stargazer stargazer

She stared at the page of that Sunday paper. The picture on the page pulled heavily and she was certain she knew him. She methodically went through the faces that came through her florist shop over the past few days and her searching stopped at last Saturday as she replayed the day in her head.


It was one of those mornings, she had gotten up early before sunrise and decided to take a morning walk down by the harbour. It was still greyish-blue outside and it was hard to tell whether or not it would begin to rain so she put on her trench coat and her hat before setting out.


The air was rather crisp and fresh, and was rather rich with the smell from the pine forest that were in view on the other side of the water. She stood a while on the bench by the harbour and watched while the coffee van set up shop. Ryan and Mae, the couple that owned the coffee-breakfast van had just parked and Ryan shouted out a cheerful good morning to her as he arranged the weekend paper along the mobile shelves by the side of the van. 


She walked towards the van as Mae toasted the almond toast she would usually buy to go with her coffee. Mae smiled as she approached and begun pouring them both a cup of coffee. She often accompanied Mae for a morning coffee as they watched the sun rise over the harbour. The sun was slow to rise this morning, but the blue in the sky began to take over as the grey dispersed a little. They sipped their morning coffee and had their almond toasts.


She looked up at Mae whose face turned a wistful sort of shade. The conversation had turned somewhat in that direction and Mae was contemplating her statement, or more like a word. Mae had asked her what she wanted to do while she was in one of her moods and she replied, I want to resonate. That statement, and the wistfulness by which she said it made Mae think. She left Mae in her contemplative mood as she picked up the Saturday paper before walking home to get ready.


She did really want to resonate. She was that sort. She was that sort who wanted to shake and bend and break because she was that sort that believed that was what people needed. She was a beautiful soul Maya, fiery and hopeful both at the same time, and she really would make it her mission to make the world feel again, with all that she could. 


She paused at that memory, the week had been a bad one, where she had been intolerant and impatient at the ugliness of society. She often felt the world ought to turn the right side up. She sighed and read the words that accompanied the picture of the man who brought her to the memory of that conversation. The words she were reading compelled her to go on jogging that memory of hers. 


She was having a rather lazy Saturday, thinking of the things she would rather do apart from arranging flowers, sorting out deliveries, and organising the books. She took out her journal and began scribbling some thoughts when he walked in. The face in the paper. 


She thought there was something odd about him and was extra attentive. She watched as he scanned the shop and mumbled to her asking if she had any stargazer lilies. She searched his face as she asked if there were a colour he was after. White, white, he answered quickly avoiding any eye contact. She hopped off her stool to lead him to the storage fridge at the back of the shop. There were about 27 stalks of stargazer lilies left and he picked up one and quietly put it back down. He needed more he remarked, but he would take all 27, and would pick them up later that evening. 


She looked at the man, he was nervous and awkward yet somewhat calm, sort of resolute. There was a calm resolve about him and she caught his eye and searched it. It was a little sad, and a little distant. He made a weak joke and she smiled. He smiled a little, a crooked sort of smile. If he were to clean up a little, he might have even been charming, she thought. She gathered the stalks and set them aside while he mumbled some words she could not catch.


She asked if there were a particular arrangement he would like, and he said, any thing that would be suitable for his stage. He asked for a pencil and a piece of paper so he could roughly draw the stage he meant. She asked if he'd like some coffee and he nodded. She poured him a cup and asked him if there were any reasons he chose stargazer lilies.


He looked at her rather awkwardly and said maybe it would resonate, he thought it may have been his last concert and he wanted to leave a thought. She frowned a little at that word, it seemed like it was word of the day, resonate, and she looked at him. He shrugged, and after a bit of silence said he liked the thought of purity and innocence the flower gave out, the way the lily looked up at the sky was almost as if it looked up hopefully, longing for that purity, that innocence, and for the lily, the white stargazer lily, the stature of it, it was as if the stars saw, and heard its wishful prayer.


She absorbed his bursts of words, and then nodded during the silent pauses. Long silent pauses. He was contemplative, wishful and she felt a pang of sadness for him. Something was odd about him, she thought and she felt the need to listen, between the words. She opened the door to him that afternoon, and allowed him, his words, his presence, his face to burden her heavy heart. She felt it necessary. She felt she should allow him to share his little world, and vibrate within her.


