And “Oh My God” Is All We Can Say Saturday, Nov 7 2009

We are so ignorant. I’m so angry. There’s so much shit happening in the world. And we all let it happen.

I’m reeling in shock from what I’ve just read about what’s happening in West Africa. Well, yes, I love current affairs and TIME magazine and all that wordy crap. And yes I’m a dork. But moving on.

You may think “Yeah, yeah, they have no food, no water, they are skinny, they can’t read and there’s AIDS. Can you tell me something that I don’t already know?”

But this more than that. It’s not just sad or heart-wrenching. It’s scary.

Everyone’s involved in this. And the scary thing is that we don’t know it.

This seems pretty ridiculous and heavy. It shouldn’t be on the average person blog. But I can’t help it. I’m so disturbed. I’m going to write an entry here soon about this. You have been warned.

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Full Circle Wednesday, Sep 16 2009

“Who is Jennyspeaks?”

I first posed myself that question some two years ago, on a greasy Wednesday night. As I sat in front of the computer, fingers hovering the keyboard, there was a tinge of nervous excitement gnawing me inside. After all, it was my maiden foray into this strange activity called “blogging”. Besides, I had inherited my mother’s anti-technology genes, which only made me wary of anything electronic.

But with that question, I was free to pave the way for who I was going to be. I could single-handedly sculpt this character through my posts. I was going to have this faceless, anonymous, virtual mouthpiece. And with it I could let loose the many ideas, emotions and thoughts that were writhing around in my head.

When I finished the “answer key“ in my first post, I was smugly satisfied. I was pleased that I had managed to condense my very self into 320 words. I was also pretty sure that this was the real me, the unchanging Jennyspeaks, the young and restless lass who would be like that forever and ever, amen.

Of course that was rubbish. That answer key quickly became obsolete.

Some two years and 99 posts later, a very different Jennyspeaks is here before you.

In the weeks leading up to my 2^nd year Blogging Anniversary (a personal achievement, something to be celebrated, for someone who has never quite gotten over her fear over HTML), I was rootling around my Archives.

After looking through my old posts, I had only one conclusion: Jennyspeaks was f**king awesome. (This may not be a very reliable assessment considering that I am Jennyspeaks.)

But the point is. This blog has seen me evolve from a bipolar crow on amphetamines to a cynical depressive to a ??? now. In its posts I have confided terrible secrets and morbid emotions that I never had the courage to tell anyone about (including God). In typical no-holds barred fashion I have rattled off about everything from constipation to Amy Winehouse. I always prided myself as being a private person, but it is really ironic how this public space made me open up. These archives have now become precious and dear to me, because every single word I’ve uttered reminds me of what I was, and how far I’ve come.

And the thing that kept me going even on my lowest of days was the comments I received. Some of them made sense, some of them didn’t. But they all mattered anyway. It was affirming to get a comment from someone I didn’t know, because it reminded me that somewhere out there in our disconnected world, someone was listening to what I had to say.

Two years ago, I promised that I would continue the “answer key” as to who Jennyspeaks really was. I think it’s high time that I confront that question again.

Question: Who is Jennyspeaks?

Answer:

Jennyspeaks used to be a complex girl with complex wants and needs. Today she is still (if not more) complex, but has greatly simplified her wants and needs. Her bisexual tendencies have remained largely dormant since and she is happy about that.

She is still Eurasian and her parentage has not been altered. However while she used to not give a shit about her heritage, she now has a mild cultural/identity crisis.

Jennyspeaks’ faith in her maker has definitely become stronger since.

She has completely forgotten how to play the bass and the guitar, thanks to years of nerd-dom. She has not strummed a guitar ever since a steel string burst in her face while attempting to tune it. She is not in any musical group but has quietly penned several tunes since, on a voice recorder.

She believes that she isn’t racist. She hasn’t had a situation so far where she can test that belief.

She continues to hang out at the same old pigsty of an apartment block called her home. And it’s still cool.

Jennyspeaks has ceased having unhealthy obsessions over Green Day, much less any rock band. She just enjoys music and has a few favourites. Such as Green Day.

Jennyspeaks no longer aspires rock-stardom. In other words, she has become sensible and boring. Her sensible and boring career options journalism and broadcast media. She still hopes to brush up on her musical skills so that she can play music as a hobby. But secretly she hopes to be a writer.

