Beautiful Amnesia

A feeling of general unsettledness over the past week or so. An onslaught of bad news started with a job that I had high hopes for being pulled from right under my feet and is now hovering somewhere around the current issue of indigestion. Not very exciting I know, yet I could lament forever about how much time these potentials wasted for me, after inviting me to two interviews (not one, but two) over an extended period of time. I could whine about how they crushed me like a cockroach, after being told that I was one of the two being chosen for the final selection and that I had a more than excellent chance of getting the job. I could complain about my indigestion which is most likely caused by the stress that I have cursed upon myself, not only from daily living but major issues with nervousness about interviews, where my life is going and blah blah blah. Which possibly in turn prompted the return of my hypochondria, leading me to spend the last week or so thinking that I’m going to die.

But that’s enough.

Another job interview yesterday left me shaking for a full ten minutes after it was over. Don’t ask me why, the idea of four people staring at you whilst taking notes make me feel like if I even breathed wrong they would stick me straight in a dumpster. I’m over this looking for a job thing for the year – although to be fair to myself, a few of the non-eventuating of a job as a result were due to circumstances outside of my tendency to pass out during interviews.

Speaking of which, my latest potential employer has just rung for my manager. That means a reference check which is good. Right? It is, right? Oh stupid churning stomach.

Anyway, all I’m looking forward to is my trip to New Zealand’s South Island next week. I even bought 100% trekking boots in preparation for the occasion because I am so adamant that I will be doing a lot of trekking … *ahem* And my prayers this morning only included requests for a healthy body, mind and spirit. That’s all there is to be.

The past few days, I’ve been waking up clear headed and void – void in the sense that I’m lying there waiting to be filled with my energy for the day. However, I’ve found myself thinking as I lie there in the void … “Now what’s wrong? There’s something wrong“. And then I wait till something negative actually does hit me before I go “see I knew it, this just has to ruin my day”. Doesn’t matter what it is, even though I recognise most of them when they creep in from all corners of my mind before settling themselves uncomfortably in my stomach. The seat where my shadow sits.

The way I am comforting myself now is this – at least i am REALISING how stupid and unhealthy it is to expect my demons as if I’m expecting regular guests. For it is WEIRD to feel lost when they do not visit and wonder why they don’t love me anymore – like who in the world feels lost when their regular guests who come and trash their house and scrawl their names in feces over all the walls actually stop visiting. It is BIZARRE to almost will these guests to knock on their doors because you know, a fucked up abode is better than an empty abode.

So this is it. This is me realising that I’m all of the above – stupid, unhealthy, weird and bizarre. All that and with indigestion. Now, if only I can actually get past the procrastination and go about the extremely difficult business of tidying things up. Realising that a break from negativity can actually be a good thing is the first step. Then in time, when I do have these breaks or voids, I can actually use the time and try painting my mind with other, prettier and happier colours. Really, it doesn’t even have to be prettier or happier – I’ll be content with neutral. You know, something like white – something that’s not really a colour. Yes, that’ll do.

I can’t believe that it’s already December. Time seems to have rushed by whilst I’ve been standing still. Where has the year gone? Actually, where have the last few weeks gone even?

I don’t feel like I’ve actually done anything because at this moment, all I feel is where I am right here, right now lying in my bed and thinking “what have I done?”. I’ve done lots since I last wrote, but right now, in this very moment, it feels like I really haven’t done anything at all. I feel as if things have been happening to me in a very external sort of a way. Yet in this current reality, I haven’t moved at all. Does this mean I’m becoming a more centered person? Or am I just simply getting older? Does this make any sense at all? I mean I have only just gone through this crazy hectic time with stressful job interviews, non-stop deadlines and a barrage of social activities that included an insane weekend with no sleep at Earthcore and yet it all feels like it didn’t actually happen to the me who’s here now and typing this on my macbook pro whilst lying on my tummy. The me right now feels so far removed from all that’s happened only so recently. It’s not bad, it’s actually quite refreshing.