My music only gets thinner, he remarked. She was puzzled by that statement, but did not push him to explain. Thinner. She sipped her coffee and tried to lighten his spirits, but it seemed in vain. His soul was sort of resolute. Sort of given in to the, this is the way it is, explanation that was often forced down its throat. When he left that afternoon, she put her heart into that flower arrangement, and she did not know why, but her heavy heart wept for the pale soul that walked in and asked for stargazer lilies that morning. 


She took another sip of her coffee and continued reading the paper. The conversation between him and her was more relevant today than it was last week. She waited till after lunch and retrieved a stalk of stargazer lily from the back. She closed her little florist shop and turned to walk down towards the park. The paper had said there would be a memorial for him there.


His words burnt a little deeper as she looked into the faces of his grieved fans, there were many, mostly teenagers at the park singing to his music on their little portable radios. She had never heard a word of his music, not until today, and she smiled a little. He was definitely liked much.


Sometimes I do wish I can un-experience my experiences, he had said. She wondered about what sort of experiences he had wished to undo. What experiences that may have wounded his soul so deeply he would think ending his life would free it. Death to him seemed a sort of release. His soul, maybe would be able to float back upwards without the weight of his body. She understood his words now. She recalled his sad eyes.


She walked towards the picture of him in the middle of the park and set down the stalk of lily while looking into his eyes. Those who did not hear him, would have heard him today, and many will search his life for the why.


She went straight to the record store and got his first and his final record. As she listened closely she heard him. She heard the deep deep bass note, sort of like the bass string on the bass, that once plucked would vibrate for a long time after. The note that would often leave a hollowness in the music once it is gone. It is that deep vibration, that resonates, and of course until someone else resonates, this music would sadly only get thinner.


She sighed and her mood was back to the wistful, contemplative one the week before. She allowed the day to end and woke up early the next morning for her coffee with almond toast as she sat to tell Mae about the man with sad eyes.


I know him, said Mae. He once said that teenage angst had served him well but now he's bored and old. They laughed a sad laugh, he was only 27, old and bored? Guess he was unable to see beyond the fog. If only he had looked up, like his stargazer lily.


I guess he was a dreamer, just like us Mae, she said. But he was a frustrated dreamer, he just could not see that the world he dreamt up would never be and he just needed to make the best of this one. The world could never be perfect.


Mae smiled, it was a pretty arrangement, she said after a long silence. There in the paper was the picture of the man's last concert, and in the centre of the stage was Maya's arrangement of the 27 stargazer lilies. She smiled. Well if there was any consolation, her lilies did what he wanted them to do. They resonated alright, at least they resonated within her. He resonated.

“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.” Oscar Wilde

Ideal Reality....

I live in two conflicting worlds, and when I stand looking out the balcony I see two scenes. The concrete buildings of the condominiums around me, and the far away hills that roll its way around the country, reflective of its own true beauty. The country I live in is full of conflicts, and as it goes ahead towards ambition and development, it forgets its identity, stripping itself into a state of insecurity, going back and forth fighting within herself for a sense of who she is. She runs in circles...sadly.

The way she has to go, she thinks, is to allow herself to be adorned with architecture, some statelier than others, some disgraceful, and allow herself to be tricked into thinking she wants, so badly, a certain sense of recognition, for what - her economic success, or transformation? She runs, she chases, she hopes for a sense of place. She makes brash statements, reflective of her eagerness to put up a face. In reality, she is but a confused girl, caught between two conflicting worlds, the world of the far away hills, and the concrete.

Her brains are scattered, with confused leaders and no transparent intentions, or clear ambitions. Policies are not concrete, do they exist? She is not aware, of her own purpose, her own missions, her own strengths, her own self. So she floats, reacting, towards all around her, her mother, now old and yet she is always trying to prove herself to her, her sister, smaller yet stronger, disciplined to whom she tries to show a sense of strength over yet fails. Her faraway friend down below she aspires to, for she is beautiful and quiet in her own ways, yet unwavering in what she is in the world for.