(You are probably aware by now that this is a nerd speaking).

Jennyspeaks has reached the stage where she accepts that she cannot have a Gisele Bundchen figure and so she has stopped bothering about diets and calorie counting. She tries to exercise and maintain a figure that does not revolt people. She is content to be small, bite-sized and on the fleshy side.

She would still play catching, hide-and-seek and Old Maid… if only there was anyone who’d be willing to play with her.

Don’t bother totalling up your marks to see if you passed or failed the question. This answer key doesn’t prove anything because there’s no way you can compress an individual into a set amount of words. What’s written here today might be obsolete tomorrow… Who knows?

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Dating 101, as told by my mother Tuesday, Jul 14 2009

My mother and I hardly talk about boys, even though we’re pretty close. And so recently, it was a rare privilege for me to be able to engage in a few minutes of civil discourse with her over the subject of dating.

It has always fascinated me that my mother has extremely low libido, even through her teenage years (or so she claims). She has always insisted that she never had any problems with boys whatsoever during her school years, and that she never had crushes nor dated. How efficient. And she expects me to do the same. According to her, such complications only arose when she hit the ripe old age of 25. It makes me secretly wonder if my mother was a butch when she was younger (after all, she was a competitive netballer). Okay I’m just kidding. Of course she wasn’t a butch.

Respectfully bearing in mind my mother’s stand on boys, (“You are a Christian girl. God will keep you safe from such things”) I quietly kept all my messy hormonal adventures (or rather, misadventures) to myself. We remained as close as ever, but I just had to improve on my secret-hoarding skills. And improve they did.

I am very proud to say that as of 12 July 2009, my mother still thinks that I am “safe” from “such things”. I am also very pleased with myself for that. Just about a month ago, when I was marking the 17^th year of my existence, the both of us were taking stock of my life and it slowly evolved to the subject of dating.

“See mum, I’ve been such a good daughter. I never gave you boy trouble,” I said teasingly.

Her expression changed. Somehow she clearly felt uncomfortable but had to say something anyway: “Of course, you’re baptized in Christ. He will keep you safe.”

“What if I get a boyfriend now?”

“It just shows that you have strayed. You have become distracted. Good girls don’t do such things.”

“So I can become a nun, then?”

“No I didn’t raise you to become a nun. I will not allow that.”

“So you want me to live like a nun without becoming a nun.”

“What I’m saying is, God will provide you with a companion when you are in university. He will be intelligent and holding a good job. Or else, you will find your future husband in Church. I hope you date that altar server, the one who won the “Altar Server of the Year” award. He looks so holy and righteous.”

“Mum, that altar server wants to become a priest.”

“Then find another altar server. Oh, and put your sons in servers too…”

And so there ended the longest conversation I ever had with her on dating. And her instructions were very clear.

The thing is, my dear mother does not understand that most (but not all, I hope) males in church are no better than males out-of-church when it comes to serial dating. As one friend put it: “Don’t ever date a server. They are players.”

I think it’s in times like these that my mother and I revolve in different solar systems. While my mother’s advice is very entertaining, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe in restricting a relationship to a specific time/place. Or in my case, to a specific altar server.

What I do believe in is letting God take control of what happens or doesn’t. I’m pretty sure God isn’t going to cast me into the pits of hell for lusting over a guy, or for dating a player. I can get a guy’s number and seek him out; but what happens after that is beyond my control. I can date all I want and get my heart trampled; but I know that at the end of the day He will be there listening to my rants.

So dear mum, thank you for your advice. However I don’t think the birds and the bees are about university guys or church guys or what-have-you.

I think it’s about living and learning. The practical way.

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I’ve Got The Last Word! Wednesday, May 13 2009

Oh well. Here I am again after – months? – of absence. It’s been a long time. Life has been busy and full. Yeah yeah, four weeks into Mess Communication and I have my hands full. Did i just say Mess Communications? Well in a sense these 4 weeks have been a mess. I don’t even have time to play with my pimple pus and contemplate about life from the toilet seat. Polytechnic life has been out of this world, and everyday just makes me drained and zombified.

Yes, I’ve lost touch with blogging. To all the people who kept coming back, for those kind folks who (still) keep my links, gracias. truly. Of course this ain’t the end. You’ll still see me around here. But first of all I’ll set the record straight.

