like a record machine, right round baby.

i am spinning.
around and right around again.
big smile stretching my lips.
my eyes are wide open. and i shut them in bliss.
i throw my arms out.
my fingers quiver as they embrace life.

the firm press of your palm,
cupping the small of my back.
you are laughing and your brown eyes are liquid.
you are helping me to spin.
and we are alive in each other.
i wonder when i woke up?

my head is throbbing.
my throat is brittle with pain.
i ache for some water.
i feel the weight of him press down on me.
i know now without a doubt,
that i am choking.

the shallow grave opens up behind me.
the cold clammy rocks, dig.
i hurt and i am tired.
i watch him grunt, and feel his foul smell.
how long will this take?
i am ready now and i shudder.

the pale blue sky is just beyond.

~a fictional piece by amreeth~

Justice and the Count

Tarot: the Justice card

"Justice represents the balance in life between right and wrong. It is a reminder that you are accountable for your actions and you must be prepared to accept the consequences of any misdeeds. You have been given the strength to fight injustice in everyday life, so bring balance back into the world around you."

i told my best friend my worst secret yesterday, after years of wondering how he would react. and he responded perfectly. supportive, appropriately angry, passionate, and the perfect friend.

thank you my Count.

the unity band

say what?
why do i need to wear a stupid red rubber band around my wrist to prove i am Malaysian?
i am Malaysian! i am not a politician, thus i do not sit in a Malay, Chinese or Indian party. i do not talk about my kris in Parliament and about my culture of yam-seng and such and then say "i am Malaysian, but only talking about my own culture lah/leh".
i do not think of myself as Punjabi or Indian. i have always said i am Malaysian first.
but now, the conceptualization and creation of this cheap ugly red rubber band is an insult to me, as a Malaysian, and i am in addition forced to watch these awfully cheesy adverts on Astro that brainwash: eh - all of us liking roti-canai lah so we same-same.Malaysian and someone calling someone else "brother" in another language is a fucking honor.
don't our damn politicians get it??! every time YOU acknowledge we are different, YOU are perpetuating the myth that we are different. and telling us that wearing this skanky crappy red rubber band around our wrists makes us more Malaysian, merely proves that we are still such different souls struggling to conform, 50 long painful years on.
get a grip my Malaysian politicians, and do not work at separating us whilst articulating Kongsi-Raya.

two...

only TWO more working days until my life hits a purrrfect balance of harmony again.
Iggy and I will get our beloved Kak P back, and she will be back to being Iggy's second mother and Iggy will feel less lonely, and me, I will have BACK-UP.
waheguru.

blink

i sit often now, with my eyes frozen open.
my unshed tears spring habitually to the back of my eyes, and i am afraid.
afraid that should i blink, i will allow the warm hurtful liquid an easy access to my broad cheeks, and the world will then see how my soul really mourns.
mourns this new coming of age, this new lesson learnt, this new ending.
for when you said good-bye, the finality of things so hopeless weighed too heavily upon these small shoulders, and i stopped breathing.
i could have taken any punishment, but not good-bye.

the little things i am blessed with

7:30am: the way Iggy's tail uncurls as the sleep leaves her eyes.
the way she cocks her head to the side, and bats her eyelids at me, snuggling closer into my hand for more manjas. the way her leg comes right back to kick my hand away as HRH has had enough petting for the morning and is ready for her morning routine now.
the love of my life = my green iguana!

8:00am: the luxury of standing under a hot shower, sponging to Marks+Spencer's' China Blue bath cream. the feel of my short hair as i condition. my toes curling up as i tell myself again that every minute after this is going to make me late! the rushing around my bedroom like a headless chook cos i can, and loving the drama of the rush... will i be late??!

12:30pm: lunch and the hot humid walk to the KLCC Suria for lunch at the Foodcourt, yet again. the familiarity of the chap-fan, and the need to eat my soft tofu, yet again... the conversation with my colleagues. the work dramas of the morning revealed and debated. the signing off mentally, as my mind creeps to what he is doing, and the secret smiles as i realize he is probably still fast asleep, and the sadness as i think he is so not dreaming about me.

5:00pm-5:30pm: just for the duration of this project, is pack up and go home time. the wonderment as i step into my apartment, all my work stressors parked at my front door as Iggy voicelessly acknowledges that i am home. her angry head-bobs if her friend senor sun has been absent for the day. her happy gentle hello head-bobbing if the sky is blue, and lined with those fluffy white clouds she just loves to watch. the wonderment i feel, that she may actually think i control the weather. the pujuk to eat her sawi time, followed fast with a hot shower and her entire pm routine.

6:30pm: Iggy's bedtime. the joy of knowing she is home with me, again, and here to stay stay stay. and that she is safely curled up under her cushions, and that in 13 hours.. it will be time to wake her up and start all over again. the fervent prayers in mind for a sunny day tomorrow and for Iggy to lick her bowl clean by devouring all her green veggies.

FACEBOOK TIME: the joy of being able to satisfy my insane obsession with my Zombie who is now at 1005 points! followed by my Vampire, Werewolf and Slayer! in between sterilizing Iggy's food bowls, bathroom, kitchen sink, and wiping down her cage. i bond with domesticity and the Internet! i wonder if i am dressed enough to walk over for a visit and dinner with aunty Jas.

8:00pm+: maybe i would have watched Saloni and then Bani twist painfully in their individual lives on the Zee serials. maybe i would have just flaked out catching the cyber waves and think i should just bond with Max and all the tiresome episodes over the week-end instead, in one mind-numbing fest. walking over to aunty Jas' i am feeling happy and content. tired and ready to hear about her day.

MY DAILY PHONE CALL: with Mom :) lifts me up to no end.

9:00pm+: heading home to flake on my couch. to sleep. or to watch some TV. 6:15am will be time to wake up and start the chants, soak the veggies, prepare HRH's daily feast all over again. so i typically opt to zzz and to away to dreams where i only get 11 chances and i win some, and i definitely lose some. subconsciously pondering my karma? hmmm... more like i am living my Facebook choices! in between dreaming about him, that is awake and not thinking about me at all.

hopeless...

i never thought i would ever associate myself with that word... "hopeless".
but what else can it be? this feeling of being stuck. of wanting to stay in bed, under the covers. of wanting to bond with Facebook and with my Max. of not wanting to breathe too deeply.
despite knowing the drill (and God knows i have been down this road one too many times, standing exactly at this realization) it is suffocating to move even an inch sideways. let alone forward.
it is easy for you to say move on, and that i will be better off. but have you ever spent even one minute in my tattooed skin? have you ever felt the smile that lifts my soul when i hear your voice. even when it is telling me to move on?

the rain

the rain drops they fell. light on her face at first, mingling easily with her tears.
she barely felt the pebbles dig into her bare feet. her heart was broken, and then the skies fell open. it was as if the very heavens above grieved with her. she felt the whipping rain stinging her forearms.
she kept on walking. desolate and confused. she was determined to finish the long mile still.
she kept her face open to the skies, her head held high and she blinked often to clear her fixated eyes.
she was close, so very close and she could feel the end just there, ahead of her.
she wondered then who would miss her? who would miss her crooked smile and loud giggles? who would come to look for her, after?
she was depressed in the discovery of the stark answers. no one.
there would be no one that would reach out for her, and she rolled her shoulders back, sobbing openly.
it was time and she was ready. she paused in anticipation and then in a heartbeat she stepped forward, out into the nothingness of space.

~fictional piece by amreeth~

shards of my life

i have so many broken relationships to contend with and i'm only half way to death.
friends and lovers, mostly forgotten, some occasionally surfacing when that song hits the drive-time airways.
some relationships are in the midst of being broken and i just watch, a visitor to my own feelings, ambivalent.

each break equates a shard that slithers through my sacred and very conscious heart.
each shard, merely a step in this long universal ladder, that is my karma.
i tip toe at times, stepping over my memories, hoping to achieve a better next try... perhaps if i lift myself above my mistakes and learn from them?

but no. it is a fact i recognize now, that i am quite looking forward to starting my next broken relationship.
as it may then finally mean that i am done with this one.
i try not to sigh too deeply where i sit... these shards they tend to grate against each other.

happy birthday John... here's to the miracle that is YOU!

John Winston Ono Lennon, MBE (9 October 1940 – 8 December 1980), was an English songwriter, singer, musician, graphic artist, author and peace activist who gained worldwide fame as one of the founders of The Beatles.
(the above = courtesy of Wikipedia).

Copyrighted to John.. here is THE song:

"Imagine there's no heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today...

Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace...

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world...

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one."

i am but a broken flower.

i am but a broken flower,
tossing about in this wind,
where or where will i land eventually, and in what sort of a condition?

i am just flitting and flying at the mercy of these base elements.
i am scared and extremely fearful of being up here so high.
will i ever ever stop and where will i eventually land?

the rain is battering down pellets, big and hard.
my petals are bruised and quite quite broken.
i can feel nothing now except for my constant pain, it is racing down my core.

i saw my mother ahead in this flurry, she was calling and calling out to me.
and then this blustering force blew her away and again, i am all alone.
what will become of me, and where oh where will i be?

i am falling down down down, and as i hit the ground, i am dizzy.
the storm has passed, and i feel the gentle stirrings from the sun.
and i lie here in my sad state, and just wait.

i am but a broken flower.

author's note: thinking like a school girl ~ amreeth

camo is a shining star...

author's note: thanks to my very sweet friend David Nic i received camo's CD today. camo even wrote little notes after every song (title) that she had hand-picked/ compiled into this CD, intended to speak to us after she was gone to heaven.

so please do allow for me to present to you:

Songs Of My Life - Narelle Cameron

Turn! Turn! Turn! - The Byrds
This has always been a song that I wanted played at my funeral. "There is a time to live a time to die". Now is the time to celebrate my life.

Do You Realize - The Flaming Lips
Like the above, it's time to realize that life is short and should be celebrated. If you have this CD, it means you are special to me and I want you appreciate what life has to offer.

Breathless - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
This song reminds me of my love for Simon

Common People - Pulp
It was a difficult decision to make as to which Pulp song to include. This reminds me of England where we rented a flat above a shop and cut our hair and got a job! And of course did a lot of dancing to this song.

Wonderwall - Oasis
A classic Oasis song that couldn't be passed.

Bitter Sweet Symphony - The Verve
This song reminds me of my time in England. This was a time I spent with many people I loved, including my mum, who called this the drinking song. A song with a lot of memories.

Elephant Stone - The Stone Roses
Another difficult decision to make - so many Stone Roses songs to choose from. The only reason I chose this song was that it went well after The Verve, and it reminded me of dancing at Rave. Good enough reasons to me!

Vapour Trail - Ride
A lot of meaning behind this song and this band. One of the starts of my independent music 'phase' that continues.

Soon Is Now? - The Smiths
The Smiths is a band that I have long loved and danced to, especially during my uni days. Although most of the songs are 'down', they always made me feel 'up'. Don't read too much into the lyrics of this song, just the tune!

The Ballad of Tom Jones - Space & Cerys Matthews
This is a fun song that reminds me of a time at Karaoke with Wendy doing a duet, another fun night out with the gang.

Girls & Boys - Blur
What memories this song has!! A hard decision to make as to which Blur song to include, but this song won with the memory of going Bridgewater with Wendy sky diving and we changed all the words to the song. Fun!

I Bet You Look Good On The Dance Floor - Artic Monkeys
A newer song that I would find myself dancing to if I was able to dance again.

And you know I always look good on the dance floor!

Fell In Love With A Girl - the White Stripes
Which song to chose? Since I'm in love with the world, this seemed appropriate.

Gold Lion - Yeah Yeah Yeah's
Another newie that would see me on the dance floor.

Metal Mickey - Suede
Who couldn't help but dance to this tune at Rave? I was always on the dance floor with my beautiful friends

Young Folks - Peter, Bjorn And John
A new song but one that is infectious with it's whistling and would have me dancing for sure!

Alright - Supergrass
"We are young, we run green", with lots of memories of dancing as well. You know, I always though the lyrics were "we are young. we are free"!! Alas!

Days - The Kinks
I thought an appropriate way to end the CD.

Thank you all for the days you gave me. I won't forget a single day - believe me!

Dell to the rescue

so i have done the unthinkable for me. ordered a basic PC on line. and boy, that was complicated to the max, as unlike World of Feng Shui (where you just click and drag stuff into your shopping cart) i had to do the steps the grown-up way. but all done and submitted successfully Friday night.

so step 1 is done. this Friday, i am going to buka (puasa) with LWB at MV and after our usual (i am guessing) fare of BK BK and more BK, she is going to take me on a speedy and focused shopping spree of buying the various adaptors (for power surge control lah; to allow for my wireless to be user-friendly to my PC.. or whatever) to a computer table, to my WEB CAMS.

so then come Saturday, i am guessing Dell will show up to set-up and wallah, i will have all the ingredients ready to a safe and secure household :) Dell called me as i was walking to the KLCC so i couldn't really hear the lady, but she will call back at 2:30 (i tetap lah the time) so i will push for week-end delivery, and then my SME - Mizz LWB - will set up the various devices. and i will be surfing on line to check-on that crazy-bitch-pukau-wannabe-of-508! brrrr... lucky for that insane woman i am not into "santeria" eh?

my nasty neighbors

too many years to count now, i have the misfortune of living next door to apartment 508. full family, includes 1 fat nasty father, 1 semi-fat nasty mother, 1 paranoid white-haired mother in-law, 3 fat nasty gangster sons, and 1 obese mutt that never gets walked and who's pee you can smell right in my living room, should i not be burning incense (which 'encourages' them to keep their window next to me closed!)

now, all the descriptors on their over-weight situation is not at all why i think they are nasty. i think they are horrendously nasty because of these next reasons... they never close a door. they slam. shoe cupboards, front doors, garbage area doors. sometimes the slam rattles my mirrors, my front door and makes IggySingh sit up alarmed. so if all 6 fat humans decide to go out for dinner, you can safely expect 3-5 repeated slams of the front door, and then 3-5 slams of their shoe cabinet as they are unable to figure this next bit out: that the next fat human is just on their way out too, so ALL can just walk-out together-gether, pick up/put on shoes, and save xx amount of slams (and wear and tear) of their front door and shoe cabinet. eureka! oh, not to mention the throwing of their shoes out of their apartment to slam hard on the corridor outside my front door, after which they shuffle out (side-to-side) to put them on.

the women of the household, so the wife and her mother-in-law are great believers in weekly visits to their family bomoh. so in addition to the slams, and smelly dog, i get the privilege of coming home after work to see what they have left outside my front door for the week. everything from: sand/gravel/small stones; to limau (lime. either whole, or sliced and diced, or even to just finding the seeds); to feathers (chicken mostly); to hair. lately, i have even had the joy of ringing bells, and the women praying over my car in the wee hours of the morning. so i walk happily to the car park to start my drive into work, and from the first door of the common car park i smell the strong smells of kemenyan (special incense) that gets stronger and stronger, to almost overwhelming when you reach my car and pause at my engine. i have even now started finding feathers on the floor of my car park.

so, all the usual reactions? been there, done that. tell the guards? what? that i find feathers and ash here and there. where's the proof it was deliberate? and not something our big winds flew in? i am thinking seriously about buying a web-cam and setting this up both outside my front door, and in my car. comments? the good news is that this has been on-going for too many years to count now, so i think my neighbors are beginning to think i am a witch myself, as my daily Ganesha prayers, full blown with the conch shells and the daily burning incense within my home, have kept me safely and exactly where i am. and i have laid (as usual) my life at His feet for His protection. so they a little scared of me.

the bad news is because they are scared, the weekly 'gifts' i find have been escalating. to think all this started as my other neighbor, 502, wrote to the building committee who then wrote to the MPPJ (our local municipal council) to have their smelly dog removed, and 508 thought it was ME! at that point of time i didn't even realize they had a dog! i was too focused on partying and my ex-boyfriend. so the sand/gravel started initially. supposed to quicken my departure by creating a sense of unease at home. and miss-clueless here just continued in my daily worship and loving my life, and now it has all culminated to the point of kemenyan in the car park. now... ahem, if i did practice Wicca... hmm... i wonder what Peggy will look like as a 2-legged fat adult Pig? fancy a pink tail there madam neighbor??!

but this was my ultimate BREAK UP song...

...and i would like to dedicate this to all the married pricks out there, who continue to be unfaithful. "here's to you fcktards". muahhhahaha... and i am happy to report that i do not flinch anymore! (personal liberating pat on my back) ~ amreeth

ALANIS MORISSETTE LYRICS for the song "FLINCH"

What's it been over a decade?
It still smarts like it was four minutes ago
We only influenced each other totally
We only bruised each other even more so

What are you my blood? You touch me like you are my blood
What are you my dad? You affect me like you are my dad

How long can a girl be shackled to you
How long before my dignity is reclaimed
How long can a girl stay haunted by you
Soon I'll grow up and I won't even flinch at your name
Soon I'll grow up and I won't even flinch at your name

Where've you been? I heard you moved to my city
My brother saw you somewhere downtown
I'd be paralyzed if I ran into you
My tongue would seize up if we were to meet again

What are you my god? You touch me like you are my god
What are you my twin? You affect me like you are my twin

How long can a girl be tortured by you?
How long before my dignity is reclaimed
And how long can a girl be haunted by you
Soon I'll grow up and I won't even flinch at your name
Soon I'll grow up and I won't even flinch at your name

So here I am one room away from where I know you're standing
A well-intentioned man told me you just walked in
This man knows not of how this information has affected me
But he knows the colour of the car I just drove away in

What are you my kin? You touch me like you are my kin
What are you my air? You affect me like you are my air

how this song ruled my every fiber... sigh, i give YOU "Purple Rain"

i was barely 16, and thought that Prince kiss (in the movie, to this song) was the ultimate thing ~ amreeth

©1984 Controversy Music - ASCAP
"Purple Rain" Album Lyrics

I never meant 2 cause u any sorrow
I never meant 2 cause u any pain
I only wanted 2 one time see u laughing
I only wanted 2 see u laughing in the purple rain

Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain

I only wanted 2 see u bathing in the purple rain

I never wanted 2 be your weekend lover
I only wanted 2 be some kind of friend
Baby I could never steal u from another
It's such a shame our friendship had 2 end

Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain

I only wanted 2 see u underneath the purple rain

Honey I know, I know, I know times are changing
It's time we all reach out 4 something new
That means u 2
U say u want a leader
But u can't seem 2 make up your mind
I think u better close it
And let me guide u 2 the purple rain

Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain

If you know what I'm singing about up here
C'mon raise your hand

Purple rain, purple rain

I only want 2 see u, only want 2 see u
In the purple rain

this one is dedicated to the Count, who is MIA at the moment...

...do you remember this smash hit by the Fugees my Count??! i heard it on the radio the other day, and immediately thought about you (especially that bit on how she felt he had found her letters and was just reading each one aloud. sigh.) so now i think YOU, every time i hear this playing in my mind! ~ amreeth

KILLING ME SOFTLY - 08/06/1996
5 weeks at #1 - 20 weeks on chart
Copyrighted to the Fugees

Strumming my pain with his fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song

I heard he sang a good song, I heard he had a style
And so I came to see him and listen for a while
And there he was this young boy, a stranger to my eyes

Strumming my pain with his fingers
(One time, one time)
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song

I felt all flushed with fever, embarrassed by the crowd
I felt he found my letters and read each one out loud
I prayed that he would finish but he just kept right on

Strumming my pain with his fingers
(One time, one time)
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song

Strumming my pain with his fingers
(Yes he was)
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly with his song
Killing me softly with his song
Telling my whole life with his words
Killing me softly with his song

and so we have 50

50 posts that is. on my amreeth Blog.

i remember so vividly starting this Blog, my anxiety at the creation and the theme, and then i remember how i felt after my 1st two posts. and then again after my 1st short story. and then my 1st dark poem, and suddenly, i was alive again :)

i think the power of words, tumbling out into cyberspace, influencing and shaping, sharing and exposing, must be the biggest adrenalin rush there is really!

forget the F1 baby! these words that spring unbidden into my inner mind, swirling and metamorphosing, pulsing through my fingers out onto my keyboard, pushing to be published, has been my greatest self-discovery this year.

and so, onwards and upwards to my next 50.

p.s. i haven't felt like writing a short fictional since camo died, but i am hoping it will all come back soon.