However, something should be said about this photo. This photo was taken of the sunrise on the early Sunday morning of Earthcore. I had just stumbled out of my tent and made my way bleary eyed and shivering to the main stage. Juno Reactor was playing their set and I couldn’t find a single familiar face. Yet there was an immediate sense of solidarity with the changing light of the sky that transitioned from darker shades of blue to the soft pink light of a new day curled around little packets of cloud; solidarity with the stunning vocals of Taz Alexander mixed in with the rhythms of a a truly electic mix of instruments; and solidarity with the energy of the strangers all around me, whether they be dancing, hugging, kissing, meditating, prostrating the sun or worshipping the music. My heart opened then and in that moment, there was no hinderance, no obstacles … not a block and joy welled up from within and I had tears in my eyes for there was so much beauty.

I realise I’m blabbering and the things I’m saying probably don’t tie in to each other but that’s fine by me.

Anyway, in three weeks I’ll be turning 30. I never really thought about being 30 because for a long time back there I just didn’t think it was possible. 30 was just a far-fetched concept that I never quite saw as applying to me. When I was 18, I talked about dying at 30 because I figured I’d have enough by now. However, now that I’m actually turning another page in the book of decades, I realise that I haven’t had enough. No, not at all. I guess it’s a growing awareness that I’m just beginning to open my eyes, and suddenly there is so much more to absorb, to soak in to revel in. And the best way to do that is to simply stand still and let it happen. This means to experience it happening instead of running with time, sitting on the swing of backwards and forwards but never quite resting to catch your breath. I’m slowly realising that the best way to live is by straddling the fine balance between the ups and the downs.

Ironically, being balanced is the most precarious position to be in for it requires all your physicality and all your attention. It reminds me of when I was a kid and balancing in the middle of a see-saw. I was never able to keep the see-saw level for very long because one end or the other was always trying to tip over and it usually succeeded, tipping me over with it, after not very long at all. But in that short short span of time where mini-me actually managed to stay on top of the see-saw, legs apart and arms spread evenly apart – I felt like the queen of the world and powerfully in control.

I have these moments now … though not unlike the times before, I am very often swayed this way or the other in my mind, so much so that I am falling all over the place. However, at least now there are times, however brief they may be, where I am balanced and at peace. Just for those brief moments I am the queen of this world again. Serene and at peace. If I know nothing, I know at least this, that it is possible. When I am there, it makes all the effort of trying to reign in these wild horses worthwhile. Trust me, it’s fucking hard work.

Last night I dreamt that I was going to die and in the dream I was preparing for my own imminent and fast approaching death. I was in a lot of emotional distress, yet at the same time I knew that it was something that was going to happen to me and that wasn’t going to change. I was afraid, mostly I was afraid that I’ll never ever see the people I love again. My mother was there and she was making all the arrangements for my funeral. She was sad but resigned. I showed no fear outwardly as I put on a brave front for everybody but inwardly I was terrified of letting go of everything including my consciousness in this life. That fear of losing all I have been clinging on to was a suffering that was indescribable in intensity. Yet in that intensity there was a lesson to be learnt. The lesson is that I am nowhere near (not even a little close to) ready despite all that I have been espousing, and I need to keep practicing …. whichever way the see-saw threatens to tilt.

It has been good to have friends visiting in the past couple of weeks. And the mayhem is only just about to start with Earthcore happening this weekend. The mystery that is Victoria’s weather should be interesting and I am mentally prepared for a freezing muddy weekend filled with psychedelic trance and instant noodles.

I’ve been in a little bit of a mental flux over the past couple of weeks and so it’s been good to have some anchors of familiarity around me. In this way, I’ve been very lucky for every time I wander, there is often a wake-up call. A dinner to plan, a coffee to have, a hug to give and to receive.

This photo is from a chaotic weekend past when the skies rained ice and the winds threatened to uproot ancient trees. We were at St Kilda, due to possible hazy judgement caused by a fantastic dinner of roast lamb and creamy pasta.

The sky was dramatically cloudy with patches of light that divided the seaside scene into two strange almost distinct halves – one warm and sepia, the other cool and blue. It was interesting to see how the two tints of colour just flowed into each other to make one complete surreal scene. I was amazed by the ferocity of the crashing waves and the howling wind and my attention was lost within the power of the water that was carried by the power of the wind and a realisation that at the end of the day everything is both independent and dependent.