To this certain someone, whose pervasive comments in my previous post have scored me my most “popular” post ever, I’d like to tell you something: Go get a life for yourself. In case you’ve just realised, you’re insulting people from all ends of the earth who have never even met you, nor badmouthed you. For God’s sake, my “poor little Indian” mother has got nothing to do with you, nor you with her.

I am absolutely proud of my parents, no matter what they’ve done, no matter what mistakes they’ve made as parents. Yes, my parents are divorced and my wonderful “poor little ignorant” Indian mother has raised me selflessly despite all the odds. I won’t divorce her. You have no right to judge her. You don’t even know her name. (thanks for the senseless “divorce” suggestion. by the way, how do you even divorce your own parents? when you find out tell me how.)

I am also absolutely unafraid to tell the world that I’m C-A-T-H-O-L-I-C and proud of that too. Call me a Jesus-lover, a holey-moley, a Christian in China or whatever you said. I respect people’s opinions, I know that not everyone feels the same way about religion. But heck, my blog comment page ain’t a bloody forum for you to rant about your Mickey Mouse sequin wallet and your view about Buddhists in China. Or tell me your weird philosophical takes on Obama and the Thai government. I don’t need another lecture.

And please leave me out of your long-running squabble with Chanatip. I don’t want to know about it.

Heard of a blog? Silly me, of course you do. Now go get one, and you can post AND comment non-stop, for ever and ever. Amen.

Last of all, stop sending me random “U r fucked” Facebook messages. At least learn how to spell the words “you” and “are” and spare me the agony. I honestly don’t know what your beef with me is, and you resort to the cowardice of leaving anonymous hate messages for me to laugh at.

I’m proud of who I am, whatever I’ve said in this blog, and all the things that make me who I am.

NOW DEAL WITH IT, GIRL.

*p.s All comments are under moderation now. sorry about that!

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The Post-Constipation Post Wednesday, Feb 11 2009

It’s really uncanny how much constipation has loomed large over my life. Both literally and metaphorically. I’ve had struggles with my rectum ever since I was born, and yet constipation has become more than just a health woe for me. Constipation (not of the literal kind) has now become a word in my dictionary of emotions. It means to have a pent-up of feelings, a sense of quiet despair and discomfort, when too much crap has been building up inside of you and you can’t seem to let it out. I “feel” constipated whenever I feel lousy, bloated with feelings but I can’t help but keep it all inside simply cos I’m too lazy busy to release them.

Thus I’ve called this the “Post-Constipation” post, cos it’s like this huge release for me, as I’ve not blogged in a while. So bear with me as I dislodge all the hardened contents of my mental bowels, in this long, crappy post.

Every once in a while, even the most brilliant of writers become lazy unbothered  so busy that they fail to come up with anything. I am no exception. For the past few weeks I was lazy unbothered quite caught up with my new money-making hobby: work. Since it had been some time since both my muscle and brain cells had been decently utilised, my first work week was, simply put, hell. For once in my life, I felt completely stupid as I fumbled about awkwardly, struggling to remember recipes (I worked in a cafe) and cooking up a disaster in the kitchen. I spent my nights after work studiously revising things like How many minutes I should deep-fry onion rings and How many scoops of vanilla powder went into making different smoothies. Hell, I even my usual dreams were replaced with work-related nightmares (such as when I burned the roast chicken).

Many interesting things happened at work, and I was itching to get it all down in my typical cynical fashion, but sheer lethargy bogged me down. when I was not working, all I wanted to do was to switch off my brain and rot with Ellen DeGeneres. I was utterly numbed. As a result I truly became lazy and unbothered to blog.

And then divine intervention came. In the form of a book.

I was floundering through the library one day after a particularly nasty day at work (TWO  elderly customers complained that they couldn’t chew my Roasted Chicken. Get some dentures, ya hags!) when I picked up a random autobiography in the Music section. It had a nice picture of U2 in the front together with a not-so-nice picture of some man, presumably the author Neil McCormick. It was called I Was Bono’s Doppelganger. The blurb promised lots of racy scandal (“Bad sex, weird drugs, bizarre haircuts” it read) and since it promised some relation to everybody’s favourite rock-superhero Bono, I borrowed it. Eagerly, I attacked the novel, hoping to unwind with page after page of brainless, rock-star misadventures.

