What I want to know is what you ache for.

 

If you are willing to risk looking like a fool

for love,

for your dreams,

for the adventure of being alive.

 

If you can live with failure, yours and mine.

 

If you can get up after a night of grief and

despair, weary and bruised to the bone,

and still be sweet to the ones you love.

 

 

There were numerous nights when

I would sit down and talk to You,

and ask for a sign that never came.

 

I think You answered me today.

I think so.

 

Whatever it may be, Alhamdulillah.

Thank You for listening to me.

 

 

No matter what happens,

be truthful.

 

 

So Opu’s leaving us fer reals.

Tendering her resignation with

the Bank soon because of a really

fundamental clash of principles.

(Apa la HR ni, seriously. Sheesh)

 

I’m proud that Opu and family 

are going through with this.

It’s terrible that it had to come

to this, but it’s also wonderful

that it’s not stopping her to go

further in life with what she 

really wants to do. Bravada.

Them Barakbahs have got it.

 

Woman’s schedule is super packed

though, so I may not be able to see

her before she goes. Trying to make

it to KLIA in time on Tuesday night

to wave her off. I’ve got a strange

feeling in my tummy without really

knowing why. It might be at the

prospect of never really seeing

Opu again – a lot can happen btwn

now and a year from this moment.

 

Best case scenario

She finds a job there that she will

absolutely fall in love with and stay

on after MBA. In which case, awesome.

It’s an amazing city filled with crazy

people, and her life will go down a

new path. Maybe this is what she

has always been meant for.

 

In which case I am so, so thankful

for those weeks in Peru; at being

able to connect and experience 

that form of adventure with her

that I might otherwise have never

gotten the chance to. Thank you

crazy impulses, thank you Internet.

xx

 

I had a dream last night. I’m trying

to understand it even more now, to

try and figure out if it was a sign of

things to come (i.e. what went down

today with HR). I still don’t get it,

but it was still a pretty awesome one.

 

Dream Me was walking around in a

mall when I chanced upon Khalisa

(an old, old friend from Sri Inai days)

and her mother in a Chinese teashop.

 

Went in, said hi, then realised that

Opu’s Mum and Grandmum were

seated at the same table (they are

actually friends in real life, I found

out from Khalisa later this evening).

 

“When did you fly in?” Opu’s Mum

asked. “Have you seen Yaya yet?”

 

Dream Me was confused, because what

is she talking about? Opu’s in NYC,

not KL. Unless… wait, what? No way.

 

Dream Me looked out the window and

hello. The Chrysler, the Empire State,

the Flatiron Building – they’re all there.

I AM in the City! But, wait a second,

what’s all that sand? Is that… is that..

IS NYC IN THE MIDDLE OF A DESERT?!

 

Yes it was. Dream NYC, for all it’s sky

scraper buildings and familiar paths,

rising up from a sea of endless sand.

Holy shit, right?

 

The next thing I knew I had flown

out from the restaurant, presumably

bursting through the building’s tall

windows with inhuman strength and

with hardly a scratch on my birdlike

arms, landing safely on some dune.

 

And in the distance comes Opu,

gliding down this freaky tall dune

on a piece of plank, which Dream 

Me had the sanity of mind to find

hilarious because of the fact that

we were terrible on sandboards

back in Huacachina. Terrible.

 

She glided to a stop right in 

front of me, we reached our arms

out to each other, and high fived.

 

And I woke up. That was it.

xx

 

It might not have meant anything,

of course, I get that. But I’d like 

to think that it does. Subconsciously

I might already be lamenting the

fact that a good friend will be far

away and we may just as well lose

touch over the next year, but it

could have also been a testament

to our brief, hilarious friendship.

 

It has been hilarious. It truly has.

 

I’m not sure what happens now.

(“Life happens,” Mama would say)

But whatever happens, happens.

She will go on to do better things.

I really believe that.

 

Opu’s not big on hugs. I don’t think

we have ever actually shared one.

I may never tell her these things

but I suppose they can best be

conveyed through exactly that:

a huge, embarrassing bearhug.

 

It’s about time, I think.

 

Godspeed, Soraya B.

 

 

Driving back to Melawati after our conference

today, Amoi and I looked at the picturesque

post-rain surroundings of the hills where she

lives and sighed, as girls tend to, at the sight.

 

I recounted my days as a kid walking to and

from school in post-rain weather, breathing

in cold misty air. She said the same of her

childhood hometown in Port Dickson.

 

It sure doesn’t feel like that anymore.

 

Carpooling trips with Amoi over the last

couple of days have been really telling 

about what’s been going on in her life

over the past year or so. Things have

changed so much from the first time

we met at my Eid openhouse in 2010.

Bits of our conversations were, to me,

very enlightening. There are several

sides to her that I never knew existed. 

 

I suppose we realise that continuously

about our friends as the years go by,

but it is always surprising each time. 

I made a mental note to catch up with

the newlyweds once work is bearable.

xx

 

Sebastian Saez was back in town for the

Trade Competitiveness conference. ‘Twas

reassuring to see his familiar face again,

even more so after that sensational week

in Jakarta that comprised of dramatics 

by the old fogues from the World Bank

(and an equally amazing show by Benjy).