The bullies around her, often wrapping their own agendas in sugar, and dressed in pretense of goodwill but in fact they are just trying to get their way and move forward. Often boasting their achievements which after some years prove to be but nothing. The selfish ones, they move forward in their own agenda, without caring. And her body, her body threatens to fail those who live within her.  Her people are beautiful, with their own strengths, yet caught up, to fall into the depths of...shallowness, those who are not are lost in an identity crisis.

I live in two conflicting worlds. In the mornings I feel closer to something other than the concrete. Dreams are realities, and I feel I can skip, fly, jump to heaven which is but a step away. The sun is bright and shining, and I can do just about anything, people are loving, empowering, and I am free. But I get into my car, and walk on the streets towards work, and hear the steel doors roll down shut. And I am stuck inside in the cold, and unable to fly. Caught within webs of someone else's agenda. I am caught between my ideals and my reality. So daily I fight. And hopefully one day, my ideals, get closer to becoming a reality.

I look out at her rather attractive face, and want to tell her she is beautiful. I wish she would embrace with a quiet confidence her own true beauty, and grow, the way she will, forward, with strength. I hope her brains wake up and recognise the very beauty of her and move her the right way. Until then, we all live daily, with a bit of heartache, a bit of discomfort for we are all caught between her reality, and her ideals.

How can they be reconciled?

Yellow Knight

She looked him in the eye and smiled as she curtsied and addressed him, pronouncing clearly the word Sir. Her first yellow knight. The title sir is not one any man can simply receive. We all know half the story of how knights are chosen, the queens handpicks them, but those are the knights of the world. How many have heard of the Order of the Knight Seekers? She was one of them seekers, but to be sought by her was an honour, for she was the head seeker of the knighthood of the yellow.

We have all heard of the white knights, and the dark ones. White knights were easy to spot, a rarity, but easy to spot. Any amateur seeker would be able to spot white knights, that is why there is a plethora of them. They are the harvard, oxford going developmental academics, the high fliers, the ones that ooze with nobleness and goodness. The ones that are slightly boring, the churchgoing civil servants. She grew bored of being the white seeker as quickly as a week and turned in the easy living to be a seeker of the knighthood of the dark.

Oh that position took her places, for it was not easy seeking out a dark knight. They are so often wrapped in layers of deceitful bad behaviour that it is hard to discern. The dark places needed their knights and so she worked hard. But it was the dark knights that caused her to be burnt out as much as she loved that job. The places she would go in search of the dark knight, for the dark knight loomed in dark places and could only be found out if one can see through souls. She grew tired in time for those quests were long and hard, often jaded by the deceitful dark knight wannabes.

She was summoned one rainy night to be given a new task. Have you heard of the yellow knight, her mistress asked her. She nodded. The yellow knight were the rarest for the were so often hidden among the ordinary. But the high and low places has knights enough for the ladies, it was this in-between world, the ordinary one that is hungry for its knights and where there are no knights, the ladies retire into being normal. 

It had been a long quest, seeking out yellow knights, she had begun to lose heart, for maybe the ordinary world had no knights. No one worthy of being called sir. No one, yellow.  It was that particular night, when the rain poured down heavy that fear began to shoot up within her heart for the females who lived in the world. They are doomed to decripitude, and to slide down the slippery slope of eroded values. No knights, no ladies. The ordinary world is doomed.

They had stolen her shoes, and it was pouring down heavy. She glided across town drenched hiding her shoeless feet beneath her long white skirt. She slipped into the dimly lit restaurant where the jazz band had begun playing and wrapped her scarf tightly around herself. She popped into the bathroom and dried out a little using some toilet paper as she stood under the hand dryer.

She slowly emerged and scanned the place but it was hard to see, not only was it dimly lit but it was smoky. The bassist, eyes-closed moved his body to the beat of his own music and his shoulders rocked forward and back while the drummer, young, she could tell, was skillful, yes but lacked the character of a seasoned musician. He was a little too loud, too keen to show off. The pianist, she sighed, his enthusiasm took personality out of the band, too brash. They were too brash. 

She tiptoed between the tables, it was a full-house that night. She looked at each face as closely as she can while she walked past. How many of these she wondered actually appreciated this music? The couple seated in the centre was full of it, both dressed in black, he had his head cocked to the right and hands folded, it was hard to get the word pretentious out of her mind as she examined his face. She passed him by. And then there was he with the sunglasses, in the middle of a stormy night, in a smoky dimly lit restaurant. She chuckled, the restaurant was not the only thing that was dim, the brightness of his wit was questionable.