monday = lunes

all dreams start with a mental articulation ~ amreeth

the uncle Sarge dream

flowers, surrounded us. hues of brilliant pinks, reds, blues and a sprinkling of lavender and yellow. and i had finally found him. the flowers made a perfect happy circle around us and we sat flourishing exactly in the middle, just him and i.

time outside the circle marched on. i could see the greys and the various shades of nightfall's black so clearly. and then the light baby blues of day-skies breaking gently. i saw the sun rise and set gloriously and numerous times either way. it even rained and then stopped abruptly.

butterflies, and birds, they flew and they chirped. a nurse waited for him outside our circle, in her severely starched white hat and uniform. it was a clean, organized English lawn we were sitting on. and he was alive and cheery, and he changed repeatedly as we spoke. from being his black-and-white self in a pin-striped suit with short thick curly black hair and his thick black round frames from days long past. to himself at 60 something and in vivid color, just as he was before his stroke, the year before he passed on.

we never moved from where sat, the two of us together, in the all encompassing circle of flowers. we were blissfully still, and only our mouths stirred. the words were there, being exchanged, rapidly at times between us. i could see that we were talking endlessly, and we were belabouring points. we were laughing at times, and then i was crying and then we were laughing all over again. he was ever calm, paternal, and loving throughout.

i felt warm and genuinely fuzzy, and i had a real sense of support and belonging. he was sharing with me finally, the universe's biggest kept secret of what happens to you when you die. the journey beyond. the process of becoming dead. the rules of afterlife and beyond. the answers to if you ever come back, and the when and why it sometimes doesn't happen. the answers to: do you get to watch your loved ones move on within their karmatic circles of life on Earth? do you get to guide them and reach out to them in dreams and whispers?

he was keeping his promise of coming back and telling me this ultimate truth. and i was with him again, sitting there just absorbing greedily. only i couldn't hear the sound of those words, from where i suddenly was, standing outside that circle watching myself within. it was like God himself had turned off the volume and moved my conscious soul into an observing silence, least He sacrifice the age old debate of life-after-death in allowing the words to filter through. yes, uncle Sarge did keep his promise of coming back to me in a dream, after he was gone from us, to finally reveal it all.

deep down, i am sure i know now, what to expect, even if i can't tell you in our man-made words. i am at peace and i know it is sitting somewhere within my subconscious, these answers to all our long debates. i know too that he is in utter bliss and that he went back to the UK. that he is walking upon his gentle green lawns, and that he dresses like a right gentleman. and that he frequents the pubs still, and everyone knows him by name.

last night...

...i was flying. i was a super hero. i had merged with my green iguana and had her strengths and abilities, plus some super kick-ass human ones, plus an additional one of being able to fly (taken from my vampire fascination i think).

usually when i am dreaming of flying, and i get too high, i start panicking and start flailing my arms and i just fall down. last night, i was consciously flying and kept flying. i had the starting moments of panic and then i was like whatever, i better get this flying right.

and i looked below me... looked behind me to ascertain the leg movements, and just straightened out. i moved my arm forward and rearranged my hands like an ballerina in poetic motion, and wallah, i was flying. i then started focusing on flying faster and at blur speed.

i was suddenly anxious in my super hero skin. i was trying to chase something down. i was looking and seeking and finally i was in the same house. and then i was the victim. i was playing the victim, concealing my super hero prowess until i knew without a shadow of a doubt this man was the hunter we were seeking.

he thought i was weak, and then his smell changed and he stood up stronger and his eyes flashed power and hatred and he tried to subdue me. i flexed my super hero powers and ka-pow, whacked him unconscious, just as his knife came down onto my skin.

this is what happens when i wake up at 5am to pee, and then go back to "mr. sandman land" until my alarm rings at 6:15...

married men, are quite puke-y

i mean, married men of our generation, just to clarify. what a far cry from the times of my Dad and my beloved Uncle Sarge. of Uncle Handsome in Adelaide. and uncle Socka. when these original gentlemen were in the game. quietly romantic, faithful to a fault, never offensive to women. in addition... think romance, think Autumn Leaves. think respect for spouse. think discreet. sigh.

i mean married men today. what is up with that ring? that ring is usually just a neon beacon for "talk to me. i am vulnerable. and i am trapped. and i need a special friend. and i like you". and boy-o-boy. i have many such "friends" - i.e.: cousins removed; friends of friends; husbands of friends; acquaintances; ex-work colleagues; and even my own sibling. so it is not that i am sitting on my ass making all this up. the drama i have witnessed vicariously and have personally experienced.. starting with the text messaging. then the thinking and speaking out loud of all the 4th-gear insinuations that "we" should go with the flow. that "we" should not have boundaries. that "we" should not be afraid.

well, i say: grow-up.

it is SO not a "we" thing. it's a YOU + YOUR WIFE THING. life when you are married equates boundaries. you walked those "saat phere" so you only get freedom when you are doing it with your wife. other than that, you should be very afraid. that one wrong card falling out of place is your entire life gone down the toilet. especially when you have children. (and especially when one of them kiddies is a girl. think karma dude!) and that MOST single women almost 40 today? we choose to be single, and are not suckers for this "live life dangerously and see where it all ends up cos you have been missing out" crap. that we lose just a little more respect for you, and we shake our heads, and say: poor wife-y man! what an arse to be married too. thank God he is "just a friend".

what makes a ghost??!

have you ever thought about it, i mean like as in really pondered the question? versus just going by the typical Hollywood interpretations.

in Hindi, a ghost is called a Bhoot, and so doesn't really sound very scary to me, ahem, being a non-native Hindi speaker myself. i wonder what the scariest word we have in Bahasa Malaysia would be? "hantu"? "pocong" (this contributed by LWB; but she thinks it is a corpse, covered in a white sheet!). anyway i seriously digress.

i just wanted to say that i think i know the answer!!!

you see, i was lying in bed, napping one afternoon over our long Merdeka week-end, and with my very heavy black-outs, one can almost think it is genuine night-time, such bliss. when i suddenly thought of camo. this in itself is not unusual, as i sleep every chance i get on any given week-end AND i have been thinking of camo daily since she passed on.

i was already waking up so it wasn't purely a dream. neither was it a completely conscious thought. i was waking up, thinking of camo and then suddenly i heard this whisper. it was more a breathing into my inner ear, and then suddenly there were words inside my head. and in my subconscious, i immediately knew it was her, or my need to connect with her.
it was like she was "standing" just inside my bedroom, whispering to me through my mirror, and i got a deep immediate sense that she was blissfully happy. and she was whispering a question to me... "what makes a ghost?"

we had a rapid back and forth flow of words. no other way to describe it really. there were no real sentences. just an exchange of feelings, and mutual thoughts all tumbled together, and flashing images. and i "heard" through this channel of communication that ghosts often exist only thanks to the living. to those of us that are "left behind" that feel a loss so immensely, we start to fill that vacuum with our hopes that the dead are still here with us. lingering and participating and our conversations with them are ever on-going. we still have this unfinished business we need to off-load. and this is how a ghost is created.

do i think i am being haunted??! NO! for i know without a doubt that she is in heaven now. plus you are so not listening to how we create this connection in our minds.
do i believe in ghosts the Parapsychology way?? YES! i wanted to study the subject as my first degree (a story for another time!)
but this whispered conversation, i think this was merely a self-creation because i got an email from David Nic last week and he asked for my mailing address as camo left behind something he thinks she would like for me to have. and i have been carrying all these unfinished conversations in my mind. and it makes for a saner way to eradicate the whisper don't ya think?

almost the pre-eve of Merdeka...

...and i heard on the radio this morning that pretty soon, we will be hosting a human rights convention right here in Kuala Lumpur. wowie (and please sing this next line out - makes me want to shout.. stamp my feet now and shout)! ahem, BUT, i am of the firm opinion that we should be hosting a t.r.a.f.f.i.c. convention instead. forget the bloody human rights living in this city man! i mean what is really "THE" priority here? 50 years of independence and we close down all the major roads leading into the city for a full week of dress rehearsals??! come on mr. prime minister. what about our traffic rights?

yes, yes, to check myself first... i am loyal. faithful. i even get goose bumps when i hear Negara Ku being played and oooi, when i see the jalur stand on foreign land, i get that special spine tingling thing-y happening, big time. but i am sooooo tired from just crawling and inching my way to work all week this week (and it's only Wednesday people!). i sincerely doubt i am going to be singing and celebrating come Friday. i will instead, be sitting zombified, nursing a double shot of my favorite single malt, on the rocks, watching my Max and all the pre-recorded flicks, and so NOT the national parade. so i can completely put out of my mind and my soul, all the stress of having an almost developed nation, put its rakyat through hours of torturous struggling through snail paced traffic, just so we can do dress rehearsals for a week from 6:30 am - 1:30 pm and then again from 6:30 pm to 1:30 am!!! and why freaking close the SMART tunnel to "alleviate" traffic congestion for Christsake?? how does that make any sense? (are you sure you didn't mean "elevate"??) you already have the hundreds of cars in queue waiting to enter the tunnel, backed up for miles, with no bloody way of U-Turning or deviating from their inner lanes. and you get this radio chick coolly telling you to "be patient out there. this is expected to last at least the next 2 hours or so."

(author's note to self: breathe!) okay, why don't we just do a China and declare the whole flipping week off (i think they do this for labor week?? whatever) and maturely recognize that productivity is already shite this week, as loyal citizens are getting to work either extra smelly from the overly packed LRTs and are just sitting there in their cramped cubicles thinking all day about clock-out time, and counting down the hours to when they can finally hurry on home to shower all over again... and the rest of us i.e these car-wrought-stress-wreaks that have just shakily made our ways into our offices, we are just wanting to sit on down now, take these phones of their hooks, and try to forget the 2 h.o.u.r.s. we have just spent, making like a tortoise... and oh yarrrr! what ever happened to Putrajaya??! aren't we like supposed to be hosting ALL national governmental functions out there? oh oh oh. idea: or can't we just rehearse out there?? and let the rakyat go about earning their daily wages, status quo, until it is THE public holiday and you get to have all the streets all to yourselves, and thus can just parade on in peace?

the romance of just being...

