A little Tegan and Sara obsessed

So I know it's been a long time since I last really wrote anything. (That's not true, I got books published and shit). I did! I did! I had one short story published in a somewhat mainstream publication, and had a few short stories in independent zines and an anthology of dirty tales.

But I realize that my familiar medium was potery, and in English. Thanks to family drama, gadgets breaking down, resurfacing trust and self-esteem issues, impending deadline, the need for money and pressured into getting a degree because I need something "to fall back on" but without the money to actually do that, and the motivation (I lost that motivation when UiTM refused to let me enroll in Mass Communication and instead threw me into the Tourism course, no dissing you tourism degree holders, but it's just not what I want), and TEGAN AND SARA!!! I kind of been writing stuff again. Nothing great, and it may be a tad "too inspired" (in a Lady Gaga kind of way).

I was first introduced to Tegan and Sara (oh god I want to go to Canada and just play with their hairs) via this mix cd I rented back in Yogya. Music CD, VCD, and DVD rentals are hot shit in Yogyakarta. Well, it's a town full of students and students are usually perpetually broke. So I just got a new PC and was determined to fill it with stuff, music included.

Back then, the term 'hipster' was yet to be invented, so don't judge me based on what I'm going to tell you next. I went to the rental place and straight away got myself a bunch of GameHouse games and random mp3 CDs. The more obscure, the better. Somehow I heard Walking With A Ghost (the only Tegan and Sara song on the CD) and fell immediately in love. Pop enough to be pleasant, but unknown enough (to me) to be fresh. But I never really explored their music until now. I mean the Internet was already invented back then, but wasn't as easily accessible as it is now.

Years gone by, and I found myself falling in love with Trance music. Well, and House ...sometimes. Rarely. Whatevs. Then I found out Tiesto had made a record with Tegan and Sara (which I LOVE). And as the netizens of YouTube would confess, you click on the different links by the right hand side and just enjoy the journey. Which is how I discovered other than being amazeballs recording artists, they are also stupendously awesome performing live, and have great sense of humour during interviews and in-concert banters. Not to mention kick ass personalities and sense of style.

That was a long ass intro for this poem I wrote today (as yet, untitled):

I don't like holding you back
If it's freedom that you want
but you're not even asking that
You just need me at your beck
and call
And that is all
I can't do
When there are oceans standing
and stern guards in white watching
Making it hard for me to pass GO
and collect my $200 from you
But I'm not even asking that
I just need you to let
me give my all
and sometimes it's not enough
it's tough
but I promise you
it's the best I can do.
* * *

Now, I'm going back to Tumblring them hot canadian midgets.

A Reclaimed Past Time and a Little Book Pimpin'

Hello there.

This is awkward.

I have been absent from the blogosphere for so long. I feel like I have betrayed my blogging roots.

My hair is longer now. You can't see it now, but maybe you can imagine.

I've fleshed out a bit. By a bit I mean by 20 kilos. Yeap, baby really got back now.

Haha.

Um.

Look, I can explain my absence. On second thoughts, maybe I can't. Maybe I just don't want to.

Still battling with depression. Yep yep. Still not dependant on drugs. Nope nope. Still a silent attention-seeker. Sigh.

Anyway...

Not only one, but TWO books with a short story by yours truly is out now. Both are different stories, although maybe in the same vein. So sue me for being a one track writer. No, don't. I'm still struggling with debt from college years.

Here goes.

BOOK THE FIRST: DIRTY : DIRTY (dirty paintings by Mugi Takei)

I don't know what to say about this book. I have not received my own copy (which was my only payment. Not complaining because it was kind of a really super short mini story) so I can't provide you with a review yet. All I can say is that a bunch of guys and girls wrote smut and had it compiled to be bound, published and sold. Oh and a girl (hot pixie cut) drew the illustrations.

As you can probably tell, it's erotica. And I promise you it will be dirty. I don't know why I used my full name tho. Silly idiot. I hope I don't get into trouble with the local government. Wait, I jinxed it by typing that out didn't I? Pray for me please.

