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Hospitals, witnessing the deterioration of the human body, trying to make sense of pointless family feuds and grudges held over from so long ago no one can really remember when it began, wondering if I will turn out to be the kind of child that argues about paying for my parent's medical bills, questioning the morality of putting someone into a nursing home, wondering how a man can hold it together as he watches his body fall apart.

The doctors are full of optimism, and we try to mirror it when we talk to him. You'll be able to walk by yourself soon. You could barely move your arm yesterday, look how much you're improving!Someone told him yesterday to 'think happy thoughts'. It made me feel like throwing up. If I should suffer a stroke one day and be faced with the prospect of not ever being able to walk unassisted, please do not ever tell me to think happy thoughts.

I asked him today, "What would you like to do when you get home?"

"What's there left for me to do? There's nothing to do anymore."

My grandfather is notoriously grumpy, and although I've grown fond of his curt and brusque way of talking, his reply was heartbreaking.


Last night I dreamt I was on death row. There were mere minutes left to finding a way to get me off the hook, and no one else (including my parents) but me seemed to realise the urgency of the situation. I thought of ways to escape and make a run for it - I can still taste the fear in my mouth.

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"What do you think about all this?"

I can't remember if I ever asked this question to anyone, back in the days when I was the one asking the questions. I know what the right answer is, I know the words they want to hear - expressions of indignation, strong remarks on justice, emotional cries for sympathy. I couldn't help but laugh when I heard this question -- how do I even begin to express what I think? Ridiculous is a word with only 10 letters, and 10 letters are not enough to convey the immensity of the absurdity I see.

So tonight I'm turning the music up loud loud loud and singing along to silly songs. Only 12 hours to go.

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No updates - nothing interesting to say, and also because I've been writing for another blog.

There was a third story from China which I wanted to write about, but too much time has passed and I fear the details are a little fuzzy in my head.

The festival starts in TWO DAYS.

Chinese Impressions 2

The woman at the airline counter looked pissed off when I argued with her to be reassigned a window seat. I felt bad about being so fussy, but I really hate sitting along the aisle.

When I boarded the plane, my heart sank. I could see from a distance that there was someone occupying the seat I had fought for. I hadn't been in China long, but I had already experienced firsthand how the Chinese are not afraid of public confrontations. I mentally prepared myself for the inevitable argument.

When I got to my seat, I could see there would be no fight. It was an old woman, with her husband next to her, and she gave me an embarassed but hopeful smile.

"Am I in your seat? