shepherdofsuns

I'm too young to die

2006-01-22T06:08:00.000-08:00

It's strange how when you are looking for something, it always finds you.. I never thought, I never felt, I never believed that there's someone out there who felt or feeling the way you are feeling. He said to look at myself as a bright light in midst of darkness, and to stand out; but I told him it's tiring standing out and I am afraid that the darkness will engulf me. Like it is now.

I battle constantly with my shadow, I battle constantly with seductive thoughts of just letting go and setting myself free, I battle constantly wanting to be better. I battle every moment when it hits me. and I'm really tired. Why do I have these periodic meltdowns? I can't. I can't. Am I so emotionally defunct? Or am I just plain crazy and I don't know it?

I smell the night when we crammed into the car and went for a joyride to I still don't know where. It was a night of dreams we have had, and we were all mad (to paraphrase), I think we were all mad. Madly in love with one another but denied it. Why?

The strings are making the whole situation more heighten than it is supposed to be. I am drunk. Beautiful life? I don't know, I always revert to the days where I thought it was the darkest; the only consolation was I have lived through the day. I do have a blessed life, but yet I can't seem to deal with my internal demons. Grudges; hatred; deception; materialism; dissatisfaction; low self esteem. Am I that weak? Or am I now officially defunct with a delusional image of who I want to be; after 28 yeaers, I still cannot achieve it. Why do I depend emotionally on others? It's getting very sickening. I read through my diaries of the past 6 years and it's the same whiney themes; the same sadness; the same self-doubt. I want to forget who I am. How I managed to every night. I want to wake up knowing that I only have 10 hours to endure before I go into oblivion. Again.

It would be great to meet my friends again who have seen me journeyed through the darkness. It would be great to see how far we have come. Or not.

Too Young to Die
Too young to die, but too old to survive
I've spent too long trying to write this song
The tune is okay, but the words are all wrong
Maybe it's time for a change

I've lived a lie since the day I arrived
Building my dreams grand romantic schemes
Now I'm twenty eight, but I'm still in my teens
Maybe it's time for a change

Now it's time to say goodbye
To my suit, my shirt, my tie
My youth seems to have passed me by
And I'm too young to die

I will not weep for what we leave behind
I must break free from that part of me
That values the art over the humanity
I think it's time for a change

I thought that I was doing fine
But now I've changed my mind
'cause now it's time to say goodbye
To my suit, my shirt, my tie
My youth seems to have passed me by
And I'm too young to die

Maybe it's time for a change...

Perfect

2006-01-22T05:12:00.000-08:00

In memory of you
- who inspired me, kept me sane by singing to me and with me into the night
- who made me realised in your own way who I was, though it could be paranoia that I heard dissapointment in your voice
- who wrote your fears and dreams with me, sentence after sentence
- who never professed, who just made me feel
- whom I turned away from because you are a mirror of what I wanted to and could've been
- whom kept being with me although I pushed you away
- whom I'll cherish

(sorry billy, but you were there when we didn't have to speak, we just had to listen to your words in the long awaited hot summer afternoon, it was you who brought us together, and it was you who spoke for us).

I know we’re just like old friends
We just can’t pretend
That lovers make amends
We are reasons so unreal
We can’t help but feel that something has been lost

But please you know you’re just like me
Next time I promise we’ll be
Perfect
Perfect
Perfect strangers down the line
Lovers out of time
Memories unwind

So far I still know who you are
But now I wonder who I was...

Angel, you know it’s not the end
We’ll always be good friends
The letters have been sent on

So please, you always were so free
You’ll see, I promise we’ll be
Perfect
Perfect strangers when we meet
Strangers on the street
Lovers while we meet

Perfect
You know this has to be
We always we’re so free
We promised that we’d be
Perfec

It's done! A young feminist in Bangkok has spoken

2005-11-27T21:23:00.000-08:00

I gave my talk. no one threw any bricks or anything. :)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A young feminist in Bangkok.

When Cecilia forwarded the email about the International Forum on Women's Rights and Development, I thought, wow. Here’s my chance and it’s so near! I must go. I had no clue exactly what was going to happen and who will be there – but a gut feeling told me it’s going to be big and I love my stomach for that ☺.

I thought it would serve me well as a crash course on finally understanding what this “feminism” is about. I have been trying, abandoning, trying and abandoning to read the feminist theories and I thought, cool – nothing better than to hear people speak and discuss as a quiet observer to learn. This was definitely on crash course I’ll never forget. How right I was.

I went also because the thought of being a feminist activist and to be with other feminist activists excited me. When Yasmin titled this talk a “young feminist in Bangkok” I thought, wow, am I really qualified to be called a feminist? I’m one of the weird ones that hold feminism in the highest regard. My first “formal” brush with feminists were in the pages of history as I researched and learned about how Japanese during the Meiji period fought to determine the right to control their own bodies, lives and identities. To me, although they were oppressed; they still managed to covertly and overtly challenge the state in all aspects; from songs, to strikes, through writing, through joining other movements, to attempting to throw bombs at the emperor. They said no, I’m not taking any of this. Added to that, the last 7 months of actively interacting and working with the inspiring and courageous feminists of Malaysia really has been humbling experience and it’s been a wonderful journey. So being there a being with other feminist activist was an overwhelming thought.

Ok, also, I’ve never been to Bangkok.

All fired up and ready to go, the next thing was funding. Cecelia pointed me towards the Global Fund for Women to help get the cash. However, I screwed it up by procrastinating and submitted my proposal too late. The cash was eventually raised through the flea market sales and also through volunteering as a room assistant and rappateuor that provided a discount for the participant fees. WDC also helped out a lot by slotting me in their accommodation plans and “adopting’ me throughout for the forum.

The theme for awid is change and each morning we had interesting plenary sessions discussing where the feminist movement is heading to, what are the challenges and what should we look forward to – but I won’t say much as it has been brilliantly written up in the awid forum website.

The sessions I attended were generally broken into 3 themes that are my areas of interest: Media activism; sexuality and sexual rights; and culture. Of course there were one or two odd sessions that I attended that didn’t fit in – it was just my bumbling curiosity.