Moving on.

BOOK THE SECOND: KOPI

First of all, this book is limited edition. So before continuing with the review, you may need to order it here if you are in Malaysia or here if you are overseas and able to read in Malay or have the time and effort to spare to have it translated. I would offer you my services, but I'm kind of busy at the moment juggling THREE novels to translate and working towards getting into college (again!)

Like what the Amazon description said, this is

"An anthology of 19 addictive short stories by writers associated with the Malaysian publishing label Fixi. All are inspired by coffee. Some stories are dark and hot, others are creamy and smooth. Have a sip!"

I would have written a less cheerful description though. But judging on how fast the books are flying off the shelves, I'm glad I wasn't responsible for the description write-up. And seriously guys, this book is selling like hot cakes. And there will not be a reprint, despite the typos which are now (jokingly) a trademark of FIXI (hey, I didn't say it, I think it was that Zombijaya guy).

And now for a sorta kinda review.

Most of the writers stuck to the same style of "whoops, surprise ending! Betcha didna see THAT coming!". But hey, that's okay. I like that kind of storytelling method. It's traditional and it works. And the stories are great. They reflect the Malaysian culture (both apparent and hidden). I learned a lot of things about Malaysia from reading this book. (For those not in the know, I have been away from Malaysia for a long time and I am now a recluse who stays at home. So keep your snide remarks to yourself).

However, a few writers broke out of that traditional mould. Here are the stories which made me go "whoa":

I am a fan of Neil Gaiman and Eddie Izzard. One is a writer and the other is a stand up comedian who is now a so-so actor. Both deliver materials that are surreal, sometimes rambling, but always interesting.

Venti by Redza Minhat, Malam di Meja Tempat Kau Terlentok by Hafiz Hamzah, Hari Inditih by Asyraf Bakti and my superduperawesomest favourite Luwak dan Kretek by Ridhwan Saidi managed to be surreal and made me go "SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT" all the way through the KTM ride from KL Sentral to Sungai Gadut.

Kudos goes to Nik Adam Ahmad who was the only one to present his story (Kopi Jantan Kaw) through the medium of photography. "Massage" girls, a begging cup stuffed with money and a lonely rattan chair were among part of his cast.

Special special special thanks to Raja Faisal for meeting up with me and putting up with my dull IRL persona. And for that coffee. And for all that anecdote. And for making me late for my train (Okay, admittedly it was because I couldn't get a cab at that damned eCurve).

I'll hopefully be able to make it to the book launch this 24th March. So if you see a timid short stubby girl looking really awkward and out of place, please say hi?

Are we friends again now?

My own Nintendo DS Lite!

I know my wishlist said I wanted a DS2, but that seemed to take forever. So, yeay for me.

Did I mention that I am now the proud owner of a T700 Sony Cybershot?


I love my job.

Why I Hate My Birthday

I chose the picture above as the little girl blowing the candle on her birthday cake (or muffin?) looked just like me when I was younger. Waaaaaayyy younger. Make that waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay younger.

The difference being that, since my birthday is at the end of the year, and coincides with the school holidays, I never had the privilage of having friends celebrate my birthday party. My parents made sure that I never was deprived of a birthday cake though, but this is not the point. This desperateness for my birthday to be acknowledged continued until high school.

So I got admitted into a boarding school. Big deal, since my birthday still fell on a holiday anyway. So where some kids got chased around, pelted with eggs and shrieking with laughter, I'd usually spend my birthday, again, with my family. Not that I'm not thankful, I love you mom, dad, sis, bro, but we're talking about a teenager here, and peer acknowledgment ranked high in our list that time.

Even when my birthday was not on a holiday week, I was still made to feel like crap. I managed to get myself included in a posse of friends during the last years of school (half hearted yippee here). I mean, I wasn't really popular for the right kind of reasons, you know? People knew me very well back then, but for things I won't even mention here. Sure, I was in the debate club representing the school and winning things, sure I got pretty decent scores in Mathematics and excelled in English, but well known is not always synonymous with popular, you know?