Instead what I read caught me by surprise. The book was essentially about McCormick’s quest for rock stardom, together with his schoolmate at Mount Temple Comprehensive, Paul Hewson (that’s Bono to you and me). Both Hewson and McCormick were in bands and harboured dreams of making it big, but only Hewson’s band succeeded eventually. While McCormick tried and tried relentlessly for more than twenty years to be heard, his former schoolmate soared higher and higher into the stratosphere of rock stardom. Thus unravels this sorry saga of a truly talented musician who lives in Bono’s shadow.

Sure, there are plenty of “sex, drugs and not-so-rocking rock&roll” bites for tabloid junkies like me to chew on, but underneath it all, I saw myself in McCormick. A strangely distorted reflection, at least. Previously, I too wanted a slice of such a lifestyle. I started out somewhat like McCormick, playing in amateur bands when I was 14, even when I could barely grasp the neck of the bass guitar. You may not believe this, but actually I was bitten by the Bug. The Bug to be famous. As a child of the TV generation (I had been watching MTV together with Sesame Street), it seemed to me the pinnacle of success, the achievement of my life if only I could appear inside that metal box. Being on TV seemed like the ultimate goal.

In the early days of my confused adolescence I was convinced that it was my destiny playing in stadium in front of a screaming audience. I worked hard at learning the guitar. I threw myself in the whole punk culture (listening to nothing else other that the screaming squalls of Sid Vicious and other punk gods) and was so sure that life was about rock&roll.

Unlike McCormick, who took twenty years of wrong turnings to finally get himself together, I was fortunate enough to be slapped on the face and shaken hard, pulling myself out of that silly dream. I realised that making music was about passion and expression, not making money and rolling around in Cadillacs. Today, I’m a very different person. I’m no longer a punk, or a whatever; I don’t subscribe to any particular music genre. I’m ready to embrace anything that moves me within.

I Was Bono’s Doppelganger is an airy, extremely funny and strangely poignant tale. As Bono remarked, McCormick has an ability to make “extremely heavy things feel weightless”. As if a reminder from above, a book I had picked to enjoy a temporary diversion into racy trash, instead had eye-opening passages on God. Bono has great faith in his maker, while McCormick is a committed, cynical atheist. The conversations between the two on God’s existence are extremely entertaining, but strike a chord with readers as well. The final, bittersweet twist emerges at the end when McCormick, ever the devout atheist, writes a very beautiful song about God. the song came to him in a dream, and proved to be elusive piece that finally clinches him a record deal, at the not-so-rock&roll age of 40.

So here we are, people. For those who have managed to stay with me till this far, you’ve officially ploughed through 1072 words!

Just to let you know, McCormick’s defining song, entitled I Found God, is neither preachy nor proselytsing. It’s extremely simple and yet carries alot of depth. some think of it as an atheist anthem. some view it as an affirmation. I tend to think it’s the latter. Here, read the lyrics and decide for yourself.

I found God
In the first place that I looked
I found God
In the crannies and the nooks
I found God
Underneath a stone
I found God
Didnt even have to leave my home
I found God
I found God

I found the Buddha
Sitting cross legged by the door
I found Jesus
Nailed and bleeding on the floor
I found the Prophet
Up to his neck in sand
I found God
Wherever I found man
I found God
In a hundred different places
With a thousand different voices
And a million different faces
I found God
I found God

I found God
Down the smoking barrel of a gun
I found God
In bones bleached white beneath the sun
I found God
Amongst the killers and the rapists
I found God
Between the proddies and the papists
I found God
In temples turned to rubble
I found God
On the pulpit stirring up more trouble
I found God
On both sides of the war
With the bigots and the fascists
Kicking down my door
I found God
I found God

And I said My God, my God
What have You done?
Why is this life so hard
For everyone?

And God said

I found you
Before it all began
I found you
When the universe went bang
I found you
In the cooling of the stars
I watched worlds collide
I wondered how we got this far?
I found you
Crawling from the sea
I found you
Hanging with the monkeys in the trees
I found you
Before you found me
I found you
And I set you free
Free to stand on your own feet
Free to watch the sunrise
Free to be what you can be
Free to be what you despise
Free to glory in the truth
Free to swallow your own lies
Cause I’m coursing through your bloodstream
I’m staring through your eyes
I found you
I found you.