Rinones, por favor = Some kidneys, please.

the romance of just being alive and in love.
or at least in love with the idea of being in love.
or at least with the sound belief that you are indeed in love.

complicated? welcome to the true essence of love.
made absolute sense? in addition, one finds simplicity in the most convoluted.
the array of rainbow emotions, plus the million nuances you actually get in black. aye, lassie, that is love.

one day you're flitting and flying and smiling at all the irritated road ragers on the way to work and back. you're smiling "tolerance", "patience", and "it's great to be stuck in this traffic jam cos you get to reflect on how special relationships really are". you see the baby blue in the sky. you wonder at the birds singing even though the rains are coming. you could be snow-fucking-white, for the amount of humming you're doing around the household chores.

the next, you're a road rager yourself. and the blackest of moods permeate your weaving through every single daily chore and ritual. you scare the selangor red bus driver into giving you way, with the curse that is apparent in your angry aura. you cringe when you see that lovey-dovey couple holding hands and sharing their pukey special kodak moment together, and you fight the urge to kick some sense into her head and him, well just in his nuts for general good-will.

the next day? you love yourself. you love e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g. you stand for. you even love that your knees are so round and that you inherited them from your grandmother through your madre. you love waking up mornings and rewinding over and over all the happy dreams you had throughout the night, where you heard his voice endlessly. he was just talking to you. just calling out your name. you love traipsing into work to find 3 emails waiting for you from him. especially the one liner-one paragraph ones that show that he thought about you throughout his busy day.

then you're back to the black day. and you hate yourself for being so stupid. for believing that love will show him the way and that karma intends for you to be together. you hate the flipping love songs they keep playing, back-to-back that croon out themes of having no choice but to wait as the damned singers are so stuck on the one person, they just can't move on (ahem, don't know how to move on, konon). well you know what, get lives people!!! and then you remember that you too struggle pathetically with just trying to move half a baby-step forward with the sickening realization that THIS man is not going to be "the one" either, sista.

sigh. well, love is a rainbow and then some. and unfortunately, the blackness of all things, stick. they really do. and the real challenge is to keep your soul from disintegrating too badly this time round, when this ends too. and you are back to wearing that same label inside out for all the world to see: unrequited love walking here. you know what? i do believe that this time, i am going to get some cute little neon t-shirts printed with that very same tag-line, and sell them. would you buy one??! USD15 a pop, and you get to send amreeth to the Iguazu Falls...

thursday nite's going to be awright

23rd August and we all counting down to Merdeka still.
xx whatever days to go, we are all gearing up proudly and unitedly to celebrate together.
hmmm, psst psst, must make note to self and each other, we not allowed to celebrate on own, or in our small groups.
no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no. must be in Dataran(?) with PM.
make note to find out where the celebrations are? okie, got that!

now moving along nicely to: we are proud to be... punjabi (indian or lain lain?), woman, single, professional, oversea educated, hmm, what ah first? oh yar, M.a.l.a.y.s.i.a.n.
the point? yar, yar, we are all equal and democratic lah. we are proud of our equal opportunities. we are proud to be Malaysians.
rehearsing the national anthem? if you stand straight up and sing at the very top of your lungs (wait, back up a little now and let's use my favorite term for this decade okay?) if we all sing with the full forces of our hearts, did you know that the hair on the very back of your neck actually stands up at that part, right up front, "Tanah Tumpahnya Darah Ku"??? if you are... hmm... okie, let's just forget the pre-fixes, and skip straight to "Malaysian", if you are Malaysian, just try it!

i swear, i kid you not! i am serious. it happens to me.

so was that good for you? didn't work??! what lah? okay, try again only this time, close your eyes, breath in deeply and repeatedly, until you feel your mind opening up and you start to feel the connection you should have with this nation that bore you and then, listen to the winds of 50 years ago, when Bapak raised his hand, and shouted "Merdeka! Merdeka! Merdeka!" and he meant it for each one of us, every single Malaysian, in every shape, color and permutation and imagine then standing up straight, proud and starting again at the very top... God Bless Us All.

bursting to pee, dedicated to natasha hudson

bursting to pee,
but like a bumble bee
i flit and i fly
instead of go jamban,
so i can see
how long i can tahan still.

if i were model
i could write fodder (hmm, almost rhymes with fodel, i.e. model, but no such word)
and still get published like i good.
i can pose with pearls,
and mascara pekat like Bolly heroine
for semua the in between pages.

or i could just do words:
stay
sit
stand
jump
jalur
50 years?
equality
secular
malay
chinese
indian
what malaysian?
oh, lain lain

and i would be a star.
for only under RM30 yar.
and my friends wanting to be co-rock stars
would buy my book
despite how much i can't cook.
or the mat rempits will buy it for a halal
play boy adventure.

the inevitable

La cuenta, por favor = The check, please.

well, long have i heard it, and repeatedly in a variety of ways, that the only thing man is sure of the minute he is born is that he will be one day closer to death.
yet, you never really think about what you would do if you knew unequivocally that you only have 1 year to live. most "normal" people think it's a macabre topic and so that's just that... (and we all know how i detest the concept of normal!)
i am guessing that a lot of what you would do next, would in the most part depend on how healthy you are at this exact point, when you receive "the" news, and how long you will stay healthy after.

all a moot debate i suppose, as one never knows how one will react per se. but i now have the ultimate role model. and i will struggle to stay as cheerful, as upbeat, as optimistic and as loving as my dear friend Narelle Cameron was right until the very end. and i will try to embrace each day to its fullest. (aside - Camo married her prince and has gone to heaven knowing how very loved she is. and every single loved one she has left behind, knows too, without any doubt, how very much she loves them.)

and so i started to think, why the heck wait for news like that??! i am almost 40, and have spent the bulk of my life thinking some Bollywood movie is just going to happen to me. but i should know better... and so i made this list of the top 5 things i want to do by this time next year (22 August 2007) regardless of if i live "forever". the list is intended to make my own Bollywood movie, to carve a little of my own karma. and so maybe this list is a little fictional at points, and even maybe a little blue sky thinking given my current life-style and state-of-mind, but as my mates in adidas used to chant - "impossible is nothing".

so here we go-go:

1. i want to be at my own wedding, and as THE bride, i want to be looking into the eyes of MY MAN, who is marrying me as he loves me with the full force of his heart, and i want to see and feel that love without a doubt. oh, and i want to be wearing that exact same lengha that Rani Mukherjee wore when she met Shahrukh Khan for the very first time, in Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna. so that my hero, my Dad, can dance the Shava Shava song like he promised (he will be 72 next year). maybe i can rope in my crowd-phobic cha-cha-ji and my very suave disco-dancing thayah-ji into the Bollywood sequence. hmmm...

2. i want to have saved up so much money that i can just not work for a year and stay at home and write my best selling... novel? collection of short stories? vampire tales? hmm, how about my suicidal dark depressing unrequited love poems?? whatever! i want to write full time! and still pay all my lifestyle bills. moving along here...

3. i want to start a small center/shelter for education and rescue in honor of my best friend, the green iguana. word IggySingh :) for all the times you have rescued me right back and helped me become a decent human being.

4. i want to meet a vampire. and persuade him that i do deserve eternal life, and that he should bite me. where are you?? what? you don't believe in vampires??!

5. i want to stand at the Iguazu falls and feel the dreams of my childhood... and reflect on how we are all connected, every single one of us, even before we realize it.

so meet back here in August 2008 people, and remember, live every minute.

the end: Narelle is being buried tomorrow at the Springvale Botanical Cemetery, 3pm at the Boyd Chapel, Melbourne, Australia. and she has "organized" the idea of drinks for her friends. to drink to her full life at a pub in North Fitzroy. i salute you Camo. and until we meet again in our next lives, Chak De Sista!

Door number 7

Mi futuro es tan brillante que tendre que ponerme gafas = My future's so bright I got to get some shades.

walking through life blind. i think that is pretty much what karma is all about.

you think you have laid out all YOUR choices, there they are all lined up, out there on the table now, and you have studied each permutation of each possible variable. ready to deal now with what you chose.

and then ka-pow. one letter is dropped into your lap, giving you under 10 minutes to decide to take what's behind Door number 7. it's non-negotiable.

and Door number 7 is inevitable now, it didn't exist 10 minutes ago. it has just shimmered into existence, simply because YOU didn't do what you needed to do by now, on your road map of life. you haven't learnt all you needed to learn, or settled all that you needed to by the time you got to this exact life marker. clock is ticking and to stay in the game, you need to suffer a little. time for some pay back to the universe.

so what to do? you have no choice. you open Door number 7. sometimes with a breaking heart, and very shaky knees. but you do it anyways. sometimes you open that symbolic Door with your eyes wide open, like an animal caught in somebody's headlights. sometimes you're squinting. but most times you blink rapidly, forcing yourself to remember to breathe, and not to start crying.

in hind-sight, Door number 7 was the God-most-awful decision anyone could have made, and it takes YOU as many years (as in an equivalent number) of keeping your head down, and your actions honest, to be able to take out that dark stain on your life's history of choices. before the whispers finally stop and your family and friends can look you in your eye and smile again. before you wake up smiling.

but then you start all over and are back to laying out all those options, on the table, again. and then you get this next letter dropped into your lap. and although every iota of e.v.e.r.y. cell in your body is telling you that you are in love, and your friends are telling you that you are glowing and they have never seen you happier, that letter, it says clearly your "man" he ain't never going to love you the way you love him, sista. and guess what? he will also start to extricate himself from your life as one big sacrifice to his friendship, so his conscience is clear and he feels this will make you move on and so he imagines that very soon YOU will get to feel all white-fluffy-cloud-feeling + pink-heart-romance all over again. with someone else.

and no matter how many times you feel like you need to scrape your guts off that kitchen floor, to be able to open up that next Door. and your soul, she dies just a little bit more, all over again, and with moist eyes, and innards twisted in anguish, with a hardened heart and a malicious sway, you away...

The Beauty Of Death, to Camo, may you RIP

In memory of Narelle Cameron.
May she rest with God and in peace.
11 January 1971 - 19 August 2007.

I would like to reflect on this poem by my favorite writer Gibran Khalil Gibran: The Beauty of Death

Part One - The Calling

Let me sleep, for my soul is intoxicated with love and
Let me rest, for my spirit has had its bounty of days and nights;
Light the candles and burn the incense around my bed, and
Scatter leaves of jasmine and roses over my body;
Embalm my hair with frankincense and sprinkle my feet with perfume,
And read what the hand of Death has written on my forehead.

