“Cita-cita saya…”

The most recent time I was onstage was for Story Fest 2012 in March earlier this year. 24 writers / performers were invited to revisit primary school essay titles: Saya Sebatang Pensel, If I Were A Billionaire, My Family, and Cita-Cita Saya (My Ambition). The night I was given was Cita-Cita Saya (17 March 2012),…

The Unbearable Lightness Of Cities

or, “The cats are restless tonight”.  Cities get brutally lonely. That’s the thing though, I’m not sure what people expect from cities. I know we flock to them after seeing them on TV and hearing stories from friends living in them. From the outside looking in— tourist ads, TV, film, bright lights, skyscraper boners and…

Bone Memory

Not sure what’s with the top and tail of the video there, but this is a clip from the documentary Echo of The Elephants. Echo’s herd walks around and rediscovers elephant bones of someone close to Echo. Elephants have amazing memories, recognition, and the ability to weep. This already make them far more superior than…

The Elephant Head Triptych

Ganesh makes three donations of five words to the keep Liy awake on a hot day fund in exchange for five-minute poems 3.  Sometimes I can’t touch her. Sometimes she keeps a fire that could dry Japan’s islands to a desert. And I am one lonely camel, blinded in all her sandstorms. But when she…

“The two thumbs are skipping autocorrect salsa practice”

from when my lecturer asked us to go for a day without the net and our usual devices The two thumbs are skipping autocorrect salsa practice at The Screen to help their friend the hand hike down to the bottom of a Paper Page, armed with only a Kilometrico walking stick. The difference is like…

Saturday dream: “We were in a rehab”

We were in a rehab for relifers. yeah, re-life-ers. It was an ensemble cast kind of dream set in a bunch of apartments that felt like a school / academy setting, with a courtyard in the middle. You were someone that I was drawn to, but we weren’t in love or dating as the dream…

A meltdown and a triptych and back by Malaysia Day

Once upon a time, I wrote a fair bit. I read what I wrote onstage: bits of head and heart on paper that fluttered in shivers when held up to a mic. Flyers around town had my name on it even though I wasn’t in a band. And then I was in a band— in…

Projek Serambi (3/3) — Dari Kampala Ke Kuala Lumpur

If we imagined universities as a microcosm of society, what could we say about Malaysia based on our campuses? If we used how we interact with each other in classrooms instead of grades as our mirrors, how would that reflect upon us? This is the final part of a three-parter story.   Clare’s story is…

Projek Serambi (2/3) — Summertime

Clare traded in the dancing, parties and music of her childhood for the life of a foreign student: four years long, seven thousand kilometers away. It was also awfully quiet. Then, she found her voice. This is the second part of the story.    Clare is celebrating the end of a seven-hour Immigration debacle with a…

Projek Serambi (1/3) — Not Dead Prez

A portrait of a girl who is certainly not Dead Prez, a wonderful playlist of soukous music, and 24 year olds who don’t really care about fitting in. The first of three parts.    Clare and I are the same age, born ten days apart. She has been living-slash-studying in Kuala Lumpur for the past…

UV

I. the girl who whispered to you was violet and wanted your blood. maybe you were a lover, or not just yet, maybe just a tall drink spiked with fluorescent light. defend this, be the wolf, throw a punch your heart suggested to your hands— but they trembled, tired to her, and could only surrender…

How To Be The Web

There was a song you used to sing; but it hums only for itself now. Disconnect an old habit into drawers tie it neatly in cord. If dust gets hungry, it can swarm there. Although your days tumble deep into the new quiet be up to something anyway. The insomnia can’t stop the seduction. In fact,…