me off my feet. One is saying goodbye to the old and moving onto the new. Trading in for something that might be lesser than what I have now, but which comes with the promise of a peace of mind. My heart feels lighter, and my priorities might have finally stacked itself in the right order.

The past few months has had me on a nomadic-like roll, and now I'm rolling somewhere else. Four weeks in Kluang is set to take place. I've not travelled so much in my life as of the last 6 months.

Another phase of uncertainty and perhaps more grappling in the dark, but at least I'll get to fulfill my yet-unfulfilled itch for adventures of the railway type.

Mental Archive

This is my take on Rachel's feet and the Malaysian version of the longyi. I have no pictures to show as my point-and-shoot failed on me the day we arrived in Yangon, and I left my film camera behind (long story).

So all the images I have of Myanmar is in my head, and I intend to keep it as clear as it was when we first took the sights in. And everyday, in the quiet of my office or while walking the corridors of college, I run it like a slide-reel.


This has to be my absolutely most favourite sight. We were making crafts in the church, a simple concrete shed, and among the many activities we taught them was how to make paper flowers glued on ice-cream sticks. Caught in the flurry of children and art supplies, I looked up for a brief while, and outside, in the dusk light, was a row of boys just simply sitting and holding up their flowers.

One boy even brought the flower to school the next day.

That same night we got the children to decorate a giant card for our church back home. One boy wrote something in Burmese, and the glint in his eyes prompted me to ask what it means. He just smiled and looked away.

He had written 'Teachers, we love you'.

In my flusteredness I could not think of anything to reply. I didn't want to be a teary mess so after seconds of silence I blurted 'I don't know what to say.' Replaying that moment many times over in my head, I wish now I can run back to him and say 'I love you too.'