I’ll start with sexuality and sexual rights as it has immense personal meaning to me.

To my understanding of having sex and determining one’s sexuality, it is as basic a right as the right to food, shelter and education. We need to claim our right to be able to express our sexuality and assert our sexual rights. The sessions I attended were inspiring; speaking on the need to recognize the diversity of sexuality and strategies to approach claiming our rights in that arena from young feminists and mature feminists alike. All the older feminist speakers seem to not want to be called old.

With this at the sessions one speaker spoke on the need revisit identity politics. The movement has been position as an “other” of the patriarchal world. However, as the movement evolved, how have we approached and do we approach identity? How do we revisit a sex/gender; man/woman framework to include transsexuals; homosexuals; transgender and also within the multiple identities, how do we manage the fluidity of identities? For example, in my lifetime, I could be a sexually active heterosexual who transforms to a homosexual who then decides that I want to change my sex to become a man? These could be my identities in my lifetime. How as a progressive movement do we allocate space and discussion and a claim for rights to that?

And having decided to want to claim that rights, what do we want to achieve? Do we want to be ‘accepted’ by the status quo or do we want to undo the status quo?

As I understand it, thanks to Alina’s patience in explaining it to me, the first wave was about attaining basic legal equality, the second wave of making the personal political focused on domestic violence, single mothers in a man and woman framework. The focus was on heterosexual women’s needs.

After that, the issues of sexuality and lesbians came up as lesbian women started articulating their needs, the movement wasn’t as homogenous as it started out to be, with different groups as well, articulating their needs; race, class and sexuality were clearly diverse. Even though there was a common oppressor, the patriarchy, but the strategies and techniques in dealing with the issues were different.

The different networks of relationships created by different groups within the movement was constructive as it encouraged diversity and discourse. However with it also came a internal power struggle.

A Fijian speaker mentioned that as recent as 1998, sexual minorities were shut out from the general discussions on HIV/AIDS.

In Namibia after they attained independence from South Africa in 1990 and during the inevitable creation of the “nation”, the homosexual communities were labeled as unpatriotic and made scapegoats.

An Argentinean speaker spoke of how feminists were not allowing transgenders and transsexuals in a national feminist meetings as they speculate that these were men pretending to be women trying to infiltrate the movement! Though at the second meeting transsexuals and transgenders were allowed to attend, the arguments were so heated that it almost amounted to a fist-fight. It was even admitted that for organizations struggling for rights of the sexual minorities, there is a sense of unease, what do you do when your transgender woman sat ogling at the women at your office? Well to me the answer was simple, it was a pure case of harrasement : taking away the gender focus approach.

What I understood is that it is ok to “tolerate” women’s claims for rights as opposed to “man”. But when it came to identities that were not man or woman in the movement, there were problems and fear.

Personally, it was a real surprised to me. To me, man woman woman or man, as long as our lives, ideas and expressions are effectively censored and oppressed, we are all and should all be working towards the same thing : the creation of a space, a community or a world where we are not discriminated against on any grounds. Personally I think it is really sad because, when it all boils down to, it is about who we are, who we love and who we want to be with. One friend poignantly wrote about oppression and discrimination because of her sexuality : If only people would come to see, that the choices I have made are beautiful, how could something as gorgeous as being in love with her be perverse?

I thought I came up with the answer, but after having bounced it off Alina and beng hui who took the time to explain and challenge me, I think I need more time to fully understand the complexity of the issues and think about it a little more. So, um, no proposals yet. haha

On media, what looked the most promising, titled “How to effectively use the media” wasn’t up to my expectation as what they were talking about was really basic. The Women’s Writer’s for Right’s programme was more comprehensive on how to do deal with the media. And I’m not just saying that because the facilitators are here. :P I wanted to know how do we move beyond writing letters to the editor to have a dialogue with women’s issues; how do we go beyond having a column; a programme; a time belt on women’s issues; and how do we go beyond woman’s issues to “human rights issues”. What’s our strategy and implementation for intertwining our issues; how do we ensure that our dialogue is in every media contact point? The answer as “how to start a blog”. I wasn’t impressed. I seriously think for awid 2008, the WRRP program could be a case study to be presented in “how to really effectively use the media”.

However the session I attend on how does culture change? was the session I was looking for. The speakers were articulate, prominent and unsurprisingly oppressed writers in their country. They spoke about the lack of space in literature for politically aware women; the question of why women writers are not embracing politics in their writing; and they implored that women must realize that they need to find their own language; create their own space in the power of the word. It was indeed an inspiring session speaker after speaker and comments from the floor as well reflected their own challenges in getting their material out : the cost of printing; the lack of support and or course – the key culprit. Censorship. Internal and external censorship. We censor ourselves because of fear; lack of knowledge and uncertainty. We are censored as a means of continuous oppression through lack of education and discrimation.

This session affirmed something that I felt strongly about, maybe that’s why I thought it was the best? I really feel important for us to talk about ourselves, to write about ourselves and let people hear our voices. I can’t remember where I read this but it made a lot of sense to me – don’t give us the vote if you we are not allowed to be heard. It meant to me that giving us the vote showed us that everything is on the formal and legal arena; but not in the private and informal arena – culture. During the conference, I learnt that a lot about Development Programmes; Poverty Reduction strategies were all developed thinking that once we solve the economics; we solve everything. These programmes are seriously lacking one thing : soul. Culture – how people live. How can you help someone without understanding them? What they eat, how we eat, how we interact, how we celebrate and how we grieve. Thoughts, ideas, writings, speeches, poetry, songs – what makes us human. We are damn lucky to be in an environment were our thoughts, skills and expressions are given a chance to develop and guide further development.

By the way; we’ve made photocopies of Women’s World a short pamphlet developed by the speakers for everyone to take home. It’s amazing. Their concerns expressed 10 years ago, is what we are experiencing today.

