The day she set it down

April washed away

remnants of good and ill will

a new leaf springs forth

Echoes

It is not your fault

nor mine

we were broken way before

the silence set in

haunted and mocked

by echoes from the past

long lost voices we thought we buried deep

with the memories of old crushes, 

lovers and heroes we looked up to

and unavoidably

each and everyone hurt us

let us down

with their human failings.

It is not your fault

nor mine

we were searching all this time

for redemption

of our own ugly imperfections

our rage, our insecurities

yes, we recognise all that 

reflected like a mirror 

in the fractured image before us

and the whispers grew louder

like a mockingbird

deceiving us

this too shall pass

shall pass

No, it is not your fault

nor mine

we were broken long before

that fateful midnight monologue

turned our shame

into wordless regrets

of what ifs, should haves

and the sorry that was not uttered

like a badly scripted Shakespearean play

is not your fault

nor mine

(26/4/2015)

When she's still up at 2am

my soul at six

stirred awake by the robins,

such joy and exuberance -

a welcoming song

to break the dark morn'.

my soul do sit

in silence and deep reverence,

waiting, on the path of truth

in His company

perhaps I'll walk, awhile

my soul submit

to questions without answers

my joy, my hope, my faith

along this journey

here I lay upon

my soul, my breath

one at a time, until

the hour I awake to find

the unmistakable gift

of blessed redemption.

Sunday tanka, 26/4/2015

not good at mending

broken fences, connections

"Would you like some tea?"

a warm cup offered in silence

may yet slip through defences.

The dove

    sakura petals 

    scattered like strewn confetti 

    the lone dove stood still.

Saturday haiku, 25/4/2015

In bed six thirty

the fan spins lazy and slow

outside the rain stopped.

A spring day in Odaiba

Gentlemen in hats

minding their own business

on the bench where they sat

(Odaiba, Tokyo - April 2015)

Tamago cravings

Dr. Parim has included eggs in the list of food I have to avoid. After more than a week of porridge and less inspiring bland meals, I am hungry for stuff I can't have. So, I will just talk about what I wish I can bite into right now. Japanese sweet omelette.

Tamagoyaki is a cheap and tasty street food in Japan. It is basically a type of Japanese layered and rolled omelet cooked in a square pan, slightly sweet and is popularly served for breakfast. Flavors of tamagoyaki vary, and various fillings can be added to make it a more substantial dish.

A typical portion costs 100 yen and can be quickly whipped up by this couple in Tsukiji Fish Market in Tokyo, one of many stalls that have their own special recipes.

The result is a piping hot, fragrant, fluffy and moist cake of egg layers best eaten hot.

Better than McEgg, eh?

So good, this gentleman polished it up in seconds :)

If you are adventurous, you can try to make it yourself. It looks simple enough here http://justhungry.com/tamagoyaki

(Tsukiji Fish Market, Tokyo - April 2015)

Unchained

And just as the caterpillar dies

so that the butterfly could be born

in essence, so did she

now fly free

among the stars and angels above.

About my mother

My mother died recently. 55 days ago to be exact.

45 more days before the official 100 days of mourning is over. But in a surreal way, she had never left at all and simultaneously gone for ages, long before she took her last breath. Her memory, her voice, her laughter, her hand gestures, her quick strides - all the vitality that defined her before it got sucked into the black hole of dementia and trapped in a bedridden body nourished through a feeding tube in the last months of her life. 

My grief at her passing is indescribably stunted, for want of a better word. The emotional struggles during the early years of her illness and the inexplicable suspension of attachment towards the end of her decline spanning close to 10 years numbed me in an uncomfortable way. I did crumble sporadically, sleepless nights of tear-filled guilt traps, but that made me grief more for my filial failings than her absolute absence.

Some people can write such beautiful prose expressing all that they feel inside, like this one I read today on a facebook page. Assuredly, this feeling that I am feeling is not so alien after all. Someone, somewhere, had traveled down the same road. Kind of.

It was the longest goodbye. One that was, regrettably, robbed of sweet recognition of the daughter who held her hand last.

