Ending 2008 with Bombs and Blood

So much for the promise of change, peace and a better world. 

Israel opened the borders to Gaza. Supplies were needed. A humanitarian crisis of inhuman proportions. Only to begin an air strike (with "surgical precision") that has left 271 Palestinians dead. No New Year's Eve for them - their fireworks are way too real. 

I was at the protest today outside the Israeli Embassy. There was a great turnout and the crowds were waving the flag high, shouting chants of Free Free Palestine. The cause will never be short of its supporters and the shouts of protest will never cease as long as the occupation continues. 

As John and Yoko said all those years ago (their relevance will transcend time), War Is Over. If you want it.

 

Happy Birthday

Happy birthday dear cousin Fairuz.
On this day yourself you must amuse.
Sing in the streets, dance in puddles.
On this day you have no chagrin or no troubles.

Happy birthday and enjoy your day.
Have some cake, balloons and happiness.
All on a glittering and blinding tray.
It's a day of fun and laughter and fanciness.

Tricks, Plates and Turkish Delights.

Tricks are those you play on me.
Plates are what we eat on.
Turkish Delights are what we eat.

The Ottoman Sultan is on his throne.
Under his turban, all you see is his beard and two feet.
He is smoking a pipe and drinking mint tea.

The Grand Vizier is contemplating his fate.
He's writing policies and is not alone
In his room, the lights are luminated low, breeze from the Bosphorous sea.

Tricks and kings and desire and affairs of state and evening twlight.
Miniature paintings and capitulations and my heart's on a throne
Whenever I am eating Turkish Delights.

Freedom, definition

freedom |ˈfrēdəm|

noun

ORIGIN Old English frēo (adjective), frēon (verb), of Germanic origin; related to Dutch vrij and German frei.

. the state of not being imprisoned or enslaved. 

I'd really like to take this opportunity to show my appreciation for the support of the general public for their kind wishes, friends from school and those I have been fortunate to meet along the way, and most importantly, family because without them, there is no us. 

Thank you from the bottom of my heart. 

This should not be taken as an opportunity to speculate or continue on with the vicious rumours. It is simply a celebration of my father's release from prison. I would appreciate it if we could be left to pick up and regain the last two years we have lost. Thank you. 

The Disability of Language

This is going to be a difficult post to write, as the title suggests and as you can imagine. Words can be as beautiful as they are disabling. Do we always mean what we say? Do we say things to hide what we really mean? Do we mean I love you when we say I love you or do we indeed actually very really mean something completely different?

I've been thinking about this for some time now and I've been trying to figure it all out and I may have come to the simple conclusion that words do not always express how we truly feel. Books and books, words after words, blogs beyond blogs, speeches spoken speeches - are we saying what can't be said with just wondrous words?

In art - no matter the medium - could it be possible that feeling and emotion is expressed more clearly? Colour, shapes, paint, plaster - a potpourri of possible intentions. But they could mean so many things, there is no definite meaning. As such, it is only words that can decide what it is we mean something that we want to reveal, or hide. Which then makes me wonder, are words there to hide what we mean or to attempt to explain what we do indeed want to say?

The debate I suppose continues. Language is a beautiful phenomenon and words are like confetti. But what on earth do I mean by that, right?

Her Name was Carol

The year is 1950-something. New York city. The scene is the toy department of Frankenberg's. Therese Belivet is staring into space, her toe is bleeding, her career in stage designing is nowhere near Broadway, she is not in love with her boyfriend, she has no family. Then she meets the completely mesmerising Mrs H. F. Aird, first name Carol, a customer looking at dolls as a present for her daughter. Therese attends her with as much professionalism as she can muster, but her heart is lost and when the woman has disappeared behind closed lift doors, she takes a chance and writes a Christmas card. Carol calls her to say thank you then proceeds to invite the impressionable Therese for lunch.