So back to my high school day when I turned sixteen. It was an accepted fact that the birthday girls would always be called to one of the floors and be pelted with really gross things, but the night would end in laughter and the day after we'd all go out to eat.

Not on my birthday. I should've expected it. No one even wished me a happy birthday. Considering this was a boarding school with 300 and more girls, it was pretty disheartening to wander around school on your birthday with high expectations of at least someone remembering your birthday. And may I remind you, these were the last years of school. And I was quite... well known.

But noooo... I shrugged it off, telling myself that this is one of their "surprise party tactics". They won't forget my birthday, no, not MY posse. We were supposed to be thick as thieves.

Turns out they did remember. I was invited to the topmost floor of the dormitory building. My heart fluttered with renewed hope. I knew my posse won't let me down. I climbed the stairs with a little bit of a skip. I forgot to mention that yes, I did cry before that, alone on one of the more secluded stairs, having lost all hope on humanity.

I was so naive.

What awaited me was not a concoction of eggs, floor and curry powder. Instead, I faced an execution. My dignity ripped to pieces. Accusations flew. I was blamed for being morose and solitary. I was called a snob, a man hater. I waited it out, thinking this was another one of their games. After half an hour of torture, I fled the scene, tears flooding the dam barrier of my sanity. I forgot where I went to that night, but I hid in some corner where no one could find me and cried my eyes out, accompanied by a stray cat that had taken a liking to me. She wasn't really a friendly type of cat, but that night she let me hug her as I sobbed deeply into her fur.

I overcame my birthday phobia as I transcended into Uni world. I had adopted a tough girl persona then, and had vowed to not get close to anyone, ever. I was not going to have my heart broken, ever again. I don't need friends, I kept telling to myself.

I wasn't very good at being true to my word. I ended up being close to a few people, adhering to their moral codes, wanting to be like them. I idolized these people. I celebrated and planned their birthday parties with gusto. Then it happened again. My birthday fell on a holiday month. I was studying overseas then, and had my birthday at home. My parents must've thought that I was old enough, so they didn't arrange for any cakes that year.

We live in a world of technology. There are handphones that could be used to send text messages across the continents, what more within the same country. But no birthday wishes.

I returned to my boarding place overseas. Still no birthday wish. I felt like I'd be asking too much for a birthday party. So I planned my own belated party, I asked these people who I called friends to a dinner. Nothing grand, but I did reserve tables and things. The manager of the diner was a friend of mine and I managed to secure discounts for the people who'd attend my bash.

Excuses were made and only a handful came that night. My birthday presents for that night consisted of: nail polish, jigsaw puzzle, and a key chain if I'm not mistaken. I cried the whole month of November. It was in mid December when I finally received a "minute" teddy bear from these so called friends. That was it. I wasn't too keen on dolls and girly things back then. So you could imagine how insulted I was to receive nail polish and a teddy bear at that time.

Then a few months (or was it weeks?) later, that the MAJOR BETRAYAL happened. I seriously lost faith in humanity. Until now.

So forgive me if November gives me the blues, it's not just year end depression. I'm sorry that I'm a bit of a bitch when it is this time of year, and my birthday creeps near. I apologize for not being overly ecstatic over your new dress, new hairdo, new boyfriend nearing the month of November.

Because I hate it.

Hamsters Gone Wild

Hamsters are supposed to be cute, lovable animals that gnaw on lettuce, carrot, or sunflower seed in a way that makes you go "awwww...". At least, those that are up for sale should be quite aww inducing, I think, especially in malls.

Especially in HUGE malls like Carrefour.

Especially when they are tiny dwarves.

I didn't have my camera at that time, or you would be seeing a different picture up there and I could actually say "Lo and behold!". Alas, I witnessed the grossest thing in my life (allow jeng jeng jeng music here): CANNIBAL HAMSTERS!

Tata and I went to Carrefour two days ago, early morning as we didn't have anything better to do, and I needed to buy some arts and crafts supplies. The reason this is only being written now is because I couldn't believe my eyes and had to do research first on the subject. Here, here, and some sicko here. You won't find this subject in Wikipedia!