Let me rest in the arms of Slumber, for my open eyes are tired;
Let the silver-stringed lyre quiver and soothe my spirit;
Weave from the harp and lute a veil around my withering heart.

Sing of the past as you behold the dawn of hope in my eyes, for
It's magic meaning is a soft bed upon which my heart rests.

Dry your tears, my friends, and raise your heads as the flowers
Raise their crowns to greet the dawn.
Look at the bride of Death standing like a column of light
Between my bed and the infinite;
Hold your breath and listen with me to the beckoning rustle of
Her white wings.

Come close and bid me farewell; touch my eyes with smiling lips.
Let the children grasp my hands with soft and rosy fingers;
Let the ages place their veined hands upon my head and bless me;
Let the virgins come close and see the shadow of God in my eyes,
And hear the echo of His will racing with my breath.

Part Two - The Ascending

I have passed a mountain peak and my soul is soaring in the
Firmament of complete and unbound freedom;
I am far, far away, my companions, and the clouds are
Hiding the hills from my eyes.
The valleys are becoming flooded with an ocean of silence, and the
Hands of oblivion are engulfing the roads and the houses;
The prairies and fields are disappearing behind a white specter
That looks like the spring cloud, yellow as the candlelight
And red as the twilight.

The songs of the waves and the hymns of the streams
Are scattered, and the voices of the throngs reduced to silence;
And I can hear naught but the music of Eternity
In exact harmony with the spirit's desires.
I am cloaked in full whiteness;
I am in comfort; I am in peace.

Part Three - The Remains

Unwrap me from this white linen shroud and clothe me
With leaves of jasmine and lilies;
Take my body from the ivory casket and let it rest
Upon pillows of orange blossoms.
Lament me not, but sing songs of youth and joy;
Shed not tears upon me, but sing of harvest and the winepress;
Utter no sigh of agony, but draw upon my face with your
Finger the symbol of Love and Joy.
Disturb not the air's tranquility with chanting and requiems,
But let your hearts sing with me the song of Eternal Life;
Mourn me not with apparel of black,
But dress in color and rejoice with me;
Talk not of my departure with sighs in your hearts; close
Your eyes and you will see me with you forevermore.

Place me upon clusters of leaves and
Carry my upon your friendly shoulders and
Walk slowly to the deserted forest.
Take me not to the crowded burying ground lest my slumber
Be disrupted by the rattling of bones and skulls.
Carry me to the cypress woods and dig my grave where violets
And poppies grow not in the other's shadow;
Let my grave be deep so that the flood will not
Carry my bones to the open valley;
Let my grace be wide, so that the twilight shadows
Will come and sit by me.

Take from me all earthly raiment and place me deep in my
Mother Earth; and place me with care upon my mother's breast.
Cover me with soft earth, and let each handful be mixed
With seeds of jasmine, lilies and myrtle; and when they
Grow above me, and thrive on my body's element they will
Breathe the fragrance of my heart into space;
And reveal even to the sun the secret of my peace;
And sail with the breeze and comfort the wayfarer.

Leave me then, friends - leave me and depart on mute feet,
As the silence walks in the deserted valley;
Leave me to God and disperse yourselves slowly, as the almond
And apple blossoms disperse under the vibration of Nisan's breeze.
Go back to the joy of your dwellings and you will find there
That which Death cannot remove from you and me.
Leave with place, for what you see here is far away in meaning
From the earthly world. Leave me.

Khalil Gibran; born Gibran Khalil Gibran, Arabic: جبران خليل جبران, Syriac: ܓ̰ܒܪܢ ܚܠܝܠ ܓ̰ܒܪܢ (January 6, 1883 – April 10, 1931) was a Lebanese American artist, poet and writer. He was born in Lebanon and spent much of his productive life in the United States.

reflections of my friend, Narelle

she is just lying there now, her body crumbling from the inside out,
and she is losing her battle to death-by-cancer, in fast-forward.
closing my eyes here at my desk in Kuala Lumpur, i am a lifetime away and i can only imagine her there, wedged deep within her blinding anguish. it is surreal.

i wonder constantly where her soul is now? is it still trapped inside of her, feeling each fresh pulse of pain, each fresh battle lost, as the cancer continues on savagely to consume methodically and to decay some more? i can almost see it moving on in sheer precision to the next untouched spot, to devour and to corrupt. or is her soul thankfully embracing the heavy doses of medication, meted out to numb her into oblivion and bridge the journey she must now undertake alone?

is she already floating above? watching her new-12 day husband and eternal soul-mate, her sad father and her strong mother, her loving friends, as they rally around her stagnant, emaciated frame? watching each one of them helplessly, unable to come back? or maybe she has already said her good-byes to them, and leaving them sitting there still, has simply flown out of the window, and up into the clear blue Melbourne skies above?

i remember vividly the very first time we met, Camo and i. and how i was absolutely awed by her red hair, and sparkling bright eyes, her heavy doc martins. and now in a blink, 17 long years on, i remember the very last time we met, pre-Chinese New Year 2007. all bones, naked skin-head, she was struggling to hold herself steady on her steel crutches, smiling contagiously as she opened the door for me. noticing my Double Happiness pendant and calling it by name (which is no small feat), she was convinced i should start dating on-line, and how i may just meet my prince there (as she did herself all those years ago now).

she had this thing about her toes back in university. she would never ever walk barefoot least someone accidentally touched her feet, and she was petrified of the shivers it would then start deep inside of her. i think of that often when i walk barefoot now, and i wonder when God will finally take her?
or is she gone from us already, and her comatose body merely a symbol for us that hold on to her still?

the ant

Un arenque, por favor = One herring, please.

i almost walked onto an ant in the elevator, the other day.
tiny and black, crawling quickly in small crop circles,
its movement immediately obvious to me on the cold marble floor.

i lifted my boot, and let it hover over the little creature, wondering what it was doing in the elevator and all alone.
it was oblivious to my shadow, and kept to its sacred mission in life, faithfully and without deviation.
i lowered my foot away from it then, a little shameful to have even considered, sending it back to its maker.

it continued on, in equal frantic circles, making its way dizzily onto the blacker marble slabs, slowly disappearing into the darker design.
i wondered then how God decides which one of us should be "taken" from our daily rituals of life. which one of us will be next?
and i shook my head clear, stepping out to start the afternoon.

to the Count... a monologue of love

Dia de la Asuncion = Assumption Day (August 15)

"why do i love you? why do i love you? i would need a lifetime my Count, to be able to share all the reasons i have come to embrace and celebrate thus far," Kate spoke with quiet confidence, trapped in a magical mist of just being. "what readily comes to my lips now, sir... i will gladly share..."

"i love you for your smile - so teasing and gentle at times. so devastatingly paralyzing, when you aim to seduce. the way your lips curl at the corners so sweetly when you are enquiring after me. and so bold and wicked when you think of all in this world that is so disturbing to you. a thin cruel line when you avenge yourself on your enemies..."

"i love you for your honey colored eyes. the way they sparkle when you throw your head back and laugh uninhibited, or when you are so animated in the very stories that you act out for me and you laugh contagiously at your own escapades, soliciting my own spontaneous laughter. i love the way your eyes shift dangerously to a darker nuance when you are trying to control the flash of sudden anger that surfaces when you encounter people that irk."

"i love you for the dark passionate streak that runs wild within the very core of your Christian soul. battling your own personal demons, you crave the unthinkable, and are never satisfied with the mere trappings of everyday toils and troubles. you look to the skies for your answers, seeing only the grey clouds that gather there at times, and you struggle always to see the silver lining. you stay so honest and true to your self-imposed boundaries, trying always to come back to doing the right things, and fulfilling your duty. i love the fact that you live on the edge always, and that today could be even darker for you, than yesterday was. yet you are always still present tomorrow, aiming to stay in the light."

"i love you for the way you have always stood by me, even when you have failed to recognize that you do so. for your enduring friendship and your mission to make every moment together come alive, even in the smallest of ways. the careful consideration of the wine, the feasting, the achingly honest welcome into your home and into your life, the many days we have spent just talking about out beliefs, our commonalities, how different we are. i love the pleasures of the flesh that you have branded under my skin and how i touch the very heavens above when you move within me."

"i love you for all that you are. the darkness and the nightmares. the insomniac wandering that you do within your own life, always waiting in bated anticipation for life's next great adventure. for the happy flashes that surface when you are with me, and you are alive and passionate and always striving for the next personal enlightenment. most of all, my sweet Count, i love you most of all for the way i feel when i am with you. the whisper of a life that could just be between us if you let it be, it sears through my very being and my every nerve ending tingles with the sweet hopes of feeling your skin against mine, for all eternity. i am more alive standing next to you, even should it be for a fleeting moment, than living alone in my own skin all these long years apart."

"yes, i see that you lower your eyes, and know that you doubt the emotive allegations that i make here this early morn," Kate smiled sadly. "i remember the reality of what stands between us, sir. and i will not make any claims to a life shared. for that you have no fear." she stood up and started walking towards the door. she stopped to look over her shoulder at him, one last time in yet again another period of separation, her heart brimming with her love for him, "i will always feel this way but remember this my Count, life is a long journey for us to yet to bear and we will meet again and soon."

"should you always wait for that absolute sign within the heavens to strike you in your heart like a cold bullet of recognition, you will forget to touch this being that is standing here, in plain view of your doubtful eyes, and you will finally succeed in letting me slip through your life... and i will never..." she could not bring herself to finish her cheerless sentence, and started instead to walk quietly out of the tavern and into the rising sun.

King Khan is back.. and he rules my heart still...

Chak De India! Chak De India! Chak De India!

A brilliant film to turn the Khan's image yet again from his usual romantic hero character of Rahul to Kajol's Anjali, into the fine character actor that he really is.. and I sit wondering how the Indian public will take him in this role! I mean there is absolutely no romance. No dancing (shock and horror). No flashbacks. Only the most brilliant story telling by the YashRaj crew, yet again. A play on one united nation (India) versus all the various states the hockey players hail from. A play on how hockey is as respectable a game as cricket. That women can play, and should play, and should be supported to play.