What happens next is a true adventure of the heart. It is as much as a growing up tale, as it is a love story. Carol is the divorced older woman who is given a chance to completely break free and throw caution to the wind. Therese is the young girl who has no real past but chances for an uncertain future with what may possibly be true love. Together, they give in to their desires: they answer the questions of their heart fully and unashamedly. But all is not well, and the fragility of love is put through the test of seperation and persecution.

The novel, initially published as A Price of Salt in 1951, is an undeniable read. In my opinion, it's a beautiful book to read on a rainy day, curled up in bed. It's carless and passionate. There's an amazing trip taken into the American heartland. It calls out to the adventurer and lover in us all. Give it a chance and take the trip down the heady and bubbly road of what we dare call love.

History Hysteria: the Middle East

I am often greeted by raised eyebrows and awkward silences when I tell people that I study history. The reaction is even more astute when I tell them that I actually do like it. But history is the ultimate window in to the history and conscience of humankind. It is both a science and a humanity - its methodology is precise yet its analysis is wonderfully broad.

But more to the point. The Middle East. My interests were tweaked when I started reading A Peace to End All Peace: The Fall of the Otoman Empire and the Creation of the Modern Middle east, written by David Fromkin. Allow me to highly recommend it. It has opened my eyes and deepened my understanding on how such a complex and exotic region became so absorbed in political chaos. The book questions (and partly answers) the actions of European politicians and how they grossly misinterperated a region they knew too little about. The book also highlights a Middle East that was a museum in a 20th Century development buzz. Politically backward with wazirs and tarbushed figures who had little appreciation or understanding for the renaissance of Europe, nor the political flair of the West.

The Ottoman Empire, a giant with a malignant malaise, beautifully disillusioned to the end. Young patriots who through inexperience and desperation, led the Ottomans to their defeat. Sharp politicians who knew so much about too little. Lobbyists, supporters, campaigners, experts. The heroic and foolish. The romantic and false. All heroes and cowards alike.

The Middle East, as we know it today, was the creation of Arabs, Jews, Muslim, Christian, Turkish, British, French - all with their own ideals, their own borders, their own tactics, their own divisions, their own answers to the ultimte question: what to give to whom? The culmination of many many many factors, which miraculously and fatefully created one of the most, if not the most, volatile region in this already unstable world we live in.

To the historian, it is a true wonder. To the human being, we can only hope for the best and pray for the ultimate solution.

General Allenby enters Jerusalem, tactfully on foot.

To be a Pierced Deer

Frida Kahlo.

I believe she's one of the most exquisite painters I can claim to know. Her art is provocative. There's an air of danger to them. Her paintings are like dares : I dare you to feel my pain, I dare you to be loved and hurt, I dare you to fall from dizzying heights, I dare you to look beauty straight in the eye and bite your thumb at her.

But she was more than a painter, and more than life too. She was larger than life, though not in the sense her husband Diego Riviera was larger than life. With her exotic background (her mother was Mexican while her father was German) and her long skirts, she was a painting all by herself; and in fact, she mostly painted self-portraits. She would depict her lifelong physical pain (she was in a horrific accident in her youth) and emotional suffering (she could never have children), yet at the same time there is much beauty in the pain. Her art was encouraged by her husband, also a famous and well-credited muralist. She began painting on her back (the accident broke her spine) and she went on to paint life.

I had the good fortune to see an exhibition of her work. It was in 2005, at the Tate Modern in London. I remember begging my father to bring me and, bless him, he relented, and we went. It was an amazing experience to see her work face to face. I got the feeling of being completely naked while in such presence. It was as if the paintings were judging, taunting, tempting me. She truly is a genius on canvas.

She was portrayed in the film Frida by Salma Hayek, and it's worth a watch if you're interested in knowing a little more about this amazing woman. It's a very good film based on the biography of her by Hayden Herrera, which I also recommend.

Et voila.