The talks also made me reflect on our own culture. I attended talks on how women in Turkey took to the streets to demand that the government revised the blatantly oppressive and discriminatory laws that existed in the penal code; how in India there are organizations set up centres and organizations to empower women on sexuality and sex; women in Uganda braving militants to speak to victims of rape to document and use that documentation bring medical help to the ladies. They were brave and gutsy and I look around us, the younger “exposed”, “learned” ones and I wonder, um. Where did our ovaries go?

A little digression here – one session I attended was about the lack of celebrate courageous women and the subsequent move to create a language and space for women through theatre. The basic premise is this; courage for men and sometimes women have been associated with the phrase “That takes balls”. So, in the spirit of creating my own language, I’m making a conscious effort to use “the words ovaries” in place of balls – very binary, but hey, it works for me.

Also, as the days went by there was also another culture that I realize was apart of the movement – one of discontent from the younger feminists regarding the need for the older feminists to let go. It was strange for me. I attended a Young Feminist Caucus in which the younger feminists were supposed to talk about what they would like to have in the next forum, talks were mainly of succession issues. Other surprising issues that came up were of racism; discrimination against people living with disabilities; homophobia; hegemony of the English language in the movement – one Spanish translator was pissed off as no translating equipment was provided and she had to translate at the mike during a Q&A angrily saying that “English is not the only language in the world. It sounded almost like the corporate world! Scary. I couldn’t help but feel that although the feminist movement has come a long way, is wrought with internal turmoil whilst struggling to fight the external forces; and we do have a long, long way to go.

But I suppose that it is precisely because the movement encompasses so many issues and diversity that has never before been imagined. The movement is indeed still young; and we have gone far despite that. What was once radical is now the norm, women working, women singing, women dancing, women being celebrated. As long as we hold true to what we ultimate want; the creation of a just society where no one is discriminated on any grounds; we’ll continue on.

Now don’t anyone deflate my minute of optimism.

Thank you ☺

The Colour Purple. Sephia. Black. White. No colour

2005-11-21T05:59:00.000-08:00

I’ve joined a reading class 3 months back and it has been one of the best decisions I have ever made. Best RM20 I spent in 3 hours and best intellectual stimulation I’ve had.

We’ve started reading and discussing the colour purple by alice walker. The techniques, the inspirations that I have got has brought my readings and understandings to another level.

The character I identify most with; or rather aspire to be is Sophia. Sophia is sort of an “odd” character in the book – she’s not a feminine, sexy woman like Shug, nor a goody missionary like Nellie, nor is she meek and submissive who later became a independent through her “home skills”. Sophia crosses the man’s world and back to the woman’s world with ease, though she never fits. She fights back, she doesn’t find the need to be maternal and give back love when she’s offered in the case of her care Elanor Jane; she hunts for game; she packs up and leaves and does everything that is not neither “male” nor “female”. And most importantly, she doesn’t give a damn.

She left her family to marry Celie’s; the main character’s stepson Harpo heavily pregnant without the consent of any parents. When they first got married she made it clear that there was equality within the household but it soon became apparent that she was the stronger of the two. Harpo being brought up in an environment where domestic violence is a norm; sought to do the same to control Sophia. Sophia not wanting to take the beatings anymore – left. Maybe one could argue that she could be free as she could in the 1930s south as a black woman is a rarity because she had the network of her equally strong and independent sisters. A clear demonstration of the need for women’s solidarity.

One of Sophia's journeys was being thrown in jail for sassing the mayor’s wife; Miss Mille. Miss Mille asked Sophia to be her maid on day when they bumped into each other in town. Sophia hated the patronizing racists and told her bluntly – “hell no” that she would not be her maid. The mayor then slaps Sophia for sassing his wife and Sophia then proceeds to knock that man now. Soon there were police officers with guns pointing at a young woman with six kids. She was then arrested after being severely beaten (my version of the story ☺) thrown into jail.

The story I am going to write about her is how she slipped in and out of consciousness; during her time when she was repeatedly beaten up; when they tried to break her in a dark cell. This is a story of how; as the fighter she is; fights to hold on to her spirit and her sanity.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I don’t remember how I got here. All I remember are guns. My children screaming; yelling; pushing; shoving. Buster being held back, my littlest one calling “Ma! Ma!’. More guns – “Take them home!” all I could hear was that - that was the last thing I remember myself speaking. That was the last I heard of my voice.

Then he baton coming down hard at me. One. Beat. Two Beat. Five Beats. Twenty Beats. Then comes the kicking. One boot; ten boots – they kick me everywhere! My face, my crotch – the damn bastards kept aiming for my breasts and crotch – I tried to lift my hands to protect my face : whack: whack : whack. Then they poke my eye; the punch my face; the kick, they stomp on my throat. I stopped breathing. I thought I see from up what they do. Men around me; kicking; stomping; beating. Five, six, seven men. I remember last the mayor. His face. His smile. I don’t remember.

I wake up here. I smell vomit. I smell urine. I smell dried blood. I wonder who is it.

I sleep.

I wake up. I think I saw Harpo. “Harpo, Harpo, how are the children?” I think I speak. Harpo smile. Harpo touch my hair. I cry. “Harpo, Harpo”. I try to reach him. Harpo disappear. I hear the sound of an iron tray sliding against the hard cold cement floor. And spit. “eat up bitch; you aint’ worth nothing dead if we can’ have more fun”. I hear laughter.

I sleep.

I wake up. I see Odessa, I see a rabbit running across the cotton fields. I see us running with my bow and arrow. We sure run fast. Odessa and I. We try to hold back our giggles. We catch the game today, we will show em’ boys. Odessa points at me. Ast me to git ready to aim. I aim. I release. “swoosh”. My arrow fly. Odessa clap her hands; jump up and down and scream. Happy. But suddenly turn and Odessa scream scared. I look why she scared. I don’t see a rabbit. I see white man. I see his guns. I see more of them. I scream.

I smell urine.

I hear Shug’s voice. She singing. She hug me saying I look like a good time. I see Squeak. She sulking. I see Mr ---- asking me where my children were and I asked him back where were his. He quiet. My heart laugh. I laugh. I see ms Celie. She look sad but she look happy. I don’t know. She need to fight I think.