All the nuances of being a woman and how women stand in an Indian society is explored through the core thread of Coach Kabir shaping these 16 girls into a team to take on the World Cup title. Themes that are very reminiscent of where women really stand, that one can still draw these parallels to many societies outside of India - demanding boyfriends, difficult husbands that all want "his woman" to sit at home and cook and clean, or at the very least not to have a more successful career than them. That one woman can really end up being the other one's worst enemy. That when sisters should be banding together to protect each other in a male dominated world, that they often let each other down.

Shahrukh Khan. Hmmm. Are you sitting down? Bearded, Ray-Bans, playing the Muslim coach - Kabir Khan. One that has been ousted by Indians everywhere. Branded a traitor for a simple acceptance of a helping hand off his knees, that turned into a handshake and then into a comforting hug by an opposing Pakistani hockey player, on the field of an India/Pakistan game, minutes after Pakistan beat India, and Kabir single-handedly lost that penalty goal. Ugly accusations of him being Pakistani under the skin, of him taking a bribe to fold on his penalty shot. 7 long years of solitude only to come back again, determined to break what it was that made his team lose in the first place, that allowed for his fellow countrymen, neighbors and friends alike to burn effigies of him, the great Indian Hockey Captain that allegedly folded to Pakistan.

Me, who has no desire or even a basic like for sports in any shape or form, watched breathlessly and anxiously, kneading my hands and pulling at my fingers as game after game mounted and the tactical aspects of making 16 girls come together to want to play cohesively with each other (versus "against") and "sirf" for India (not their individual states), and to beat everything from "man to man marking" to their own personal egos on the field, all unfolded in brilliant Yash Chopra style. My favorite scenes... and ooi there were so many... I think my first one was when Shahrukh resigned from coaching the ladies, and took them all to McD's for a farewell lunch. Only to sit back and let his team beat the shit out of the men that were harassing them. He stepped in only when he needed to cut this one man off (who was sneaking in from behind with a cricket bat to whack the ladies) and he looked on throughout with sheer pride as these completely individualistic women, when push came to shove, stepped up to be a team and ka-pow... they got each other's "back" (covered) big time.

Another fav scene... When the Indian men's team stood a little shocked and confused at the fact that the women almost beat them. In a game (the women's first) to prove that they did deserve to be sent out to represent India and that the politics of keeping some kick-backs and re-routing the sponsorship to only the men's team was unacceptable. So a realization all round that to simply drop the women's team was no longer as under-the-carpet as one committee deciding. And then when the men's coach clapped that very first clap. And the men hockey players raised their hockey sticks, one by one as a salute to the women. Total awe, respect and goodwill. When the girls realized slowly that they were worth something as a team, that people did take them seriously, and they raised their hockey sticks back, bemused. Brrrr... all my hair stood up on the back of my neck and I was left fumbling for my Kleenex. When they lost 7-Nil to Australia and the Australian coach laughed at Khan and asked him - how on earth did they even make it to the World Cup in the first place... I could go on. And on. Sigh. All the Wold Cup "games" were filmed at the Melbourne Hockey Stadium. And the girls met the teams from London, to Spain, to South Africa, to Argentina, to Korea. And then back to the Aussies all over again.

Needless to say, I would happily stay home, barefoot and pregnant for Mr. Khan. I am even thinking about naming my first son Kabir (not after any bloody cricket player.. but after the hockey coach that is Shahrukh). And now, back to the reality that our Malaysian athletes should sit up and think, we live this everyday! I mean forget the women in sports. Forget the Bollywood tugging at our heart strings. But don't lose the lesson. Any Malaysian athlete at the moment (less Nicol David - you go girl! you are making us proud!) gets the same reaction every time we lose 20-Nil. HOW DID WE GET TO THE GAME IN THE 1ST PLACE?? A high-school kiddies team in Ozland could beat us Malaysians probably... in any sport (except squash!)...

the bank manager

Inmaculada Concepion = Immaculate Conception Day (December 8)

tripping along, singing our song, side by side...

the mushed up words kept bouncing around inside her head, and they were driving her crazy. partly an old song her Mom used to listen to on those non-stop TV reruns with the same old advertisements, and partly her own words thrown in there. she shifted uncomfortably in her new pink suit, feeling the skirt rise up her thighs. not a color she would wear by choice, but it matched the blond wig she had just put on. pulling on her sunglasses, she surveyed her image critically from head to toe. she smiled ruefully at what she saw but it would have to do for today, and hopefully the security officer at the bank wouldn't recognize her this time. she really needed to get past him into the manager's office today and she just couldn't take another failed attempt.

she patted her sickly pink hand-bag pushing aside the tassels to ensure the magnum was still in there. she had only picked it up yesterday from the Italian behind the mechanic's shop, and she had learnt very quickly how to load it and how to remove the safety so it would be good to go. she picked up her brown cat and gave him a quick squeeze, incurring a slow lazy meow. she dropped him on her bed and she recognized then that she may never come home again, and was grateful she had dropped a note in her Mom's post-box to say that Leticia (she had only found out recently that her cat was a 'he', after many years.. and it was too complicated an explanation to think about right now) needed to be fed. Mom would take the fat cat home, already thinking that she was a lousy cat-owner and looking for any excuse to take him over.

she was soon stepping out into the afternoon sun, and was mighty glad for the big black shades pushed up against the bridge of her nose. she hurried past the construction workers that wolf-whistled at her. they wouldn't look at her ordinarily in her own mousy brown hair and thick reading glasses, but blond and dressed in pink, they practically stopped traffic to call out after her. she struggled hard to keep her balance now in her 4 inch stilettos, and had to fight the urge to walk on barefoot, as she hurried on past the men. she counted the cracks in the pavement as she waited for the traffic lights to change. only another two blocks and she would be standing outside the main branch. she took a deep breath and mentally rehearsed her lines all over again. she had to remember to whisper enticingly as that would disguise her own natural voice and encourage the guard to think she really was a harmless bimbo wanting to open a savings account of her own, now that she had got her "very first job". she just had to sound convincing.

minutes later, she was giggling the excuse of why she needed to get a manager at the prestigious bank to help her out. the wig and the outfit must have worked miracles as minutes later she was being ushered into the big green-carpeted office and the manager's mousy new secretary was running off to ensure her coffee was made exactly to order. she stood quietly in the corner of the leather-upholstered room, and waited patiently. he would soon be in, excited at the prospect of a young blond spanking new customer wanting his professional services. she imagined him straightening up his tie, and checking his teeth to make sure they were just as shiny, eye-balling himself in the mirror he always kept in his upper right hand pocket. the door burst open behind her, and the manager walked in, full of beans and wearing a light blue-grey suit. he strode over to her and shook her hand firmly. he ushered her soothingly into the green single seater near the large bay window and bounced over to his desk to pull out the official forms she needed to fill out. she waited patiently for his secretary to come back in with her coffee and to leave again. she knew then that they would be completely alone. that he would have given her the same strict instructions she herself had heard many a time, not to be disturbed at any cost.

she stood up then, and walked over to him. he was seated at this desk, looking through some open drawers, trying to figure out where the necessary papers were. he looked up with an agreeable customer friendly line just bursting to be said, when she took of her sunglasses slowly. his words caught in his throat, and he recoiled visibly. "Anna", he swallowed loudly, "My goodness, Anna. Is that you girl?" She unzipped her bag and slowly took out the magnum. He balked at the sight of the gun, and started to stammer nervously now, visibly upset (he stuttered when he was scared, and only 2 women in the whole wide world knew that, his mother and her), "What.. ah.. what.. ah.. what are you...ah... doing here... ah girl?" "I'm pregnant", she retorted flatly, "and all you can do is avoid me?" She walked over to him and pushed the gun right into the side of his face. He started to break out into a cold sweat that heightened visibly when she unlocked the safety. "I have been trying to speak to you for weeks now Harold, and I even had to go out and buy this ugly old wig to get past your security dog. Now, why ever don't you return any of my calls hon?"

Harold spluttered through some excuses, and Anna listened to him with growing disgust. This was the man that had seduced her, and that had successfully taken her virginity away from her at the ripe old age of 18, when all she had ever done was work diligently as his secretary for the last 6 years, only to find out that he got married to a girl last month. a girl his mother had picked for him, and that she had only been the 6-8 o'clock pass time (she learnt this last bit at the office water cooler when Brett from Purchasing was telling Mark from Finance all about Anna, the boss' office squeeze). she shut her eyes hard, remembering the dedicated hours they had spent sweating on each other right there on that ugly green carpet and how many times she had had to treat herself after for her carpet burnt knees and elbows. she opened her eyes to see him shaking now, and she knew then that he was never going to leave his wife. "Stand up Harold," she said flatly, "I can't shoot a man that is sitting down now, can I, hmm?". She watched him stand shakily and she could feel the gun slide down across his cheekbone as he was sweating like a right old pig now. "I want to to take your pants off.. Go on.. do it now. That's a good boy. And now, I want you to drop your boxers too.. Go on now. No need to be shy. I have done quite a bit more than just look at little Harold there. Come on now. Good boy."

She shot him 4 times in his chest and once in his face as he lay bleeding and dying on that ugly old green carpet. and she pumped the last bullet of hers into the back of her throat, and fell to the ground thinking at least her cat would get fed tonight...

~a fictional piece by amreeth~

a poem by Sylvia Plath...

The Arrival of the Bee Box

I ordered this, clean wood box
Square as a chair and almost too heavy to lift.
I would say it was the coffin of a midget
Or a square baby
Were there not such a din in it.

The box is locked, it is dangerous.
I have to live with it overnight
And I can't keep away from it.
There are no windows, so I can't see what is in there.
There is only a little grid, no exit.

I put my eye to the grid.
It is dark, dark,
With the swarmy feeling of African hands
Minute and shrunk for export,
Black on black, angrily clambering.

How can I let them out?
It is the noise that appalls me most of all,
The unintelligible syllables.
It is like a Roman mob,
Small, taken one by one, but my god, together!

I lay my ear to furious Latin.
I am not a Caesar.
I have simply ordered a box of maniacs.
They can be sent back.
They can die, I need feed them nothing, I am the owner.

I wonder how hungry they are.
I wonder if they would forget me
If I just undid the locks and stood back and turned into a tree.
There is the laburnum, its blond colonnades,
And the petticoats of the cherry.