Sometimes Love is in a Different Language

I watched Aimee & Jaguar the other day. I've seen it before but for some reason or other, this second viewing was much more affecting. The film, set against the backdrop of a falling Berlin in 1944, tells the story of the beautiful but horribly doomed love affair between the wife of a German soldier (Lily; nicknamed Aimee) and a secretly Jewish secretary working for a Nazi newspaper (Felice; the enigmatic Jaguar). Felice also helps with the Resistance movement - a dangerously precarious life as you can imagine. Exciting times, as she poignantly puts it. She meets the lonely, romance craving, short-sighted housewife Lily at a concert-hall, but it's a brief and impression-less meeting as far as Lily is concerned. Felice however becomes fascinated and as fate would have it, they meet again and become better acquainted - both a little more intrigued by the other, both craving for a chronically absent sense of security. And despite the bombs and the fear, they fall quite helplessly in love.

It's a case of where bombs fall, may love flourish. And despite the impending tragedy, they remain honest human beings who eventually pay the ultimate price for a taste of happiness when happiness was as rare as a food ration card.

The story is beautifully told. It's an affecting tale that's bound to remind us that love comes when it is least expected, or wanted. Juliane Kohler and Maria Schrader, who play Lily and Felice respectively, deliver one of the best performances I have ever seen. In German, no less.

A Good Cause

Recently, I was offered an insight into the good work of Princess Azizah of Pahang who has taken up the often under-looked cause of families who want to be families. She has brought to light the plight of parents who have been unable to conceive through her foundation, the Tengku Azizah Fertility Foundation (TAFF). With the help of this organisation, parents are given the financial and medical aid needed for IVF treatment. 

My mother and I were invited to the TAFF Family Day not too long ago and we were able to witness her kindness and genuine care for these families. It was so touching to see the proud parents with their bundles of joy - their faces radiant with happiness. But the credit really does go to the Princess who was without snobbery and who had given her whole heart into the project. She is aided by able doctors and a dedicated team who believe in her and in the cause. 

I was most impressed by her good work and it really was an eye-opening experience. I do wish the foundation well in all its success. 

The X-Files Always Rings Twice

Last night, after 3 agonising days of waiting, I was finally awarded a trip to watch the X-Files Movie: The X-Files 2: I Want to Believe. To say the least, I was far from disappointed. Trish (not her real name. Her identity remains protected by the forces that be) in an act of selflessness, agreed to accompany me on this historic journey. She knows of my like of the X-Files and didn't think my alien rap too bad. Besides, I would not have seen it with anyone else. Well, David and Gillian were both busy for the premiere anyway.

My family was there, thus making the treat even more delightful. The film opened scarily enough with a kidnapping and a severed limb in the snow. Very classy. Although the pace could've been faster, the film stayed true to its identity as a thriller, more disturbing than outright frightening show. Mulder and Scully, sans their agent-status, were wonderful as always. Special mention to Mulder's facial hair, and I do mean his beard. Dr Scully, as she is now known as, looks awfully sexy in a lab-coat. Needless to say, I was sitting in a pool of drool half-way throughout the film.

This film has everything you want in it: love, hope, chills, overcoats, Ford cars, heads, two-headed dogs, snow, blood, more snow, gay marriage and everyone's favourite agents.

Through the doors of the Sublime Porte

Istanbul's been on my mind: I've been thinking about the Byzantines, the Ottomans and the Bosphorus. I've been emersed in its history, its very rich and vibrant history. Its buildings, morning light across the Golden Horn. I've been reading John Freely's Istanbul: The Imperial City, and I highly recommend it. It's very well written and full of pictures (miniatures, photographs) for the visually inclined. He alludes to many of the great classical works about and from Istanbul. I was particularly drawn to Elivya, a religious scholar who was attached to Sultan Murat I and his court. An extract of a procession is as follows:

"All these guilds pass in wagons or on foot, with the instuments of their handicraft, and are busy with great noise at their work. The Carpenters prepare wooden houses, the Builders rasie walls, the Woodcutters pass with loads of trees, the Sawyers pass sawing them, the Masons whiten their shops, the Chalk-Makers crunch chalk and whiten their faces, playing a thousand tricks... The Toy-Makers of Eyup exhibit on wagons a thousand rifles and toys for children to play with."