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Now I Know Why Kurt Cobain Shot Himself Thursday, Jan 8 2009

Kurt Cobain, frontman of Nirvana

I recently received a belated Christmas gift (thanks, Fred) and it was Nirvana’s Greatest Hits collection. I have always had a special fondness for Nirvana and their music, simply because their music was so raw and honest. Not your typical screamo-emo fare you get on radio today, by juvenile bands attempting to sound tortured, but stripped-down bitterness that soars above the music and into your soul.

I listened to the tracks late at night, alone in bed, beginning with “You Know You’re Right,” where Kurt hisses the word “pain” in one long, murderous breath, coupled with Krist Novoselic’s thumping bass and Dave Grohl’s angry drums. Over 15 tracks, Kurt chronicles the various setbacks in his life: a broken home (as vividly depicted in “Sliver”), a tumultous love life (in “About a Girl”), and the cloying mix of sarcasm and delusion that was Kurt’s inner soul (a bittersweet, unplugged “All Apologies”).

The standout track, for me, was “The Man Who Sold The World.” it was a cover of David Bowie’s song, but only a man like Kurt could connect with the despair and loneliness of the song with his searing vocals. He was nearing the crossroads, the climax of frustration and quiet defeat, where neither making music, shooting dope, Courtney Love, or pretty much anything on Earth could fill the hole.

And on April 8, 1994, Kurt created another hole for himself. This time, it was on his head. Kurt was found dead with a shotgun in his hand. Suicide.

It never fails to amaze me, how these rich rock stars with everything they can possibly think of having,still end up depressed and unsatisfied. While common folk get by with less than 10% of what rock stars earn. I can rattle off a list of tortured souls: John Frusciante(RHCP), Ian Curtis(Joy Division), Elvis, Sid Vicious (Sex Pistols), Michael Hutchence (INXS)…

For a while I was baffled by their reason to commit suicide. Then when i was slipping into my agnostic-depressive phase, i accepted their suicides as something brave, something peaceful and even beautiful, for life seemed so painful. But after getting back on my feet because of God, suddenly I saw it all so clearly.

Because their rock wasn’t the real Rock.

they looked to music as the ultimate salvation. they fed their hatred with more poison and channelled it towards their songwriting. they waited in vain for something, someone, to save them. at the end of the day, reclining in a posh Hilton hotel suite with an assortment of booze, drugs and women at their disposal, they saw only emptiness. it was all nothing. but they couldn’t find out was missing, and they took the easy way out.

For a while i thought rock music held it all too. I was wrong. for i was looking for the wrong rock. I failed to see God and his open arms, a father waiting for the prodigal child’s return. For it is written: “The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, My God, my rock, in whom I take refuge; My shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.” (Psalm 18:2).

Maybe Kurt could have found peace at last if he read this:

“Come to me, all of you who are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke and put it on you, and learn from me, because I am gentle and humble in Spirit, and you will find rest. For the yoke I will give you is easy, and the load I will put on you is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30)

His life was meaningless, because at the centre of it all, he chose to put worldly things like music at the top. He forgot that living for the world wasn’t enough; he forgot live for himself, for his soul. And once again, maybe he could have identified with:

“Then, brothers, let us leave the flesh (i.e worldly wants) and no longer live according to it. If not, we will die. Rather, walking in the Spirit, let us put to death the body’s deeds do we may live.” (Romans 8:13)

Now, if only someone could’ve shared these with him.

If you’re also going through hard times and you think, “Hey, If God’s do good, why is all this shit happening to me?” ,well, fret not. I was once like you too. But always remember: Life is fleeting. It doesn’t last forever. The world is not a place where you put your faith and belief in, because I can guarantee you you’re gonna be disappointed. people change, friends cheat, and as Murphy says: “If anything can go wrong, it will.”

However, there’s one person you can put your faith in, and that’s God. He doesn’t fade away like some rock tune. Live your life in the quiet confidence that He will work things out in the end, somehow, even in ways we don’t understand. Stop trying to understand stuff for a while; you’ll realise life is alot easier if you stop analysing, rationalising and arguing. Be still and trust Him in simple, childlike belief.

And then life gets alot simpler. And peaceful.

Rest in peace, dear Kurt Cobain.

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