I smile. I hear Shug’s voice.

I sleep.

I wake up. I see iron bars. I hear the long rusty iron gates swing open. The smell of polish boots. Muffled voices “what do we have here?” “Mayor, she’s all yours”. I hear voices. I hear a loud crack. I feel pain. I feel numb. I feel pain. Mayor spit at me. I remember. I smell his spit. “don’t you dare ever hit me, you black bitch”.

I sleep. I hear my voice I say “Millie; Millie; Millie; Millie. I hate you. I’m going to bash your head open and then bash the mayor’s head open. I’m going to take your heart out. But before that I am gonna git your children. Your 2 white children and hang them from a tree. The sun will make them dark. Then they’ll be darkies like us. They’ll be spat on. White people will look at their teef, pat their heads. Then when you done seeing them being poked; I’m going to hang them from a tree. I am going to wait for the birds to git them after the dry. I am going to make you watch the birds git them. Then I am going to take your heart out. And the mayor after he watched the birds; after he watch me take your heart out.”

Celie came. She talk to me. “Naw Sophia; you got to be strong Sophia; we got a plan to getchu outta here” She wipe; she cuddle; she cry. She touch my skull. She wipe. She caress my head. She cry “all gonan be good Sophia. We gonna getcha out of here. “Celie, Celie, Celie, help me”. I smell witch hazel. I smell alcohol. I smell vomit. I smell urine.

I don’t remember. But I remember ain’t gonna be my mama. I aint’ gonna be under anyone’s thumb. Not the mayor; not Millie; not any of them.

I sleep.

I can always be the bridegroom but never the bride

2005-11-20T21:03:00.000-08:00

Shitl. I finally got it. After 4 years of humming's the divine comedy's song. "through a long and sleepless night". It fits perfectly. It's about fluidity of one's sexuality. and the need to conform. and the need to assert one's sexuality. No?

Excerpts
I can put on the perfume, even wear the dress sometime
But I'll always be the bridegroom and never the bride

Oh Danny Boy the pipes are blocked
with bedtime blues and future shock
I know the best is yet to come
but does it always take this long?

I know you'll be the death of me
but what a cool death that would be
I'd rather die than be deprived
of Wonderbras and thunder thighs

To you who read my blog. To you who wanna talk about this. Please let me know what you think. This is an excerpt of a talk that I have to do on my recent attedance at the International women's forum on Development in Bangkok - AWID 2005.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To my understanding of having sex and determining one’s sexuality, it is as basic a right as the right to food, shelter and education. We need to claim our right to be able to express our sexuality and assert our sexual rights. The sessions I attended were inspiring; speaking on the need to recognize the diversity of sexuality and strategies to approach claiming our rights in that arena from young feminists and mature feminists alike.

With this was the discussion to revisit identity politics. The movement has been position as an “other” of the patriarchal world. However, as the movement evolved, how have we approached and do we approach identity? How do we revisit a sex/gender; man/woman framework to include transsexuals; homosexuals; transgender and also within the multiple identities, how do we manage the fluidity of identities? For example, in my lifetime, I could be a sexually active heterosexual who transforms to a homosexual who then decides that I want to change my sex to become a man? These are my identities in my lifetime. How as a progressive movement do we allocate space and discussion and a claim for rights to that?

And having decided to want to claim that rights, what do we want to achieve? Do we want to be ‘accepted’ by the hierarchy or do we want to undo the hierarchy?

Do feel free to add on or correct me in my linear and simplistic approach to understanding the feminist history from an identity politics point of view. The feminist movement was firstly started with “heterosexual women”. The inclusions of “homosexual women” are the so called “second wave” for lack of better terms. The recent addition to the movement would be the “transgenders and transsexuals” who were only up to recently have a formal recognition. With the inclusion come tensions with the “sexual minorities” group. Why is that so?

Maybe we can draw a parallel of the movement to the idea of nation building. For a nation, a movement or an institution to “be identified” they need to have established certain culture, ethnicity and institutions. The world currently operates on dichotomies and it is also reflected in the “progressive movements” such as feminism. We need to clearly define what we are and who we are, hence the exclusion of sexual minorities because we don’t really know how to go about with classification.

A Fijian speaker mentioned that as recent as 1998, sexual minorities were shut out from the general discussions on HIV/AIDS. In Namibia where they attained independence from South Africa in 1990 the inevitable creation of the “nation”, the homosexual communities were labeled as unpatriotic and made scapegoats. An Argentinean speaker spoke of how feminists were not allowing transgenders and transsexuals in a national feminist meetings as they speculate that these were men pretending to be women trying to infiltrate the movement! Though at the second meeting transsexuals and transgenders were allowed to attend, the arguments were so heated that it almost amounted to a fist-fight. It was even admitted that for organizations struggling for rights of the sexual minorities, there is a sense of unease, what do you do when your transgender woman sat ogling at the women at your office?

What I understood is that it is ok to “tolerate” women’s claims for rights as opposed to “man”. But when it came to identities that were not man or woman in the movement, there were problems and fear.

Personally, it was a real surprised to me. To me, man woman woman or man, as long as our lives, ideas and expressions are effectively censored and oppressed, we are all and should all be working towards the same thing : the creation of a space, a community or a world where we are not discriminated against on any grounds.

Various groups have advanced their rights claims from equality, to non-discrimination, to freedom from violence to right to sexual health to build in new claims of inclusion. However, the pertinent solution to me was that we need to revisit identity politics to advance social change : using the language of privacy and from my opinion, this leads to the right to freedom of expression. Sexual health is an angle that helps us sidestep the morality issue but it doesn’t address non-discrimination. Right to freedom from violence doesn’t address right to sexual health. But right to privacy and freedom of expression would encompass the sexual health, non-discrimination and freedom from violence.

This I feel is important as it would lead to starting the discussion on what is a neglected area. The rights to freedom of expression from a sidelined sexual majority – heterosexual women. We have taught heterosexual women for many years that it is your right to “JUST SAY NO” – but we should look into protecting and advancing their rights when they “JUST SAID YES?”.

block. blog. bleurgh.