Another place, another time. Take a walk through these doors once in a while, even if it's all just in your imagination.




Ah to be an illuminator at the palace!

It's on my little list...

Before I begin my little preamble about the Mikado, I'd first like to give a shout out to Fairuz, or who I should soon be calling Dr. Cousin. Remember to enjoy your course and to never lose sight of you - who you are and what shoes you wear. Keep it real, I know you will. :)

And now back to the Mikado. It's one of those things that's constantly on my mind - background music, if you will. It really is a masterpiece, in terms of music, lyrics and all the rest of it. It tells the story of Nanki-Poo, a wand'ring minstrel who plays in the Titipu town band. He's in love with Yum-Yum who's the ward and fiancee of the Lord High Executioner, Ko-Ko (who quite luckily rose to such a rank after being reprieved from his own death sentence). Yum-Yum, bless her, is in love with Nanki-Poo too. Here they are doing things they would never do...

Keeping in mind that this is feudal Japan, the Mikado has decreed that all those who flirted leer'd or winked, unless connubially linked, should forthwith be beheaded. Now, not a welcoming prospect for the young lovers! We soon find out Nanki-Poo's little secret - he is actually the son of the Mikado! He assumed the disguise of a minstrel when his engagement to Katisha (who has a caricature of face!) was forced upon him. Now how shall we get out of this dilemma? Ta-da! The Mikado issues a decree to Ko-Ko instructing him to execute somebody if not the town of Titipu will be reduced to a village... Seeing that he's already been condemned to death before, he becomes the first choice of the town officials (Poo-Bah is after all the Lord High Chancellor, Master of the Rolls, Chancellor of the Exchequer... you get the picture). Here they are, accompanied by Pish-Tush (Poo-Bah's the overbearing one while Ko-Ko's the one in the middle, in case you were wondering!):

He finds a willing substitute in Nanki-Poo who agrees to be the victim if he can marry Yum-Yum for a month. But all hell breaks lose when Katisha comes to Titipu in search of Nanki-Poo! She threatens to reveal his true identity, but with some help from Yum-Yum, she fails... but threatens to return with the Mikado! Ooo I don't think Kat's very happy about all this:

In the second act, Yum-Yum and Nanki-Poo prepare to marry...when Ko-Ko enters with some law - once a husband is beheaded, his wife is burried alive! It really dampens the mood, as you can imagine, and here's Nanki-Poo, Yum-Yum and Ko-Ko contemplating the delicateness of their situation.

And with the Mikado on his way, Ko-Ko assumes that he may want to see that an execution had taken place. While everyone's scratching their heads (or rather wigs...), they come up with an idea. Bing! Poo-Bah will declare that Nanki-Poo has already been beheaded when in actuality, he'll marry Yum-Yum and disappear! Oh bother Yum-Yum! Nanki-Poo and Ko-Ko come to an arrangement...

Marvelous...except that the Mikado is looking for his son and not to check if someone had been executed. And you can of course imagine the madness that ensues when Ko-Ko presents the document saying that Nanki-Poo had been beheaded. The Mikado takes the news somewhat calmly but declares that the punishment for killing the heir apparent has boiling oil in it... Hmmm. Here's the Mikado gleefully talking about boiling oil, to Ko-Ko, Poo-Bah and Pitti-Sing (Yum-Yum's sister, one of the three little maids from school!), and you can see Katisha sternly looking on.

How to resurrect Nanki-Poo without Katisha's claims on him? Ko-Ko goes to him and relates the trouble. Bing! Another idea! Ko-Ko must woo Katisha so that she'd marry Ko-Ko instead. With his best suit and maybe even some flowers, he chances upon her (and her wrath) and woos her with all his charm. He surprisingly succeeds and he is married to her. They present themselves to the Mikado, who had gone to eat before the impending execution of Ko-Ko. Katisha pleads for his life before the Mikado. Her case is helped when Nanki-Poo appears together with Yum-Yum. The Mikado is pleased to see his son again and general rejoicement ensues! Katisha's a little pissed at Ko-Ko but after some elbow-kissing, all ends well.