There were seagulls, and I noticed their flight. They had their wings spread but they didn’t use them very much. It was pointless for them to fight too hard against that tumultuous crazy wind so they either flew when there was a sudden break from the anarchy into stillness, or they just let the howling wind carry them and bobbed with its song. It was so enlightening just watching them … they didn’t fight what is, and they used the moments of stillness and clarity to move forward. That’s how it should really be, shouldn’t it?

Anyway, maybe, just maybe the turbulence was strong enough to stir our souls into unrest too. Thank you for talking and not talking to me and for all the unknowns. I never used to believe in blind faith for I scoffed at things I do not understand – I know now that it is my fear. Now I try to sit by and watch and it doesn’t matter if I don’t understand, and maybe it is better that I don’t … be like the seagulls and let life carry me. For it is then that wonder returns. It’s nice to be able to feel wonder and there is a lot of intelligence in that wonder itself.

The dreams have returned now that I have asked them to and the past few nights I have awoken in two colliding realities, sometimes I wake twice and it’s amazing when you can’t differentiate between dream and wakefulness. Perhaps there really isn’t a differentiation and our minds, small as they are just make there be. I now notice my angels and demons when they wake, whether they appear as a familiar unease or an unexpected joy that bubbles, they are like waves on the sea – all part of me. Sometimes the feelings I acquire in sleep pursue deep into the day … like today when my dream body, heavy and asleep is infusing the physical – it is through a thin translucent screen that I am seeing the world. I am awake yet still very much asleep.

So yesterday there were snakes, giant tortoises, fish … water. I was afraid but at the same time I was safe. And I am.

It was the most honest gig I’ve been to in a long time.

For all her fame and super-stardom, Emiliana Torrini was down to earth and almost shy. She talked more than any musician I’ve seen and much to the audience’s delight shared stories that were potentially so embarrassing we mightn’t have told our best friends. Let’s just say that oversized Sloggi underwear and pubic hair were part of the mix as were her band members’ incredulous “I can’t believe she’s saying this!” expressions. Priceless. She is just delightful and so incredibly alive. There is no doubt about that. I read somewhere that cute and eccentric would sum up Emiliana perfectly and I can’t think of a better way to describe her.

For someone who admitted to being uncomfortable on a big stage, it was actually her slight awkwardness that accentuated her charm as she fumbled for words and forgot lyrics to a song or didn’t seem to quite know what to do with her hands. It was amazing to be right up the front where I could see every squint of her eyes and every exaggerated face she made to either make us laugh or to get a point across. Somehow she managed to achieved both very easily without being smooth and rehearsed. Whether Emiliana was telling her stories or singing her songs, she did so with the natural grace of someone brutally candid. Often, stories and songs flowed in and out of each other as naturally as they stayed together.

She said this before launching into her song “Big Jump” …

I met this person that completely inspires me because I realised that when I met him, that it takes a lot of bravery to be happy … and it’s kind of safe to just be … you know, comfortable or whatever but I’m not going to go into that …

This touched me infinitely.

Her voice was mesmerising and faultless – whenever she sang any hint of awkwardness faded as she disappeared behind a world that only she can see behind closed eyelids. Her left hand was always clenched into a peculiar fist and once in a while pulled at the hem of her dress in a way that was very natural for her. This is how she sings her songs. This is Emiliana Torrini. It is rare for me to feel like I had a glimpse of the real person but that night I did. And that made all the difference.

The light was calling to me one day last week. It was an irresistible call even though the usual after-work idleness was tugging at the seat of my pants.

I took my cameras with me and went for another drive to St Kilda. All the way I could not help but notice the way the sun felt on my skin and a strange but recognisable sacredness in the bubble of my car. Although thoughts came, some uncomfortable as is now usual for me, I quite easily let them go with the light of a fading day.

I never feel quite as complete as I do when I’m out in the world alone with my camera. In the perfect moments, I am not self-conscious nor am I afraid. Everything was glorious – the light, the shadow and all the colours in between glistened with almost visible energy.

Three times I tried to walk away from the sunset and three times I failed. Once, I walked so far away from it that my tired feet protested almost as hard as my soul was tugging me back towards the beach. The third time I stood on the seashore, I stored my camera back into its little red bag even though my mind was calling out “keep taking pictures … it’s so beautiful“.