-------------------------------------------

berlin-artparasites
18 hrs ·

#WeatherReport:

"I sit down every so often and decide to write about the summer that my mother died. She left, and it was much more like she moved out than like she died. Because I always thought that death would be sudden but this was slow and we saw parts of her leave and it was as if when she was gone maybe it wouldn’t change that much, like when you watch a child grow up. So that’s what happened, she faded and faded but when she was gone it was as if she hadn’t been fading at all. All that was left was a hole, a vast space, a catalyst filled with meaningless distractions that just made it that much bigger. I think now that maybe, just maybe if I write about everything else that happened that summer, the death of my mother will somehow become a part of the beauty of it all. The beaches, the lunches, the music and the drinking and the dancing will all fade into itself, into the space that she left. As she faded, the rest of our memories faded, until we were all driving away, not thinking to look back. We went to watch the stars and it was a car ride. It was a party, tequila laced conversations, a run, too many words. There was wine and cigarette smoke, music, unasked questions all fading into the thick trees, polluting the ocean, pushing the vast distances around us, between us, the dim circles, and our car, us, slowly fading into the dark dust. The summer that my mother died I learned that sickness is sometimes just another word for dying. And the fall after that, the winter after that, the spring after that, I would sit down and try to write." — submitted anonymously to berlin-artparasites

berlin-artparasites #WeatherReport is a unique, recurring segment on the page. Sometimes the climate conditions that matter most are not the ones outside the house but the internal ones. You will get to submit your innermost thoughts — soul-speak, if you will — and I will publish chosen ones to the timeline accompanied by an artwork.

My idea is to open up a space where:

1. conversations can happen among strangers that may be facing similar experiences/emotions
2. the author maintains the power of anonymity to see how his/her thoughts are received & expanded upon
3. hopefully more people are inspired to write out & express what they are feeling (there’s healing in that)
4. hopefully the conversations in the comments add to the author’s thoughts and bring about a sense of comfort or closure, despite the weather conditions (sometimes a new perspective can make all the difference)

P.S. I could only do this segment now that the page has organically developed into this wonderful community where the points above are already happening in past posts. Thank you for making it a space where to bond/story-tell/empathize/heal through art.

You may send contributions for consideration to:innerweatherreport@gmail.com 

Sincerely,
Jovanny Varela Ferreyra 
Curator of Artparasites

Link: https://www.facebook.com/berlinartparasites

--------------------------------------

Postscript:-

The good doctor decided I need another course of drugs which include 7 days of Zinnat 250 and other anti-inflammatory and cough/phlegm reducing medication.  

Looks like I have to give up swimming for the next two months. It's a bummer.

Porridge day

I'm back in bed, feeling like an injured sloth, with a burning throat to compound an already miserable physical state of being.

Comfort food is reduced to plain watery porridge eaten with marinated sesame seaweed. And the company of a book. 

This book. Which I am still plodding along. 

Today's reading of Chapter 17 resumes with Aomame meeting the Dowager again and her introduction to the little girl Tsubasa. As always, I keep reading the more I read.

The way I read Murakami is like having a good conversation with an old soul mate. Sometimes, we get cut off in the middle of it, got distracted, went separate ways and it does not matter at all. We pick up where we left off when we meet up again. Sometimes a week later. Sometimes months. We bear no grudges for the silence in between.

I'm seeing Dr. Parim again tomorrow morning. More out of fear that this sore throat and cough will turn into something worse than a nasty case of laryngitis. 

I want to get back into the swim of things as soon as I can. 

Dancing fairy lights

I avoid window seats on flights. Especially night flights.

But this recent video shot of an aurora seen during a night flight towards North America begs me to rethink my choices.

And check out the 2nd video, a super stunning display of the northern lights dancing over Iceland in full glory, all in Real Time. This is my glimpse of heaven on earth.

http://www.slate.com/blogs/bad_astronomy/2015/04/18/high_flying_aurorae_view_out_an_airplane_window.html?utm_medium=referral&utm_source=pulsenews

What's blooming today?

I finally dragged myself out of bed and out into the garden a bit. Just to shake off the lethargy and ease the mild ache that has settled on my lower back from too much lying in.

The dog got a bit excited at seeing me but I'm just not up to playing a game of futsal or catch today. Sorry old boy.

A large oriental magpie robin flew in and settled onto a patch of grass about 10ft from me. He picked up something, flicked his beak a few times and flew off onto a pine branch with his catch. I went in to grab my camera but by the time I got back onto the porch, he was gone.

I have no bird to show you this time but these robins are pretty regular guests and they enjoy the bird bath I put out for them. I can hear them sing now as I type these words. :)

So, anyway, the garden is very much alive and blooming!