Just a note! All the pictures where the players are in traditional Japanese costume are from the D'oyly Carte Company production of the Mikado. I actually grew up with this and it retains a special place in my heart. The pictures that have the players in 20s costume are taken from Jonathan Miller's production. I was very fortunate to catch this earlier this year and I consider it an absolute masterpiece.

And my little review can be viewed here!
http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/stage/opera/article3308130.ece

Things We Learn

I had the recent good opportunity to visit a children's home in Cheras. You may have passed it once or twice, or even every time you go home or go to work. I know I have. But this time, I paid the place a visit. It's simplyamazing that there is a place for these abandoned, orphaned children (some babies). These are children that were unwanted at birth but have been rescued from their dire circumstances and are now loved, by the dedicated staff that man the place (though most are women!). We are not aware of the good these people do, and the home they provide to those who are not as fortunate as us who do have homes.

Humanity still exists then, despite all.

On a lighter note, I've become quite a fan of Sandi Toksvig. If you get the chance, check her out or listen to her show on BBC Radio 4. Here she is, folks!



Ah isn't she lovely!

Stop the campaign of conspiracy theory

As the title says. Rumour is running rampant. 

I am not concerned with pet theories nor political insinuations. My priority is my father. 

We have the truth on our side. We have the facts. And we know my father is innocent. That is my campaign. Not to spread further rumours nor hate. 

May the truth prevail and may justice be the only judge. Not politics or gossip. 

Thank you. 

This blog is a personal one that I share with my friends and family. This is not a place for rumour nor negativity. 

 

Like they do in the movies...

I'm talking to you Humphrey, I'm thinking of you Ingrid,
I've always wanted to eat Chinese from a white box,
I've dreamt of using a hairclip to pick locks.
I know for a fact: Germans are known as Hans and Siegfried.

Could life be like the movies?
Where we fly to New York at 3 o clock.
That we could pull of a red sock
With blue shoes and pink hair
That we could be pretty and fair.

Can we meet on the top of the empire state building,
Where we'll meet just in time and have that happy ending.
Life could be fun definitely.
And we could live decently.
Well more than decently.
More like, fantastically!

Can we live like they do in the movies,
Where our speech is rehearsed and we move on cues.
Where we live in dreams and never get hurt.
Where we are never rude, evil or curt.
Where every disease had cures.
Not just one but two,three and four.
Where love was a never ending galore.

Aliens and Shakespeare don't gel as well as you'd think...

Hey there Mulder,
How're you doing Scully,
I guess you should've told'er,
That questions are my folly.
Have you got each other on speed dial?
Would you both go the extra mile?
Have you got me on a file?
Do you think Trish thinks me mad,
That I've got the shipper bug this bad?
Stay cool and always have fun,
Even if you're only on reruns.

Peace out, agents.

Read Sontag but Listen to the Mikado

Yes that is my deifinition of a day in paradise. Ms Sontag has opened my horizons to new, albeit at times disturbing, thoughts. A wonderful writer - don't know when we'll see the likes of her again. But perhaps we won't and she'll remain the unique Sontag. As I think she should be kept in our literary hearts. I admire her bravery, her mind and her beauty. Soldier on, Sontag. Bet you're still writing somewhere out there.

Last night, Mum and I did the naturally art-farty thing and went to the opera. We dressed up, you'd better believe it. And when the music began, I knew I was going through the seven levels of Heaven. The stage was amazing and the performance simply stunning. I rested my chin on my hand and just oohed and ahhed. I gnashed my teeth and drew a sigh as it were. I grew up with the Mikado, you must understand. To see it live, was really something. I'm still in the audience, my eyes filled with such sights. Such sights indeed!

Taking on the challenge of London

Sontag-tolerant and best friend, Trish came down to London last week. Besides receiving excellent hosting skills by me, I can safely say we had a grand old time. I shall tell the story with pictures and my undoubtedly talented writing skeels. skills. yes.