What I saw were cute hamsters running around and rubbing their faces. Then I realized that only TWO hamsters were running around while the other one is slumped in a corner. Automatically, I thought it was asleep. Then I saw one of the hamsters nudging at the butt of the immobile hamster. I simply thought they were merely playing around.

Upon closer inspection, I was horrified to see that the hamster was actually chewing off the butt of its dead friend. Everybody together now: YUCK! The corpse just lied there, with one eye missing and the white parts of its brain exposed. Then another hamster followed suit, but went straight to the ears of its deceased friend (giving new meaning to brain picking). Worse, they started a game of tug-o-war and sometimes switched positions, as if they were enjoying it.

It seemed that none of the Carrefour staff had noticed it. But the really sick part was the fact that Tata and I both stood there, enthralled at the sadistic side of nature.

We're freaks, really.

The Dream

I always have dreams of being chased by a group of people. And they are all the same thing, I run, they try to catch me, I run again, I hide, I see them chasing after me, I run again, and then I wake up with a headache. The people who chase me are always *those* people.


Let me explain.


When I say *those* people, I meant the mean people I left back in Uni. The ones who I thought were my friends, but grew this big vineyard and collectively pelted at me the seeds of their grapevines. I confess to not being an angel, but I wasn't left to defend myself, which wasn't fair. It felt like a gang rape, the difference being that I used to enjoy a decent, planned gang rape. And they told my parents, and my dad got rushed to the hospital from a heart stroke. Smooth move, you guys.


Now I don't have face to face Uni, nor do I have face to go back to my parents, whom previously before said event was my sanctuary from all the Uni people's evilness. So I escaped from all of this. Not a clever part on my behalf, but how could I be thinking rationally? Thus leaves me here in this predicament.


Last night I dreamt of being chased again. The twist here being that *those* people are now full-fledged doctors now and I was wandering the corridors of a hospital. I am paranoid in real-life, and this sensation gripped me, even in my dreams, when I noticed that all too familiar face, noticing me, and as she started the chase.


Of course I ran. I ran so hard, that if this was in real life, I'd have collapsed of a beat up lung. But in this dream, I screamed out, "I am not crazy! You are not going to catch me and put me in a mental house!"


Real crazy talk, eh? It makes me wonder whether I have reached my limits of sanity. Or maybe it's just that silly ol' November, playing an early trick on me. Happens quite easily this time of year.

What A Blast!

I thought it was FHM's 100 Sexiest Women Night but apparently I got the wrong date. All in all it was fun night, and although Hugo's music sucked that night (new band and all) I enjoyed myself immensely at Embassy. Here are some pics.

 

Me and Dion

Me and Ian

Dion trying to sell me beer... NOT!

Tata looking up the singer's skirt

 

Rexona anyone?

 

Yeah, something fun there

So, anyone who comes over to Yogya and missed Hugo's and Embassy are missing a great deal, I tell ya, especially Embassy. Have to love their ambience.

My own set of Tarot Cards

I am still missing a few more Major Arcana Cards (Judgment, Strength, Temperance, Chariot, Hanged Man, Hierophant) but believe me, I'm working on it.If anyone has any suggestions, or comments, do feel free to drop a word.

Notice the rainbows? Yeah, they're kinda gay, no? Haha. These are for my upcoming book, which I will be collaborating with a friend. Even if the book does not work out, I'll be keeping these for my personal collection. So if you want your own set, tell me and I'll have them printed out for you too, for a cost of course.

Update 2 October:

Some people have asked whether I designed these cards by myself, and the answer is: YES! I used CorelDraw for these. Right now, my computer is experiencing breakdown and until that malfunction is fixed, this project shall have to wait.

I don't understand...

...the compulsive need to write on a blog everyday, not that it's quality crap anyway. Get a pen and a diary, write down your stuff, THEN post it on the blog la weh!