2005-11-18T01:36:00.000-08:00

i'm supposed to be writing 2 pieces. This is my greatest dream of writing, thinking and speaking and here I am procrastinating. I think I'm just scared that I might not be able to live up to my dreams.

damn I hate fear. Lemme just blog this and think.

1. To create a story around my favourite characther - sophia from the colour purple by alice walker. I love that woman, she's doesn't put up with any shit. Sassed the mayor's wife; told her whitey care that she doesn't have any feelings for her; beat up her husband harpo, when he tried to "teach her" and insisted on being a pallbearer for her dad's funeral.

She did have a hard time in jail - where she got broken. Maybe I could write a dark piece of her mind going mad and her spirit slowly dying. It'll be a warped piece where she gets beaten; sodomised; spat on; her food peed on.

Just because she was a black woman who said no to white patriarchial bullshit.

I think I'll do just that.

2. the second piece. Thisi is the one that's driving me nuts.

I'm supposed to write about my experience in Bangkok attendfing the Association of Women in Development conference this year. My talk would be on:
1. Being a young feminist and how it feels
2. Being a young feminist and understanding for the first time that the feminist movement itself is also so conflicted.
3. Being a young feminist and seeing all this great work done by other feminist around the world. inspiring. jaw dropping.
4. Being a young feminist and being revitalised.
5. Being a young feminist and sometimes being scared to use the F-word. But I do know it's a step in the right direction.

The killer of this would be having to faciliate a discussion on sexuality, feminism and everything. argh. The discussions I've had so far with people is that feminism is dead. It's archaic and sadly, we haven't shed the demonic images created by the media in the 60s. Radical feminism. Though, most pracitices and concepts that were radical are now the norm. No? Divorces. Women with short hair. Men wearing perfume. Capitalism. Environmentalism.

so why are they, us, the movement so demonised? Ooo I can tie it to the theme - change. Change is needed to make the radical the norm. The 5 great challenges that are facing us would need a change to deal with it. The change from within. My general themes content would be:
1. Plenery sessions
2. Turkish civil code session
3. That Takes Ovaries Session
4. All Fired Up - young women and sexual rights movement - tie in to the 377 code.
5. Women and media - taking it back then to the issue of feminism and the F-word.

Shit - I got helluva lot of reading to do.

Argh. this is where I get stuck. Because this is where I get scared. But the sad thing is that what was happening a hundred years ago in our quest for equality is still happeninng today. Sweatshops still abound, women are the backbone of industrialisation, they sarcifice themselves to life their family out of poverty. Still why don't many women geddit?

It's still the same.

only the strings are invisible now.

hm. my strategy for blogging this worked. I think I'm ready to write.

after a few drinks and tonight's reunion. that is.

to those who wanna blow off some time

2005-11-15T22:03:00.000-08:00

http://www.quizyourfriends.com/yourquiz.php?quizname=051116010013-205657

think you know me?

do i scare you?

2005-11-12T02:28:00.000-08:00

feminist activist. let me say it again.

feminist activist.

how does it sound? does it scare you? do you think I'm some kind of unshaven, bra-burning, man hating, lesbian?

feminist activist.

what does it say to you?

do you think i'm stupid to want to work towards an another point of view? another way of life? another structure?

we've gotten it, haven't we?

equality. rights. what the fuck else do you want?

i want to be able to be the bridegroom and also the bride.

i want to never see a woman dear to me be hit by a man. or any woman, man or child being hit. for that matter.

i want to see FAT women, OLD wome, TALL women, PIMPLY women, BOY women all celebrated and loved.

i want to see women marrying who they want, men, women, women, men.

i want men to become women to become men. women to become men. to be ok. to be celebrated.

i want to see women walking out PROUD with THEIR FACES. Not painted, not stretched, not hydrated, not poked.

i want to see women EATING, DRINKING, DOPING, LAUGHING, FUCKING.

i want the sentence "LET ME ASK MY HUSBAND FIRST" banned. erased from humanity.

i want women to run naked, cover up, flash their boobs, cover their boobs. BECAUSE THEY WANT TO.

i want women to have orgasms every fucking time.

i want menstrual blood to be celebrated. not because it is a sign of no pregancy. but a sign of being woman.

i want familes of 2 -3 mothers, 2-3 fathers, to be recognised as legal families.

i want the word BALLS to be replaced by OVARIES!

i want fat farms, slimming sanctuaries, beauty centres deemed illegal.

i want abortion centres to be legal.

i want STD testing centres to be as omnipresent as 7-eleven.

i want women to TAKE BACK THE NIGHT.

i want to male contraceptive pills.

i want to see salaries, social security deducted to pay for child maintenance.

i want to see courts granting divorces WHEN THE WOMEN WANT IT.

i want to see women having children because they want to. not have to. not because they are women.

i want see women on top, on the left, on the right and no more, not anyone more, at the bottom.

i want my body to be mine.

i want you to know that it WAS the right choice.

it was MY choice.

i want you to know that i wear this label.

FEMINIST ACTIVIST.

LOUD and PROUD.

tribute

2005-11-10T21:42:00.000-08:00

thank you.

for living.

and dying.

and the journey you started.

the journey you know that hasn't end.

we hope to carry on the journey. but we know that we won't end it.

we just hope the journey continues.

rest now.

this is your stop.

fare.

well.