But I already had my pictures. And my heart was strangely rapturous but still – it seemed to be cradled between the softness of clouds, just like how the sun was blazing pink and orange but seemingly suspended in timelessness. My heart felt safe and it beat with the rhythm of the waves. I added my silhouette to the picture and sat in perfect bliss as my world fell non-dramatically into place.

I had another difficult morning today, so I’m allowing myself to recall this magic and to try and bring it to my presence again.

Over the weekend, we went and checked out the new sustainable Greenhouse Cafe at Federation square.

I liked the concept – everything in there was made out of recycled materials, including the wooden seats and tables with big holes in them. The layout was wide and spacious and allowed a genius use of natural light for ambience in the day. Insulation was made out of large packets of hay stuffed into the walls and made for interesting decor in itself. I also took to the organic pot plants that filled up spaces in the outside wall. The place smelled fresh and the overall vibe was light and bright. The upstairs open-air area was way too hot on the Sunday for us to linger but they had cool stools fashioned out of recycled metal and what seemed like magazine covers. There is more organic plant life surrounding the area. If you are tall and can look over and past the shrubbery, there’s a good view looking down Flinders Street and the Flinders Station.

What was a little testing was that we had to wait 25 minutes for two tiny recyclable bottles of orange juice. Admittedly they were freshly squeezed by hand but I still felt that the time waiting to time taken to drink juice ratio was extremely high – i.e. 25 minutes : 1 minute.

Overall the experience was pleasant, with newspapers provided for your wait time as they must have anticipated slow service due to things all being done the good old fashioned way. My fidgety response to the extended waiting time was due to my conditioning for having everything at the snap of my fingers. This place, I believe will be a good place for meditating on my sense of urgency. Try and wear long pants if you are settling in the indoor section as you might get big holy (holey) imprints on your thighs from sitting around on the – not too comfortable but definitely sustainable chairs with holes to mould bits of your flesh to be like cupcakes.

I discovered an amazing florist over the weekend – they are called the “Flower Temple“. Now, I’m not generally known for my affiliations to nature and all that is green but of late, there has been a sort of an awakening. I have been noticing flowers a lot more. I’ve also been photographing flowers a lot more. I’m not sure whether this new affliction has more to do with the recently purchased macro lens for my camera, or whether is coincides with my current almost scientific quest for spirituality. In an almost weird way, I’m starting to notice how science and the spirit have been converging and might even be one and the same. On that note, I am probably starting to sound quite off the radar here so I’ll move back to the topic of flowers.

The Flower Temple was not your typical floral boutique with roses and tulips (though they did have some of those). There were exotic species of strange plants and flowers of colourful and mysterious brilliance in there that one does not usually come across at a florist. The place itself was pleasantly serene – tranquil music and the sound of running water soothed in the background. And importantly unlike most shops, there was space to be.

I was having a most relaxing experience browsing in the store surrounded by the sweet scent of flowers and was perfectly happy marveling at the different varieties of floral matter. Then, I came across the phalaenopsis orchid and fell in love. You know how it is when you simply can’t take your eyes off someone, even if it’s in a crowded room full of other someones? That’s how it was for me and the phalaenopsis orchid. The flower itself was a sight of such delicate perfection. It’s petals were bright white and covered with the tiniest sheen of glitter, as if to say “look at me, look at how alive I am”. Right in the centre of the flower I made out a being so complete in itself that it was beyond beautiful. So much so it took my breath away. I couldn’t keep my eyes off that flower and was amazed at how it exuded an overwhelming presence that is quiet and unassuming – when I looked closer, I could see a meditative form awakening in a glory of subtle colours surrounded by the pure white of nothingness.

As insane as it may sound, it was the first time I’d ever felt so connected to a plant. I will now be watching carefully as the other buds begin to blossom in my home.

I went to Bikram Yoga for the first time a couple of days ago. I haven’t done any form of exercise in a long time except for walking long distances carrying a backpack full of camera gear. That was back in September.

I have heard positive stories about Bikram Yoga such as – “I feel more balanced, in all senses of the word” … “It rids the toxins from your body and your mind” and then I’ve heard the horror stories – “You sweat from places you never thought possible” … “people stink” … “it’s so @#$*ing hot!”