...the need to label some group of people as "sexual deviants" based on their sexual orientation by this woman who invites men to free sex and posts pictures of her breasts on her blog. (I blogwalked a bit). You must be a dude la weh, I'm not buying that crap of us sharing the same form of genitalia.

...the effect of blogwalking through Malaysian blogs on the way I'm reverting back to my pasar English roots -lah.

...why I should be content in receiving sweets when a shop cashier does not have enough change to return my money (I know you have the coins, you lying biatches) but the man who "guards" the parking spot of my motorbike gives me the evil eye every time I try to pay him with sweets.

...why I even bother writing this, I'm not getting paid for this goddammit! But it sure as hell feels good.

...the fact that my clustermaps show that my blog is being read all over the world, but none of them commented on my posts. I don't write super technical stuff here people. Or maybe I should.

...the fact that I am being paid less than my manager who only writes up the schedule and is the stores designer and who is an invertebrate dinosaurus sexist, while I am Admin, Techie Geek, Accountant, Salesperson and Store Nightguard and have to put up with him finding fault with me all the time while he rejoices in talks of porn (loudly) with the Office Boy who is constantly late everyday.

As all you bright people know, only the last point matter.

My First Published Short Story

...and in Jakarta Post, no less! Woo hoo!

Every name a prayer

By Nabila Najwa | Sun, 05/25/2008 12:01 PM | Bookmark

How do you define an ordinary day? The clouds are tinged with shades of yellow and gray, and march slowly against the blue backdrop of the sky. Ordinary. The sea waves carry the smell of summer girls in sun-drenched sweat. Ordinary.

The gray-gold sand tap-tap-tap dances on coarse little feet beneath my bare calves. Ordinary.

My big brother Jack shares more than just a plate of chips with me, our eyes squinting against the blinding afternoon sun. We laugh, trade jokes and give each other hearty slaps. We act how brothers should. Like brothers. Unusual.

Mother comes our way, calling out to Jack, telling him to please not forget to bring the plate and cups back like last time.

The smile lines on her face quiver in place, as she stiffly instructs Jack to not stay out in the sun too long; Jack has a history of being prone to sun strokes. She manages to ignore the apologetic smile I offer her, and with her curls, still a radiant black with the help of henna, tumbling between the blades of her shoulders, she shuffles back towards the car.

.... for more go here.

Sorry

To all my fans, I've been busy lately with work (writing, translating, proofreading, etc.) but I'm still fine and alive. Will be writing again no time soon. till, then, see ya!

Ciao

Life on the Street: Transvestites and Trust

Experience is the best teacher and experiencing life on the streets educates most.

Clichéd as it seems, no one knows of the fact better than Dian, 20, originally from Semarang, trying to make a living in Yogyakarta, a city of students. Being a transvestite does not make her life any easier.

Now a regular in the dark corners of Lempuyangan Train Station, she used to hang around the swimming pool of Umbang Tirta for customers before being chased out by citizens of the neighborhood, for the usual reasons of acting against sinful activities. Dian scoffs at this reasoning with a laugh, “Most of these people saying this and that about my ‘profession’ were once customers of mine.”

Meeting Dian at her place, a small box of an apartment with no ventilation in Tukangan, she looked happy and content.

“The people here are nice, they don’t make a fuss about my sexuality and what I do nights. In fact, the owner of this boarding place frequents my place for a massage, once or twice”. Dian laughs off my remarks of lecherous intentions from said person. “He merely acted out of kindness, as he understands it is the only way I’ll accept his money”.

As if to display his high tolerance towards the minority-based-on-sexuality, the whole first floor of the block is rented to transgenders and transsexuals by the owner, with a male homosexual couple living together on the second floor.

When asked about her heterosexual flat mates, which consists of other street kids, ranging from a mere 15 years old of age to 35, Dian beams a smile. “We are one big family here, taking care of each other”.

Almost as proof of her statement, the room which is nearly cramped up by a mattress, a foldable wardrobe and a fourteen inch television set is then filled by “streeties”, dropping by for a quick chat and a peek at the news. An expected innuendo or two was heard that evening, but all given and received in good humor, as people who have long been in a healthy relationship would.