We watched and it was an excellent, thoughtful film. Although Trish lamented the premature death of the crab thing at the end. Alas food that could have filled our tummies!

We took a turn around and saw the lovely shops still closed. But we had a mission that day! I brought Trish to SOAS where she all but worshipped the law section, full of legal stuff. Beats me but she enjoyed it and that was fine by me! Onward to the British museum where we took in the knowledge and the taste of history at its purest:

We took a train to Covent Garden where we had a delightful picnic lunch, despite the blistering cold. Then on to the National Gallery (where we said hello to my man Vincent) and to the National Portrait Gallery (Vanity Fair, bring it on!). We then walked by Pall Mall (and it was a lovely cold Summer-like day) but took a cab home. No evening in London was complete without a night to the theatre. And indeed that was what we did! The 39 steps, no less.

Without a doubt, a great day in London. Come down more often, Trish. Bob, D, Jufi and I will show you a good time. As always.

Razak Baginda, in the mire and tired of it.

I have been silent long enough and been good but allow me this moment of standing up verbally. I think we Malaysians are selective on who is innocent. Have you heard of Razak Baginda? He is my father. He has faced a trial. Correction, he is facing a trial. People call it a farce. Then I put it to you that his year in prison is also a farce. This counts for nothing apparently. No one realises this, we conveniently ignore this fact. I mean, who thinks prison is glamarous anyway? Me talking to my father through a glass is not so glamarous either. I am personally disappointed, not to mention angry at this selectiveness. I think we should be honest with ourselves. An innocent man can come in many forms. Be surprised that Razak Baginda is innocent.

Because he is.

Wake up.

Heath Ledger, ladies and gents

You can imagine my dismay at the news today. I did not expect this one at all. Poor guy.

A real lost to the fim industry. Not only a respectable and talented actor, but a brave one too. I'm going to miss seeing him on the silver screen, although I don't think his films will be as mortal. He's the new James Dean, the forever young soul. The senstive, quiet but extremely gifted actor. (Hey he made me cry during that last scene of Brokeback Mountain). I was really quite shocked and I hope that his family are allowed, to mourn what must be a devastating loss, in peace. Reach for the stars, Heath.

Bearers of the cross & the crescent: Travels to the Levant

Just taking a break from essays to write a little about how I feel about the Crusades. You know that whole Kingdom of Heaven thing. I've been submerged in it for the last week and I get how this can get so addictive! I just want to go to the Levant (Palestine & Syria) in my shorts, boots, linen short and climb rocks. And imagine what it was like to be a knight on his steed or a soldier of the crescent at his watchtower.

History heaven.

Say Milk, Not Cheese.

Leibovitz inspires me. The world will keep turning as long as there's art.

She is touching and her pictures are moving. I guess art goes beyond paint and canvas and photographs speak to us in a familiar language. We're all fluent in it. Her pictures are warm and for a moment, I feel as if I'm living in those moments. Like an archaeologist and a historian. I think her new book's wonderful too (thanks, Mum&Father!). I like getting lost in the frames.

To as long as she keeps taking pictures! I think it'd be lovely to be as fresh as a Leibovitz.

Bienvenue, 2008.

Today, it dawns with a new beginning, a not-so-false sense of hope and renewal. Besides my sorethroat, which has resulted in a very sexy voice (dare I say, sexier than before?). Needless to say, I shall be making more phonecalls and will be unnecessarily talking too much.

I'm not going to review 2007 - it would take several blogs and far too much typing. Just to get from January to June. After all, another year gone is nothing new. So instead (and because I don't really do New Year Resolutions, but it's perfectly alright if you do) I'm going to wish everyone around the world a very happy new year (2008) and may it be special for everyone, in every possible way. I think we all deserve it. Bless. Happy New Year? Let's make it so.

Oh and to Family and Trish, thanks for welcoming 2008 with me (even if we may have been a few minutes off - bad Josephine clock - although one never is quite off...).