They might ignore me immediately
In my moon suit and funeral veil.
I am no source of honey
So why should they turn on me?
Tomorrow I will be sweet God, I will set them free.

The box is only temporary.

~a poem by Sylvia Plath (1932 - 1963)~

where or where is my SRK??!

Quiero algo para el mareo = I'd like something for travel sickness.

according to my older brother - TSB - my "Shahrukh Khan" sits in Kanaada (Canada for the illiterate).
hmmm... seems quite plausible actually, as Vancouver does house the largest Sikh population outside of the Punjab. and maybe even loads of Punjabi Hindus.

so, i am seriously going to put Mom + aunty Jas on this quest for my DH when they travel onwards for cousin Sunita's wedding in September. after all, what luck have I had finding my own Dear Husband all on my own. it is my karma to always be the "best friend" yar, and never the bride. and the number of times i have heard "i love you i really do do.. but i am not in love with you".. if i had taken just ONE USD every time, i would be pretty rich by now wei... muaahahhhahhaahaa.

okay so maybe not that rich, but seriously, the BEST green iguana vets sit in North America, and i will be closer to my mentor - Melissa Kaplan... what do you think? (light bulb moment! eureka!)

and so Thomas wrote -

"I Said to Love"

I said to Love,
"It is not now as in old days
When men adored thee and thy ways
All else above;
Named thee the Boy, the Bright, the One
Who spread a heaven beneath the sun,"
I said to Love.

I said to him,
"We now know more of thee than then;
We were but weak in judgment when,
With hearts abrim,
We clamoured thee that thou would'st please
Inflict on us thine agonies,"
I said to him.

I said to Love,
"Thou art not young, thou art not fair,
No faery darts, no cherub air,
Nor swan, nor dove
Are thine; but features pitiless,
And iron daggers of distress,"
I said to Love.

"Depart then, Love! . . .
- Man's race shall end, dost threaten thou?
The age to come the man of now
Know nothing of? -
We fear not such a threat from thee;
We are too old in apathy!
Mankind shall cease.--So let it be,"
I said to Love.

by Thomas Hardy (1840 - 1928)

~inspired to be found by LWB. amreeth~

snow prints

nieve = snow

fluffy white. or is it slush grey?
invigorating chill on your skin. or just wet and miserable?
thick and soft. and sinkable deep.
ice thin slate. slippery and hard.
memories of contentment. and lots of family Christmases. togetherness and peace and happiness. the most depressing time of the year universally, and many a suicide calls a hot-line. desperate. alone.
angel wings, and a time for Jesus' birth to be remembered. the symbolism revered. the power of the season celebrated even by us non-Christians.
homeless dying in the streets in the so called "developed" west, and the elevation of crime as the needy steal, and the careless rich travel.
either school of thought... snow lets one leave snow prints and make angel wings and allows the real savoring of a rich hot chocolate with 5 whole marshmallows. even when alone.
and then you get to watch the snow fall down to make our world a level playing field all over again. leaving behind a clean, white, pure and even world. all over again.
i think peace, harmony and a meeting of minds. and you think destruction, differences, one way.
but can we both just think snow prints? and the opportunity for fresh beginnings? of pure childlike magic and just forget the religious and political mayhem?
idealistic? or just a shift of your paradigm?

~dedicated to finding the common ground. amreeth~

genius

claro = bright
(used in "slang" to punctuate a conversation meaning - "precisely" or "exactly" or "it's crystal clear"

and what is that really (genius)? that score on the MENSA assessment? the ability to write in French and paint like a Renaissance master? the ability to write your first piano symphony at 5?
hmmm, yes, that i can buy.

but what is "normal"? i personally hate that word - "normal" btw. it immediately denotes the insinuation of there being a NOT normal. of being out-of-the-box as a problem and i.e. as not normal. as being corny, or wacky, or strange, or (oh.oh.oh. this one) idiosyncratic as being not normal. labels and categories. they constrict and stereotype and make me always accept that i live on the fringes of "normalcy". i do. why? just...

• that i love tattoos, and crave "a" next one (no Mom, don't start panicking).
• that i love anything Spanish irrationally. Antonio baby, anytime, any day, Block A, 5-0-5...
• that i believe vampires exist (huh! so i said it on my Blog, out here in cyberspace. does that mean i will become the next RPK?)
• and i think the damn scientologists are barmy. aliens my ass! (eee.. how politically incorrect!)
• that i stop breathing every time Shahrukh Khan fills the silver screen. oh, and i cry every time he does (sometimes even before he does, when he is just starting to twitch that eye-brow of his! i am cair.)
• that i believe in omens. and definitely in dreams
• that i wear opal to "sense". and gold to "block"
• that i never touch someone even accidentally, unless i think you have a good aura
• that i completely supported every point Malik Imtiaz Sarwar made on Riz Khan last night over that buduh Tuan Haji (that was talking through his ass). YOU ROCK MIS!
• notice how i didn't add - that i live my life completely around my 4.5 foot green lizard - ahem. that i think is non-negotiable!

Jasbir is 70.. hark the angels, they do sing-sing...

Seis rodajas de bacalao = Six slices of cod.

heavy head. droopy eye-lids. i'm stifling broad yawns.
severely obsessive internal focus to just s.n.e.a.k. in that one fast snooze.
and it has been this way since my alarm rang itself silly this a.m.

blissful outcomes of a wonderful 4 day family get-together :) starting Friday night.
all of us here to usher in Jasbir's 70th birthday. to stand with her. to celebrate her existence.
each one of us blessed to know her in our special way, and to be so loved in return.

poignant. sweet. the absence of Uncle Sarge even more noticeable.
energetic. ecstatic. memory making moments that our cameras didn't manage to document in its full entirety.
a sense of real binding connection... a forging of deeper stalwart bonds.

and let's acknowledge the food. the vast planning. the menu setting. the careful hosting.
the pre-execution to the bigger bash on the 26th. the pounds of consumables digested and then some.
the malts and red wines. the Tigers and all the driving around in between.

happy birthday my darling Aunty Jasbir. and here's to 70 more!
i hope the quiet reflections as you stood silent watching the candles on your cake burn...
that they all come true. God Bless and Keep YOU. always always always.

your niece, amreeth.

bleak terrain

Que tiene de caza? = What do you have in the way of game?

it was really wet outside and her long skirts clung onto her legs making it near impossible for her to walk with any real dignity. coupled with her shackled ankles, she moved as quickly as she could, motivated by the sharp constant jarring of his shot-gun into the small of her back. Kate knew now without a doubt that it was all over for her. the Count had left her there to die. his sweet promises at dawn, whispered into the hollow of her aroused neck, as he hastened his fast exit out of her life was a lesson well learnt in hind-sight. he had taken all the gold with him, and had left her there for the marshals to find. if they had not been in a hurry to move on to their next bounty, she might also have faced the unspeakable horrors of forced sexual encounters with the 3 filthy men that had burst into her hotel room to find her naked and sound asleep.

she had been forced instead to dress hurriedly and in broad view of their lecherous stares, and one had even followed her into the outhouse as she tried to get on with her delicate toilette. she had kept her teeth firmly gritted together and tried hard to ignore his foul presence. two of them were now mounted on tired horses, and the third was on the ground with her, ushering her forcefully in to the woods just outside of town. they had also woken up the town photographer and forced him to ride his carriage alongside them, with all the equipment necessary to take the photographs of her dead body swinging from the tallest tree. before they would cut her down and take more stills of her lying dead, and in various stages of undress on the soggy ground. these photographs were sorely needed as evidence for their bounty collection, and many more would be kept and sold individually as souvenirs. she had long since given up smoking but wished fervently for a cigarette now, desperate to counteract the bile in the back of her throat.

they finally stopped walking her at what seemed to be the most enormous oak she had ever seen. the man on his feet, walking with her hit her hard in her lower back with the butt of his shotgun, forcing her to fall down onto her knees. he spat out his tobacco unapologetic as the small cry of pain escaped through her clenched jaw. they started stringing up a broad branch with the thick rope they had quietly unpacked. one man held a gun firmly to her right temple as she sat in obvious pain, hunched down on her knees. mr. shotgun went over to help the visibly shaky photographer set up his equipment under a black umbrella in the pouring rain and she took a deep breath and tried to remember the prayer her father had taught her as a little girl. she forced herself to say the broken but comforting sentences in her head, over and over again. she was by now shaking herself, and balled her hands into tight fists, digging her fingernails into her palms to steady herself. she looked up at the noose that was ready for her, and felt the men start to drag her forward.

mr. shotgun asked her if she had any last words, and she chocked back the curse she had ready for him. instead, she shook her head, forcing back the unshed tears, and focused on keeping her mind blank. she was numb from the recognition that these were her last moments on God's green earth, and looked around ruefully to see that she was indeed all alone. the Count must have been on his fast journey to retirement down south in Mexico, and she closed her mind to his sweet breath against her open, hungry lips. she stumbled to the oak, and mr. shotgun pulled a small black cloth bag firmly over her head. she felt them struggle to get her up onto the horse, and she was indeed dead weight to them. they struggled too for a long while, to keep her steady and standing in the saddle, as she remained motionless and completely unhelpful. she then felt them pull the heavy noose down around her neck, and balked at how final it all felt. it was a fairly thick rope but she doubted sincerely that it was proportionate enough to her weight to be able to snap her neck instantly. she knew then that she would stay alive for anything from 5 to 15 minutes after they pushed her off the horse, and she didn't know what terrified her more. the certainty of a death out here in this bleak terrain and the ensuing burial in an unmarked grave. or the long last painful minutes of hanging from the rope, waiting for her soul to leave her, chocking to death in degrees, just as her poor father had.

she heard them slap the horse into a run, and felt her legs fall away from their steady footing on the saddle. she was falling into open space now, and felt her neck catch on the noose. she bounced twice and then was swinging from side to side. she could feel herself losing the air from her lungs and she started to feel her world blacking-out. the sudden gun shot startled her into urinating into her underskirts and she could feel the warm liquid trickle down her inner thighs. she started to struggle in earnest now thinking they had shot her to speed up their assignment. she felt the rope above her give and she was falling down into the wet, soggy ground below. lying in a heap, she was dazed and confused, still shackled and blinded by the tight bag around her head. she heard the subsequent shots. there were 4 in quick succession, and then the silence was deafening. she heard his sure steady footsteps approach her quickly, and she waited in silent anticipation, frozen. he whispered to her soothingly as he pulled her across his strong lap, tearing the bag off her face. she was panting at the sudden fresh air, gulping it down greedily as she was twisting upwards to look into his worried face and his honey colored eyes flashed their concern at her. the large rain-drops fell into her brown eyes, and ran into her nostrils causing her to splutter and to turn away coughing.

she blinked rapidly, trying to clear her head and accept the fact that she had just escaped the sentence of 'death by hanging' and a sure decapitation after, as the marshals would have taken her head back to Captain Isaac for his trophy case. the Count picked her up and rocked her gently, and she passed out into a much needed state of oblivion. sure only of the fact that he had come back for her, and that she wasn't alone after all.