She huddled up in the corner and greeted the waitress who served her a cup of hot chocolate, just because she looked awfully cold. Her toes were beginning to turn purple, she tucked them in under her skirt as she slid onto a stool. 

Her white skirt grew crisp as it dried under the air conditioning and her body warmed up and she yawned, tired. She slid off the stool and out the door back into the rainy night and walked back to her the flat in yellowtown reflecting along the way on all the faces she had seen and wondering if she had missed a yellow knight. She sighed, for she had not seen a heart of quality that night, and wondered how rare it is in this world for a bright yellow heart.

She hummed a tune and tiptoed home noting to herself she was in need of new shoes. The gravel underneath her feet begins to hurt it but the mist and cold had brought a certain different to the place. A rider rode pass in a white horse and she lifted her brow. It was cliche really, so she dismissed it and slipped into the back alley and followed the road back to the flat.

She turned back into the main road as the rider rode past again and this time she caught the rider's eye. He bowed slightly as he lifted his hat to greet her, and he smiled a smile that warmed her heart. She curtsied and turned to unlock her door thinking that it could not be, for it was cliche really, maybe this is why she never forgot her first yellow knight.

She slipped out of her wet clothes and into the hot shower she pondered upon the rider in yellow and blue. That was easy, for it was her mistress' instructions that a yellow knight is distinguished by his warmth and ability to make the heart smile. She took out her note book and wrote down his name.

She took out her red dress and dialed her mistress' number for it had been a while before she pronounced clearly the title only a deserving man could bear, Sir. She sighed a sigh of relief and smiled, for this ordinary world was not so knight-less after all. Bless the ladies.

Barter Trade

He was a small man, and his eccentricity was often laughed at by the masses, but he lived in a world of his own, mainly because he had the opportunity of acquiring much enlightenment that the masses hadn't and that set him apart. Being set apart however is a lonely thing indeed.

I, sadly, was very much with the masses during my early years, and have not until now appreciated the little Nigel Jamieson. I would often snigger or laugh when he makes a blunder, and I would often find myself lost in thought in the middle of Jamieson's legal history lectures because I was not quite at the level of intelligence to understand his rants. So I often tried very hard to capture the gist of what he is saying as he paced up and down the front of the lecture theatre going on about speluncean explorers and such.

There is something about being eccentric like that, because rumours so far fetched such as "he drafted the russian constitution" can go around and still be believed. After a couple of years at law school I have come to unconsciously aspire to be Jamieson myself. But alas I am not quite as eccentric. All I had was my Asianess, and so I went around as that Asian girl who never said a word at tutorials, and yet still passes.

Jamieson popped to mind today though funny enough in the light of the principle of competition. While hashing out in my mind what the implications of a merger between MAS and Air Asia would be, while troubled over the niggling question of how to make my business plan slightly more commercially viable one of his lectures, yes the man's obscure's lectures, came to mind. You see Jamieson adored the principle of barter, and being a legal history professor I guess he would adore any principle ancient, but the little elfish man seemed to think that the creation of money somewhat took out the magic out of commerce.

I often think I was born in the wrong century, but the skills which I have to offer crossed my mind. Would my skill be, how should I say, barter-able? What do I have to give that would ensure I will not starve to death? Will I be writing stories to the rich in exchange for board, or I could write in exchange for some land, which I could then use to barter for my groceries, I mean how much can a girl eat, right? But of course then there would be days I would be frustrated, you know during bad times where reading is only for those with the luxury of time, and then what?

May I be so inclined to display the weakness of a woman then, and be oh so Austen-ian. After all, I have something else to barter, my child-bearing abilities as a woman, no? Or my beauty, if any would appreciate? Or my qualities as the noble woman, as a wife and mother. And then maybe I would be so inclined to travel out towards the suburbs where Mr.Farmer lives and just bat my eyelashes at his dashing son in whom lies the promises of days without starvation. Of course unless there is drought. Then woe to me.