Blog this

2005-10-16T20:09:00.000-07:00

it's strange.

i sorta know that my buddy unca is sorta looking out for me.

i dunno.

he knows when i'm really fucked up.

he knows what to ask.

he knows when to ask.

and i get a note from him asking.

it's sorta like dark tunnel where i hide.

the walls are damp. there's green moss.

it's quiet except of the trickling of water.

drip. drip. drip.

i inhale. hoping the little spores off the moss will ride with the air.

and multiply in my lungs.

i take a light.

and i leave it out.

i like it this way.

because.

i'm there but yet i am not there.

i'm here but yet i am not really here.

some know where to find me.

some stumble along, finding me.

some find me and leaves.

some find me and stay.

some find me and not say a word.

it defines my existence.

mondays

2005-10-16T17:28:00.000-07:00

i really hate monday fights.

it evaporates the whole weekend.

all the nice things that happened, with the nice feelings, with the nice hopes and the nice dreams.

it really pisses me off.

and more something so small and stupid. like menstrual bloood.

don't you dare call me a stupid girl. take a good long look at yourself. menstrual blood hypocrite.

does menstrual blood make you sick? does it gross you out? why should it? it is part of me. i would'nt be able to fulfil a part of me that you so desperately want if i didn't have menstrual blood. and yet, you are hypocritical to be disgusted with menstrual blood. is it me that you are really disgusted about?

i hate it that i depend on you so much. i hate it that you know it.

it makes me real angry, real scared of my own anger.

i broke the coffee table. it's gonna cost.

it really sucks. it is really difficult to concentrate on making things happen, making things better when i am angry. when i am frustrated.

i was hoping to break the favourite bowl. then i hoped i didn't. then i hoped i did. but i didn't. and i was relived, i was angry. i wanted it to break and yet i didn't.

i'm really sad to start today. i hate today. i hate all the days that starts like today.

i'm already missing you.

i'm already fucking pissed off at myself for missing you.

i'm already with despair.

spaced

2005-10-02T21:20:00.000-07:00

i feel spaced.

i can smell the musty london air. as how it was when we prowled the streets drunk. sometimes stoned. but mostly drunked.

i don't want to be unspaced. it's nice. well kinda. being oblivious to the real pains. the real agony.

of life.

it's nice. being spaced. but it's kinda scary in a way. because i feel detached from what is around me. yet, sometimes it floats back.

but mainly, it doesn't.

:)

julein

2005-10-02T19:05:00.000-07:00

hm.

it's always crazy how whenever we get hooked up i feel this way.

it's great how julein and i come out of our "adult" shelves and be kids once again. i love it how i can be a part of the life that he once lead.

just over the weekend, we went to a friends wedding and had the biggest wedding blast. what needed to be drunk got drunk, needed to be smoked got smoked, needed to be consumed got consumed.

i love seeing his excited face when something new is there - though he has done it, he'll excitedly wait for me and show me and let me try. with him. standing there, watching. waiting to catch.

it's the same how he lets me be free. he lets me go knowing that i'll always come back. and when i do how i know he'll always be there.

when we crashed the hip-hop party filled with hot young african men and i was all over, dancing with any of them horny bastards. he'll just watch and wait, until i've had enough, or he's had enough.
and he's man enough to handle it.

and i love him.

to death.

depression

2005-09-30T03:10:00.000-07:00

if it was stress 5 years ago. the word for today is depression.

a person closest to me confided that she had symptoms of dperession. and she's the last person on earth i thought would have it. i swore that i won't tell. but i cannot swear that i will not be worried.

8/10 people i know suffer from depression. some seek therapy. some seek drugs. some seek both.

it was a difficult thing to say you have. it took me 3 years to tell unca that i had it. though unca and i reckon we both were suffering from depression. only we dealth with it in different ways.

googled symptoms of depression. it's a hell of a long list:

You feel miserable and sad.
You feel exhausted a lot of the time with no energy .
You feel as if even the smallest tasks are sometimes impossible.
You seldom enjoy the things that you used to enjoy-you may be off sex or food or may 'comfort eat' to excess.
You feel very anxious sometimes.
You don't want to see people or are scared to be left alone. Social activity may feel hard or impossible.
You find it difficult to think clearly.
You feel like a failure and/or feel guilty a lot of the time.
You feel a burden to others.
You sometimes feel that life isn't worth living.
You can see no future. There is a loss of hope. You feel all you've ever done is make mistakes and that's all that you ever will do.
You feel irritable or angry more than usual.
You feel you have no confidence.
You spend a lot of time thinking about what has gone wrong, what will go wrong or what is wrong about yourself as a person. You may also feel guilty sometimes about being critical of others (or even thinking critically about them).
You feel that life is unfair.
You have difficulty sleeping or wake up very early in the morning and can't sleep again. You seem to dream all night long and sometimes have disturbing dreams.
You feel that life has/is 'passing you by.'
You may have physical aches and pains which appear to have no physical cause, such as back pain.

i feel some of it some of the times. sometimes i feel most of it. i just want to lie in bed and cry. i just want to lie in bed and never wake up. i don't want to eat. my breath stinks because i am dehydrated. sometimes i just lie in bed imagining how my husband will walk in to find my dead body. and i'll be smug. and my mother will cry. and i will be smug. and my sister will cry and i will be smug.

i wonder if the world is pushing to much on us.

telling me so much that i can become. yet when i look at myself. this is not the me that they are telling me that i can be.

maybe that's why i feel lack of confidence, and then become angry because i am stupid to feel that life is passing me by. i am stupid for being a burden to others, and if i am not being useful, i might as well die.

i don't know.

i just want to run in the meadows. i want to sit on the beach with my friends. and not feel like i'm wasted. like i am waste. like i am wasted.

depression.

i get that in fleeting moments. when i am driving. when i am eating. i sometimes wish i could choke on my food. i wish sometimes that a car will ram into mine.

depression. is that when i am depressed? when i have all these delicious thoughts of dying?

or maybe i am just an escapist. i can't deal with now. i have to deal with now. but not now. so i let depression sink in.

maybe the 8th endless should be depression. the in between desire, and despair. that's depression. then death comes and take you.

maybe.

the bush

2005-09-29T22:25:00.000-07:00

was i really that oblivious and so self-absorbed in my own pains that I never realised what was going on around me?

my dear friend, bushy, as we all christened him, visited the last week. Bushy is a uni mate, whom from my earliest memories of him, supported me unconditionally in my bid to run for social secretary in the International Student's Bureau elections. He was there, with great clarifiy in my memory, at the far end of the lecture hall, listening to my pitch and me fielding questions on my worthniness to take up a post, something about the way he smiled gave me confidence as I grew more and more defiant in my answers : which was my trump card, according to those who voted for me.