 

Whereas before I had a lot of respect for his 

work on services trade and the nefarious effort

it takes to actually document and monitor its

effects on countries around the world, after

the conference ended his status in my head

had been elevated to godlike. He is the Man.

xx

 

Newsweek’s writeup on Chavez was such

a good read. It’s scary to think about how

much people want to continue his strange

21st-century socialist/autocratic leadership.

 

Chavez passed on the 5th of March.

That evening we were dining in a random

pub in Jakarta when Martin tried discreetly 

announcing the news: “My journalist cousin

tells me that Chavez is dead.”

 

“WHAT!” we thunderously replied.

 

“Shhh. It hasn’t been broken to the public

by the media yet. Keep it down, you guys.“ 

 

We fell silent for a while, thinking about 

what happens to Venezuela now after a

person as magnanimous (and demented)

as Chavez leaves behind a government.

 

Martin shared with us his experience while

watching Chavez’s last televised appearance.

“It was this sense of foreboding. Everyone

in the room who was watching it with me

knew he was going to go pretty soon.”

 

From there on our conversation took on

a thematic turn on dictatorships and,

soon, of systematic genocide. Khmer

Rouge, Bangladeh’s war with (East)

Pakistan, Kashmiri killings under

India, and Mongolian tribal wars.

 

Sebastian made an effort to thwart

the direction of conversation towards

Genghis Khan and his tomb – which,

I only realised soon after (lembab) 

that it was to stop us from going

any further and risk making our

German researcher – born and

bred in East Germany before

the Wall fell, uncomfortable.

 

There was no closing to our talk on Chavez.

Fittingly, like the fate of his revolution.

 

 

Still adorable, even with terrible swaggy trousers.

 

 

/edit:

We have been summoned.

Going off again next week.

 

(I knew there was a reason

I never properly unpacked )

 

Hello there, Old Stately Friend. 

You and I are going to see a lot

of each other this year, aren’t we?

xx 

 

Getting real-time updates from Mars on

FTA negotiations in Singapore throughout

the day has been hilarious. Her last one

just popped into my mailbox:

 

“We’ve engaged in psychological warfare!

Negotiations to go on until later tonight

and Kris sent us out for food. Now the

entire negotiating room smells like McD.”

 

Hang steady, my brothers and sisters!

xx

 

Driving home from work today Amy

asked who the man directing traffic

between the AKLEH and MRR2 exits is.

I admittedly had no idea, but have been

meaning to find out for the longest time.

I might just roll my window down besok

for a sixty second chat with the old Uncle

if we get back early from the Conference.

 

Whoever he is, he doesn’t look like traffic

police. If that’s true, then he really is doing

something great there. Traffic at that point

can get pretty awful on some weekdays.

xx

 

First New Zealand, then Japan,

now Oz. The Chinese are gettin’

down to some serious biznizz.

xx

 

Fadzrul knocked some sense into me

today, and I can’t thank him enough. 

Anxious for both his and Opu’s move

to the States, for different reasons.

 

I have seriously brave colleagues

 

 

Sometimes I talk more in notes and

letters to him than I do in person.

 

Maybe some would prefer it this way.

Letters and notes can go unanswered.

With these, there is no need to deal

with thoughts or ideas or curiousity.

 

But that’s not communication.

And without it, you wonder if 

you really know each other at all.

 

 

 

Parental hugs are like pure magic.

 

And you find that even after all these

years, no son or daughter is immune

to the effects of this wonderful action.

 

I think that the older we get the less

we are predisposed to hugging our

parents as opposed to the salaam.

 

I can tell they miss hugging us, just

from that one extra second they spend

hanging on to our hugs. You can feel it

sometimes, like when you are about to

pull away and suddenly feel their arms

tighten around you. When it happens,

you know they are enjoying this rare

display of affection, something that 

20 years ago we were all accustomed

to doing on a daily basis – before bed,

in the mornings, before going to school,

coming back from school, after dinner.

 

It does leave a hole in their hearts,

whether they say it aloud or not -

and in most cases they don’t.

They would never want to beg

for affection from their children.

That is never how it should be.

 

So it is an appreciative sight to see,

sometimes, when I am out and run

into a family of strangers and notice

that the adult son or daughter has

their arms around a parent; or holds

their hands; or, if they part ways,

envelops them in a beautiful hug.

 

Sometimes I think about all those years

of rebellion and distance I kept from my

own parents, especially in my teens, and

I deeply regret all that time wasted – time

that, if I had known better, I could have

used to make my parents happy. By doing

simple things, like giving them more hugs.

 

I have been making up for all that

lost time over the past few years. 

 

I hope you all get to, too.

 

 

Marina Abramovic, The Artist is Present, 2010

 

The performance consisted of the artist being

present in a wooden chair, in MoMA’s atrium, in a

long-sleeved gown with a pooling train, for seven

hours a day, six days a week, from the opening

on March 15th, until the closing on May 31st. 

 

Throughout the performance she was perfectly 

silent and virtually immobile (her features only

registered vicissitudes of emotion, and on the

first night, when Ulay took a brief turn in the

facing chair, she stretched out to reach him.)

 

Thereafter, members of the public were 

invited to sit opposite her – at first, on the

other side of a table, and then, when the

table was removed, with nothing but space

between them. Many of the sitters seem

to be having a transcendent experience. 

 

Their eyes grow bright; tears well and fall;

they bow their heads or touch their hearts

- and Abramovic occasionally touches hers.

 

The Sundance video on this is so moving.

You can see everything in their eyes.