Rest assured, that was just a thought, the modernist in me is appalled at that idea. But what is the difference really between then and now. With dollars or not, it is really about offering something that might appeal, no? Of course nowadays we have marketeers, beings that find themselves with the job of telling you what is desirable to you. Roll your eyes, yes.

Try this for a while, in the tune of Lennon's song, sing this to yourself, imagine there are no dollars. No money. No money. Let your thoughts run wild a little and fantasise what it is like, despite your busyness, if we were all still trading in the barter system. What is it of yours that I would find desirable enough to trade something of mine with. Who then would be the poor men? Not the farmers definitely.

Opinions: and its all yellow

I am listening to Sri Mulyani Indrawati (the managing director of the World Bank) on Bloomberg this morning as I write this and her sentence caught my attention. "Corruption is always an enemy to development,"  she said to Charlie Rose. Appropriate for today. As the Malaysian government states grand plans to move towards being a developed nation, she may have missed a very important point, if she does not stop to listen, today.

Today she demonstrates a fear observed by many as she, despite many a chance to engage with her people, she hardens her heart and comes down heavy handed on her people. As I read reports on my bbm, and instant messengers of tear gas and such I think that she stands attacked, her credibility questionable for she seems to, with her response, support the animal that may trip her up on her journey towards development. The animal? Corruption.

So as supporters of Bersih, and those down at the rally today stands in demand of clean and fair elections for the country, I hope she hears the cry of a nation for a leader that may bring her towards advancement. I hope she hears and she acts.  For all those who know me well, they know this, that I am non-committal, apathetic and indifferent. Where rallies are concerned, I hate crowds, where people are concerned I am the most cynical, thinking the worse of them and bearing only the slightest hope in seeing any good in them. But in the wake of today, I feel the need to gear up some hope and push this cause a little further only because I believe it is truly a fight for a good cause - towards cleaner and fairer elections.

This must be important enough, I thought. The reason? The very reaction of the government. Her ungraciousness towards her citizens seems very telling, of her fear, which infers much about her nature. I dare not judge her, but I daresay this, that her action speaks much of her intentions, and inspired much passion to stand up, for transparency.

Her stance may prove all the more damaging. I of course would not have been the first to observe this. Many articles have on Malaysiakini, The Malaysian Insider and other portals have commented on the reaction of the government and one facebook note I received quoting a Brigadier General (Rtd) Mohd Arshad Raji said this:

"The Bersih movement as I know has since its inception been at the forefront for an electoral reform that they believe is mired in controversies. Bersih 1.0 rally that attracted thousands to the streets for the similar purpose resulted in the fall of five peninsula states to the hands of the opposition during the 2008 general election. Tun Mahathir concede that the matter in which the government handles the Bersih 2.0 affair can be disastrous to the Najib regime during the upcoming ge. His forthright statement cannot be ignored, but I see little hope in Najib making any concession to Bersih for their demands to be heard. Taking this hard line against the people's wishes this time around will lend the final blow to Najib's admnistration and to UMNO/BN's 52 years of continuous rule."

As Thomas Paine, wrote, when a government fails to safeguard its people, their natural rights and their national interests, he opined, popular political revolution is permissible. The government had shown a great resistance towards a fairer system for her people, and for this reason, Bersih's "war" is justified.

Ironically, South Sudan celebrates her new found independence today. While her streets are filled with celebration, ours are sadly filled with evidence of a government that seems to be uncaring towards her society. Should a government such as this stand? As tear gas hopes to cloud the people and confuse them of the true cause they are down in town running amok for, I say they should uncloud. I dare hope that through this rally we are convinced enough to be suspicious of the government's objective in acting for the best interest of her people. 

I wrote once, that the country I live in is a beautiful one, I still believe it is. And yet I am not dramatic enough to say I am agonised, not yet, for there are countries in worser state than this. But I believe the leaders of our country have the very power in their hands to raise up a country that can stand journey towards advancement. This rally i believe is not a hiccup, it is a recognition of what may be necessary in the next step towards better. 

There is much reason to stand up for transparency, for it affects all, quite profoundly. I would be much saddened to see citizens sobbing at the consequence of a failed political system, because of a government who failed to stand and see its flaws, admit it, and fix it, all for its subjects. Sure that is not our only issue, but I dare hope, set us up towards advancement. 

I hope.