~a fictional piece by amreeth~

blood and gore

encarcelacion = imprisonment

the room at the back of the house, that she always discovered by accident was consistently dark, damp, and smelt bad. the bathroom was covered in fungi and the toilet was chocked up with excrement that always made her step backwards, struggling to control her fast rising bile.
the bed was covered in filthy sheets and the sunshine fought hard to come through the dark heavy curtains.

she would then either wake up in horror with the realization that she would have to take a shower standing barefoot in that vile filth. or she would continue tossing and turning through her discovery of the dismembered foot in the back of her closet. the foot would then take on two possibilities. either it would be covered in a white sack, and preserved in this grotesqueness for her to find, or it would be alive and vibrating with the hundred of maggots that were fast eating through the decaying flesh.

happy laughter

peyote = hallucinogenic cactus

happy laughter filled her heart, and she remembered running through fields of vibrant colors. mustard and red seemed to be the two dominant shades that floated to her consciousness. she was alone and it felt good. she could feel the gentle breeze upon her cheeks, and she lifted her face up to the gentle rays of the sun.
she remembered the feeling of peace, of utter contentment, and she smiled slowly savouring the recognition that she was just happy. that all her dark anxious worries had dissipated in the soothing warmth of her happy dream...

a special birthday letter...

mediados de agosto = the middle of August

to my count,

happy august is here again. a truly special month where your anniversary of birth is remembered fondly and celebrated with great love by your family. and this will be the year. the year where all your dreams, all your hopes and each individual wish will fall perfectly into place and all you ever wanted will materialize as true.
if we lived in a universe that i controlled, i would pluck out only the brightest stars from the heavens above to lay down at your feet, to help guide you with Godspeed towards your one true love.

that special creature whom you have been waiting for. the one that will take your breath away.
her timeless beauty and her amazing wit and passion, her grace and her warm welcoming smile will leave you wondering why it took you so long to finally meet her. that one soul-mate that will make you feel that all your worries and all your frowns have finally faded into a deep mellow past. and you will no longer wake-up every morning, wondering what your future holds.
you will never be alone again mi amigo, and this mystical woman will carry you always in her heart, with love. respect. and dignity.

you will realize instantly that you love her with the full force of your heart, and the islands of paradise will come alive with your week-long wedding procession. explosive colors and amazing musical notes will imprint those vast beaches forever, with your eternal testimony of true mutual love towards each other. even the Gods of ancient times will come out to watch over you and sigh at the beauty of what is so right.

my daily prayers and my most positive feelings of love, respect and admiration are with you. hurry up lah so i can dance at your terribly romantic wedding. (i even have the purrfect outfit!)

mucho besos, amreeth.

the beginning...

agosto = August

Lelia remembered when the men had come for her father. she had stood motionless, a wisp of a girl, barely 11, and her long black curls had bounced dangerously from under her white cotton night cap almost attracting unwanted attention to herself. she had stood straight up in between the tall vases from China that father had just unpacked from his latest voyage, and her curls cast telling shadows that danced on the walls behind her. her father walked with dignity, despite the beating that they had given him. he flashed her a secret smile and winked at her and she nodded solemnly. she was prepared. they had discussed this too often, and father had drilled into her the rigour of what she needed to do next.

she had waited a full 3 hours after the men had gone. she stood soundless, unmoving, listening to their grandfather clock chime each quarter of an hour. she continued to stand still, up to her own count of 100, even after the third hour had sounded, just for good measure. she then moved cautiously across the drawing room, staying very close to the heavy black silk drapes, dragging her little brown teddy bear along with her. she tip-toed into the cellar, to find the hidden chest of clothes that father always kept there. she unpacked hurriedly, pulling on the little boy's clothes that fit her perfectly. she pulled on the heavy woollen socks and boots, lacing them up tightly. she then knocked off her night cap and pulled her heavy tresses into a loose ponytail, tucking all her hair up into the boy's hat she put on. she pulled out the boot polish her father had left in the trunk for her, and rubbed some over her pale cheeks and the back of her hands. it took away the obvious glow of her light brown skin in the moonlight. she took out the travel sack that father had made for her. she pushed her teddy bear into the sack but did not look inside, confident that the cured meat, water pouch, and paring knife would have been resting on top of a dry change of clothes, paper bonds, gold nuggets and the wooden stakes he would have also packed.

she made her way quietly to the cellar door, standing in the darkness for a full 15 minutes, listening to the wind outside. she stood there to make sure that the men had really gone. she forced herself to remember her next instruction. and she kept repeating in her mind, the words she needed to finally say. she moved then to the cellar staircase, and walked half-way up the solid steps. in a wooden panel to the right of the staircase was a hidden passage that she easily opened and slipped silently into. she crouched down on the floor, feeling for the letter her father would have left for her. it would be her introduction to the dark master's castle across the lake. shivering now from the realization that her father was probably dead, murdered by those men that had taken him, she forced herself to pick up the letter and to slip it into her travel sack. she took her first tentative step, and then her next, and then she was running. the sound of her boots were muffled by the dark wood panelling that covered the outside of the secret passage.

she must have been running for an hour now, and finally the passage started to ascend. she knew then that she was beyond the walls of her father's castle, and that she would soon be in the woods, at the edge of the lake. she was scared and focused on the words again. finding the quiet confidence she needed, she made her way out of the passage and through the great Woods of Aspirations. she kept walking quickly, careful to walk lightly as father had taught her so she would not snap a fallen branch or draw any particular attention to herself. dressed completely in black, she became one with the long moving shadows of the woods. she finally got to the edge of the lake, and hesitated for a moment. it would now become very difficult and she was prepared. she strapped the travel sack across her shoulder and stood firmly on the ground. digging her heels into the soft ground, she opened up her arms and held them away from herself. she looked across the lake and the words spilt out of her, unbidden, and she repeated them over and over with force.

"i call upon you Ismay the keeper of the great shadows of the north, and i command you to reminisce the refuge you took in the house of Lord De la Fuente. i command you now to reciprocate this refuge to Lelia De la Fuente, the only child of the great Lord and hence his only living advocate."
Lelia could barely keep count of how many times she had repeated the same words. she was shouting them out into the shadows, competing with the howling winds that were whipping through the woods and tearing the hat from head and her hair from her pony-tail. she kept her eyes half-closed, and her arms were held up now across her face, protecting her from the debris the winds were huffing violently into her face. she felt the ground start to shake and watched the dead leaves swirl in a united frenzy all around her. as the leaves spun maniacally through the air, slapping hard against her, they started pushing her forward into the lake. Lelia dug her heels deeper into the wet ground and shouted the words out loud yet again. she heard her father's lessons echoing in the back of her mind, and she suddenly remembered the promise that she would have to make to draw Ismay forward, should he fail to recognize the refuge she sought.

"i pledge Ismay to defend the woods and all of the lake, all the creatures big and small, air and water bound, of the ground itself, with my own soul. i pledge to keep them and to defend them and to take on the guise of the mistress to the dark master. and i command you now to reciprocate the refuge to Lelia De la Fuente, the only child of the..." she was knocked off her feet by a heavy log to the back of knees, and twisted sideways to look into the eyes of a savage wolf. she froze where she was on the ground, holding her breath. she was shaking and quickly averted her eyes, dropping her head forward. the beast was enormous and as black as the silken night itself, except for a white flash of fur running down his neck and under its belly. its teeth gnashed and it snarled warningly, barely inches from the side of her face. the beast stood there over Lelia for what seemed to be an eternity to her. she could almost make out its silver eyes flashing under its thick black unkempt fur, but kept her eyes carefully averted. she then heard the wolf lie down beside her and felt its warm raggedy breaths on her inner thighs. before she could decide what she needed to do next she felt a strong hold on her upper arm, dragging her up to her feet, and she was spun unceremoniously around to face the legendary Ismay himself.

well over 7 feet, he was pure muscle. with the skin like the Moors, black as night, he flashed his grey eyes at her. she took in the long white scar that ran down the length of his vast neck and she took two steps backwards to suddenly realize that the wolf was gone. "could it be...?" she spoke aloud without realizing, and immediately put her hand childishly over her mouth. Ismay threw his head back and shouted his raw laughter across the woods. "come now child. for one so brave to have met Ismay in his true form, to now stand there like a helpless girl caught speaking when she should be silent? tell me Lelia De la Fuente... you share the bloodline of the great Lord of the fountains? why then did he send you alone..." he trailed his sentence off, watching the little girl struggle with her unshed tears. "and so the great Lord has ceased to exist.." he shook himself, feeling the sadness in the back of his throat.
"you took an oath child. was that in fear or would you take it still?" Lelia slowly pulled herself up to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster, she was still shaking and covered in damp leaves. her hair stood up in long strands, blown wild in the winds, but her voice was unshaken and she said firmly, "i stand by my oath Ismay and i command you to.." "yes, yes. i heard you the first 99 times." he looked her over very carefully, and watched her blush innocently at his raw scrutiny. "this oath child will mean that you turn at the age of your 21st year of birth. and it will mean that you walk these woods and across the lake and the skies above for all eternity. and so are you prepared?"

Lelia did not even think about hesitating. her father was murdered now, and she would be next. she had sworn to keep their bloodline pure and now the prophecy had already been set into motion. her destiny ahead was widely written about in the many books that lined her father's library. books that documented her dark turning.
"i stand by my oath Ismay, and i will embrace the dark master willingly as promised, at the dawn of my 21st year of birth..."

~a fictional piece by amreeth~