First lesson for me was unfortunately more about the horror stories coming true. The person beside me did smell funky and he also had a rip in his pants right where the asshole is. Not that I was looking or anything, I was trying mostly not to pass out in the 40 degree humid heat. It was made more unpleasant because there were too many people packed in too tightly in limited space with everyone sweating and breathing OUT their toxins with gusto! I can’t help but wonder, at the points where everyone is instructed to inhale and exhale at machine gun rate, what exactly we’re breathing back IN. I mean … really. The exhaling is ok, it’s the inhaling I have problems with.

As a first timer, I felt that 90 minutes was way too long and I did feel very dizzy and nauseous towards the end of the class. In that kind of humid heat, I didn’t feel like I was getting any oxygen into my system. I also didn’t manage to get into all the postures and a lot of the time I was trying not to hit the two people on either side of me. I did have a favourite posture though, the one where you just lay on your yoga mat. I’m very good at that one.

On the plus side, I did feel wonderful AFTER the ordeal. I felt tired but refreshed at the same time and the air outside never smelt sweeter. I also had a chance to marvel at the beads of sweat on my belly (I don’t think I’ve ever pespired this much before) because we spent a lot of time in postures that gave me opportunities to contemplate my navel. By the way, this deserves a mention – although I did sweat a lot, I was surprised that my eye make up stayed more or less intact throughout. I recommend Revlon. The fact is, I didn’t intend to go into class with eye make up on, I didn’t have time to take it off before having to rush into the six o’clock class. Besides, there’s really no extra energy available in there for any sort of vanity.

I’m going back again this evening for a second attempt. Despite all my complaints, I’m at the end of the day a Singaporean and I get free classes for the next week after having paid for my initial trial.

Seriously though, I see it as a challenge to focus my mind and body. There have been moments where my brain just went crazy and wanted any form of escape from its perceived nightmare. I could see my thoughts darting this way and that, looking for an out – “need to get out of here, can’t breathe, am going to die etc etc”. Any excuse to convince myself that I was in terrible misery. Which, no doubt, terrible misery was what I was in at certain acute points of the class. However, I found that if I could just concentrate and centre myself to the present moment – it passed.

And THAT is why I’m going back. So that the session can be a tool for me to be more conscious of my presence and to serve as a reminder that my mind will always seek to deny it.

A friend of mine is in a very dark place and I can only sit quietly with her. Not physically since we are oceans apart but with my heart. I’ll sit with her in my heart. It took a few harsh words from her for me to realise that that’s all I can do. I sat on the initial hurt and in that silence, realised that she wasn’t actually angry at me. She is in a lot of pain and that is her pain manifesting itself. I saw her as she is right now. In my folly, I had unthinkingly prodded a scared animal with a well-meaning stick. Tried to clean an open wound and it must have stung. Normally I would have shrunk away, my ego all defiant and inflated tenfolds to defend myself – “well if you don’t know what’s good for you …”.

The difference now is that I know that I don’t know what’s good for anybody, when not so long ago I would have insisted and fought tooth and nail for “my way is the best way”. To a very large extent, the knee jerk reaction is still there – the hurt is still felt but I didn’t let it linger – I sat with it in silence and then I let it go. I don’t have to be right, I can only be there ready to sit with and listen when the moment is right. You, him, her, them … no one’s ever really right – only the moment can be and I trust I will know it when it comes.

Sleep was filled with images last night – people who don’t live anymore, people who are alive and hopefully well that I don’t see anymore, people around me. People. People. People. Slowness, fluid and seamless I slid from scene to scene. Strange emotions sniffed around the senses in those dreams and in the morning, like a hazy whiff dissipated through my body. Now they are leaving again.

Grandpa, I met you again in the other place because this is the only realm through which I can see you these 12 years past. Grandma, you too. I’m glad to see that you were both still strolling together last night. I cannot remember your faces and what we were doing, or where we were in the dream. The details have fallen away just like how hours have passed since I woke. But I remember your white singlet grandpa. You seemed to have lost some weight though I cannot quite grasp you enough to confirm that. I suppose what’s important is that you both are still alive within me and once in a while, like last night – you say hello.