The palm tree is fruiting as you can see, right next to the pine trees. Aren't the red berries luscious? I have cultivated lots of baby palms from these fruits, mostly to give away to neighbours and community centres.

And the papaya trees are also bearing fruits. The only problem I face in my garden is trying to protect these fruits from rogue monkeys that climb over from the perimeter fencing across the road.

And here is the kedondong or "sar lei" tree, less than a year old but starting to fruit for the first time.

And my mulberry tree, which I have trimmed down and planted some of the cuttings. The mulberry is really suited to our local weather because it fruits continuously and when ripe and black, is really tangy sweet. And it's a low maintenance plant.

Oh, I finally have pomegranates in my garden again! I regretted chopping off my old pomegranate trees to make way for Luck Luck's home. So when I found seedlings from the MARDI nursery nearby, I was more than delighted to bring them home. And here, you can see the very first orange fruit that has sprung from one of them.

I noticed my pomegranate trees need lots of sunshine. Two which were planted under the shade of the papaya trees seem stunted in growth.

And this lone passionfruit dangling from the fence is the last for this season. I have harvested close to 40 of these fruits this round, which is not bad for a first timer.

I'm thinking of erecting a mini pergola to give more room for the vines to grow. Or maybe a trellis on the brickwall so that it can climb upwards. Something like this? Will be beautiful with the fruits hanging red from them, eh?

The chilli trees are getting old, and need to be re-planted. So I'm going to let the fruit ripen and seed them.

And the yellow rose is blooming! Beautiful, isn't it?

I'm glad I got out of bed and into the garden. Even though it's so hot.

As I sat under the porch and look at the photos I took, I made the decision to start writing again. And that's how this blog came to be this afternoon.

I want to take pictures and let you see what I see from my mind's eye. I want to write poetry and share them, let you feel what I feel. I want to journal my thoughts and moods so that I can make sense of what has changed and what has not inside me, along the way.

The magic within is not lost. Yet.

(Note: All photos, except the wall trellis pic which was sourced from Google, were taken using Sony RX100M2 this afternoon)

A cup of tea

The weather is so hot and humid that all I want is an icy cold glass of lemon soda. But I have to settle for a hot infusion of fresh mints with Japanese green tea instead.

I'm down to my last dose of Dr Parim's cocktail of drugs for my incessant coughing and nasal congestion but I'm still feeling like a complete train wreck.

And the dog is looking at me funny because I have to wear a face mask near him just now. But he is not complaining because even though I ran out of yoghurt, I treated him to a big bowl of milk.

See how pleased he looked with a full and warm tummy? What a baby, heheh.

(Note: Photos taken using Sony RX100M2 this afternoon.)

Here and Back Again

Oh yes, I'm writing again. Or rather, I want to write again.

After having stopped writing purposefully for so long (when was the last time anyone remembered me as AM, Anak Merdeka the socio-political blogger?), I thought it's about time I start over.

Being on Facebook and Twitter during the interim years has taught me a fair bit about being caught up in sound bites and hi-byes kind of interactions. Not to mention the short attention span I noticed is so prevalent in the desire to be liked and followed instead of taking the time to listen and notice what is going on with the people who took the time to interact with you.

Oh well.

This blog will be personal. I will write about what is happening, the present, what I'm doing, right here, right now.

I need to constantly remind myself that here and now is all that I have, not what was or what might be. I'm a traveler in every sense and the journey is always what interests me more than the destination.

So, here goes.

Hopefully, I will keep at it. Heh.

Gray is just another colour

Let me pull away the wool
of disenchantment
from your eyes
your heart
your sorrows.

Let the countless shades of gray
colour your canvas
bring to life
light and
shadows.

(15 April 2015)

Arrow into the Shadows

Speak
the missing notes between the lines
drifting away like mist
from you
and I

Touch
the raw wound grazed by your arrow
hurtling bloodlessly towards
a hidden part
of my heart

Feel
the grief of a thousand regrets
words that fell like autumn leaves
one by one
underneath

See
the truth behind the shadows
patiently peeling away
the lost years
in dark fears

Taste
the delight of unshackled flight
free from ego and pride
we dare to
leave behind

(1 April 2015)

The Piper

Familiarity cuts
like a dagger,
when little acts of kindness are discarded
like yesterday’s old news.
And the old wounds reopen,
the pain resurface,
the retreat beckoning
like the lure of the piper’s malevolent melody.

(1 April 2015)