back to bushy - what was it about me being self-absorbed again?

anyways - it has been a glorious week. being in the comfortable surroundings of old friends. nothing beats the feeling of being to be as disgusting, as uncouth, as childish, as stupid as we want to be with or without being drunk. we drove up to ipoh, we drove east to cherating, we did one very clever thing the whole journey - we swtiched off the radio. and talked. and talked.

bushy always maintained this "i don't give a fuck" exterior. or maybe it's just his face. expressionless. dead pan. so is his black humour. now in hindsight. after 800 kilometres of talking, it is and was his self defense mechanism.

i always thought nothing fazed him. when he spoke. i never thought much of taking him seriously. just as i thought he never took anything seriously.

i kick myself now for not taking him seriously when he was staying with me in London the summer of 2001. Zimbabwe by then has gone to the shits. and all i could worry about was my stupid paper. he did mention how broke he was and how he needed to get a job fast after he graduated from his CLP, or LCP or whatever they called it. I just didn't or couldn't or wouldn't think much about it. then.

now. i know.

now i think i know him alittle better.

and it took me 8 years.

thank god for friends like him. who will always sit at the back, smile and me and egg me on silently. i hope i can do the same for him someday.

Deep inside of you

2005-09-22T02:55:00.000-07:00

Friends say I've changed, I don't listen, because I lived to be deep inside of you.
Slide up her dress and I see darkness, but I am so alive.
Deep inside of you.

Boy makes girl feel good.

I always felt so alone listening to this song, I always had the image of the music video where the the people walked in the cold winter, hands in pocket, earphone full blast and lip syncing the haunting, deep, hurtful words.

I will change myself if i could
I would walk with my people if I could find them
I am sorry to you I am sorry to you
I don't want to crush you
But I feel like crushing you

We were broke
And didn't know
We were broke and
didn't know. No.

I've never ever felt alone.
Till I met you.

I've lost myself, there's nothing left.
It's all gone. Deep inside of you.

Over and over again. As I trudge daily in the cold to be at a colder place; wind gnawing, devouring me. Surrounded by dead people and dead ideas, delivered by living people with living ideas.

It made me feel better that I was amongst the living though I was dead.

It was difficult dying and even more difficult being the dead amongst the living, but it was a better that I didn't want but yet a dead I didn't want. I started to live a death. And ended a dying a life.

Something gone
You withdraw
I'm not strong like before I was deep inside of you
I burn candles and stare at a ghost
Something inside of me
Starts to bleed

I do appreciate my rebirth. I do appreciate my death. Looking back. It was a good death. But it was difficult dying. Maybe I couldn't let go. I couldn't let go the me it took 3 years to build.

I dunno. I am afraid of dying again though I know I would.

But I think I crushed you :)

Shh...This is private

2005-09-15T21:58:00.000-07:00

Two days ago, thi article appeared in the Star, 14 Sept 2005

Death and divorce insurance plan for Muslim women

SEPANG: A Muslim wife will be provided for should her husband die or divorce her under an insurance proposal for newly married couples.

The scheme has been successfully implemented in Egypt said Syariah Judicial Department director-general Datuk Sheikh Ghazali Abdul Rahman.

“We can implement a similar system here to solve the problem of non-payment of alimony and child support,” he said, when presenting a paper at a syariah judiciary and legal convention here yesterday.

Minister in the Prime Minister’s Department Datuk Dr Abdullah Md Zin opened the convention at the KLIA Pan-Pacific Hotel.

In his paper, Current Issues and Problems of Syariah Courts, Sheikh Ghazali said his proposal required Muslim men to take up a special insurance coverage that will provide their wives and children financial security in the event of deaths or divorce.

He said this would ensure that the interests of single mothers and their children are protected, especially in the event of a divorce.

Couples would sign up for the insurance coverage when they apply to get married.

This move, said Sheikh Ghazali, would prevent single mothers from going into vice or immoral activities to support their families.

Meanwhile, a Federal Court judge has suggested that syariah courts adopt a principle practised by law courts, where lower courts are tied to the judgments meted by higher courts.

Justice Datuk Abdul Hamid Mohamed said in Malaysia, magistrate's and sessions courts, for instance, are tied to judgments given by the High, Appeals and Federal Courts.

The High Court is in turn tied to the Appeals and Federal Court decisions.

The Federal Court is the highest court and ties the Appeals Court to its judgment.

“This doctrine has its plus points. It prevents different interpretations and this facilitates lawyers when advising their clients.

“Furthermore, lower courts must respect the judgments of higher courts,” Hamid said.

==========================================================================
My initial reaction was jubliance. Finally, the men are forced to take responsibilities over their actions. In my haste, I missed out 3 very important points.
1. The tone of the speech was that this plan was to keep the women "straight" and not lead to immoral activities - a very patronising state.
2. Why the privatisation of the plans? Isn't it the state's duty to ensure that alimony is duly paid to the women who had to take care of the children.
3. Wht is it assumed that mothers have to take care of the children?

It was point 2 that intrgued me the most.

I've been brought up in an environment that scorned the state as nothing but a necessary evil. When one talks about a parallel existence, nothing could be nearer than the truth. True, I went to a public schools, but they were supplemented by additional classes, fundraisers for the schools during my weekends, an inbred defiance for the teachers (save for a 4 teachers was respected).

Each contact point with the state reinforced my views of the state being a beuracratic machinery fulled by inefficient amoebas.

So, what then is the use of the state?
1. To hold back our taxes rebates when we overpay.
2. To continously threaten legal action when we are counting our taxes to pay.
3. To politicise poverty, ethinicity and gender.

that's about it I think.

And oh, maybe to dole out contracts and business to their cronies.

Cynical as this may sound. But that has been my view of the state.

Though I must admit that there are their plus points and sometimes, when it is needed. It does come to some use.

Which I have to write about later. As now, in my parallel private world . I have a work = money crisis to deal with.

what's so stylish about life anyway?