Another transvestite who answers to the name Brenda, 19, is seen washing very masculine clothes by the well outdoors. In light-hearted spirit she answered my questioning eyes, “You don’t think these are mine, do you? Of course they’re not. These street kids help care for us, and I pay them back by helping them with household chores”.

Brenda confesses of nights when she gets harassed by people and policemen alike, being threatened of abuse both physically and mentally, and how there is always help from fellow “streeties”.

“There would always be people putting on important airs and ganging up on us transvestites, especially when we are alone. And they,” waving a crudely manicured hand towards the two-storied building, “will stop their singing or whatever it is they were doing to help us chase these annoying people off”.

Both Brenda and Dian agree that to reside amongst the “streeties” is the safest and most tolerable way of living. In Dian’s own words, “It is never about the money, it is about being accepted. Especially since we are not considered as first-class transgenders, not with our less than passable looks. It’s the only option before we grow old and ugly, and have to resort to singing and shaking rattles… and living loveless.”

Ahmad Sobir, 19, an art student whose choice of earning his meals is by entertaining diners by the sidewalk of Kali Code, agrees that he and other tenants have no problem sharing an abode with “the girls”. “Besides, they introduce us to their abundant female friends, who are at most times good looking,” says Sobir with a grin.

Sadly, Dian, Brenda and the other transvestite tenants’ happiness were short-lived. During the recent month of Ramadhan, “the girls” were chased out of Tukangan by the local residents.

Their excuse was that the transvestites went aboard by bringing men into the all male residence, and to the all-righteous villagers, the act was beyond intolerable.

I am in two languages

I am...

... a long time "disease-to-please" sufferer, I will never let you down, no matter how I will hate myself for doing so.

... an incurable Scorpion romantic, who still clings to dusts that are remnants of my heart.

... sick of people insisting that they know what label I should wear. I am simply a girl who loves feminine men and women. I refuse to be known as anything else but a girl.

... a discreet attention whore. I don't stand in the limelight, I just hope someone will hold my hand while in the corner in the dark.

... actually very ugly. What you see are either good camera angles and good lighting or are heavily touched up using Photoshop. I am *surprise! surprise!* quite technology savvy.

... a bibliomania. Any sort of reading material sends me to seventh heaven.

... loving women who sing in heavy, sultry voices, and men who sing through their nostrils.

... me.

Friendster? Of course... jelonbelon@gmail.com



Aku...

... penderita kronis "penyakit-pemuas-orang", dan ga bakal ngecewain kamu, walaupun dengan itu aku bakal membenci diriku sendiri.

... seorang Scorpio dengan romantisme menyesakkan, yang masih saja tidak melepaskan sisa-sisa hatiku yang sudah hancur lebur.

... muak sekali dengan orang-orang yang memaksa aku memakai label yang mereka tetapkan. Aku hanyalah seorang cewek yang mencintai laki-laki dan wanita feminin. Aku menolak untuk dikenal sebagai selain dari seorang cewek.

... pengemis perhatian yang diam-diam. Aku tidak berdiri di bawah sorotan lampu, aku cuma berharap ada seseorang yang akan memegang tanganku di pojokan dalam kegelapan.

... sebenarnya sangat jelek. Apa yang kau lihat mungkin dari sudut kamera dan pencahayaan yang bagus atau hasil pengeditan menggunakan Photoshop. Aku *wow!* cukup cekap teknologi.

... penggila buku. Apa saja bahan bacaan membuat aku mabuk kepayang.

... sedang cinta mati dengan wanita yang menyanyi dengan suara berat, gemersik, dan laki-laki yang menyanyi lewat hidung.

... adalah aku.

Friendster? Tentu... jelonbelon@gmail.com

My Anthology of Poems

http://www.lulu.com/content/853408

my anthology of poems "WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO PUT ME DOWN?" is out NOW! Get a COPY or PROMOTE it away!!! Exclusive DIY cover design by yours truly for paperback edition.