2005-09-13T22:25:00.000-07:00

Maybe it's because I've just read Tuesdays With Morrie and it's affected me in a big way. It's help me to deal with Eddie a little more. Maybe it's because I've been experiencing a little more the last few weeks the poverty that families go through day by day. Maybe it's because I'm getting really sick of the word lifestyle.

I'm so sick of "trendy", "cool", "upmarket".

The base of my ranting is a meal that I had been invited to and had to unwittingly pay for. It was nice company. With people I love. But the amount of RM600 doesn't justify the 5 of us eating, drinking and chatting over the mundane things we do everytime we meet. But hell, who cares? It was THE PLACE to be SEEN. THE PLACE to throw air kisses, THE PLACE where the patrons have their homes showcased in the LIFESTYLE magazines.

The disgraceful irony of it was that most of the conversations were on the value of money and how far one has come - from poverty.

Sure, everyone has a right to enjoy the fruits of their labour. Everyone has a right to look back on how far they have come and look forward to where they are going.

But 3 times in 6 months?

Next time it happens, I'll just pull out my pom-poms and scream..."waaaay..toooo ....goooo"!

And - if it's real Italian food, where's the brick oven, where's the friendly atmosphere, where's the eating with hands, where's the freshly made pesto, the gelato, the breads, oh the breads.

Next time I spend RM600 on an italian meal, I'll make sure it'll be part of going to the Mediterranean, having a long table, filled with people who will talk more than their self-pitying hard lives.

I might be totally biased.

I wish I knew the right words

2005-09-08T19:31:00.000-07:00

I wish I knew the right words,

To blow you up and make you walk out of this place.

You faltered that one night.

You washed it off.

You wiped it off.

Now you have to blow it up.

And stride.

I'll be sure that your bus will run on time.

Night

2005-09-03T07:54:00.000-07:00

Darkness swallows. Light follows.

Gentle breeze licks, teases, mocks.

So this is what it has come to.

My will is weakening. My faith all but destroyed.

There was never going to be a clearing.

What they call intuition never was is.

Only.

An aching lonliness.

A fraud.

ps. thanks ian for spellbound thast touches me so.

Eddie

2005-08-31T17:10:00.000-07:00

Eddie was this old gentlemen that came into the pub I worked in at precisely 11am every morning when the pub opened. He'd stroll in, sit down, read his papers, listened to music on his headphones, smoked 3 cigarettes, drank his double shot of Famous Grouse.

I don't know what was it that made me like him and what it was that made him like me, but we liked each other very much. Maybe it was the yelling: He'd yell at you across the room if you poured him a single swearing there's no bloody taste in it and sometimes I'd yell back that he can't taste much anyways. Nevertheless, we look forward to his morning visits sprinkled with his dirty jokes, his rantings on the government, and most of all, the stories of his life.

His life, was one of sadness.

Yet Eddie relates his sadness with a sense of pride. Pride that he has lived through the adversity and is still living through it. Hardly clear in speech as the cancer advanced, we'd laugh as he finishes off his drink and announces that he's going to "check on the missus' wedding gift," sauntering to the gents. We'd chuckle at how he put gunpowder tea when he hosted a tea party at the home. We'd giggle at his embrace of Buddhism in trying to welcome his death by giving "my little Buddha boy a bath". He was loosing his speech, but we were talking alot more.

The old bastard taught me, in fucking typcial stiff upper lip fashion, how to remember the good times and laugh.

As I walked through the sterile hallways to visit him on his final stages, the only thing that came to my mind was not to fucking let the floodgates open. It was never easy, having Justin with me was no help either as my supposedly moral pillar of strenght came out more traumatised.

I stiil managed a smile when I see him. But I was living in London then and I couldn't afford frequent trips to Nottingham (or could I?)

And I'd make the mistake of calling him and unintentionally bluberring.

He'd yelled at me with whatever energy he had from his hospital bed over the phone not to cry. Through his muffled speech he told me he wished he never met me. It pained him so much to be the cause of my pain.

Unwelcomed tears still come when I think of his last days. As much as the smell of lavender permeates the air when I think about our summer walks.

I wished I spent more time with him, I wished I read the book he lent me, I wished I called him when I was working in America, I wished I sat with him more at his apartmnet, I wished I didn't cry so much during his last days, I wished I didn't chicken out and said goodbye. I wish I wasn't crying now.

Remember
by Christina Rossetti

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you planned:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

That's the last gift he gave me... I wish the day would come when I am worthy of it.

The Paradoxical Commandments

2005-08-31T02:08:00.000-07:00

People are illogical, unreasonable, and self-centered.
Love them anyway.

If you do good, people will accuse you of selfish ulterior motives.
Do good anyway.

If you are successful, you will win false friends and true enemies.
Succeed anyway.

The good you do today will be forgotten tomorrow.
Do good anyway.

Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable.
Be honest and frank anyway.

The biggest men and women with the biggest ideas can be shot down by the smallest men and women with the smallest minds.
Think big anyway.

People favor underdogs but follow only top dogs.
Fight for a few underdogs anyway.

What you spend years building may be destroyed overnight.
Build anyway.

People really need help but may attack you if you do help them.
Help people anyway.

Give the world the best you have and you'll get kicked in the teeth.
Give the world the best you have anyway.

Please - faith, restore my faith.

Death and Lucifer

2005-08-31T01:57:00.000-07:00

I've long lost touch wtih myself. It is strange that despite living a fuller life than I've ever had - spiritually, financially, intellectually, I think I have lost myself.

I have lost what it means to be a person. I think I have lost what it means to be me. I think. Or have I come so far in finding myself that I have found myself that thinking, pondering, speculating what my being is all about ceased to be exciting anymore?

This is how I see me. I see me as the fallen Lucifer carried by Death. Sometimes I see myself as Death. Death symbolises to me - the beginning and never the end. Well, sometimes when I am really depressed, I want it to be the end. Lucifer symbolises to me, the will to go against predeteremination. That's why I love them both.

So here's an introduction to the dark recesses of my mind. Death and Lucifer are my alltime heroes. Of course, Death as portrayed by Neil Gaiman and Lucifer as portrayed by Mike Carrey.

That's how I want to be remembered.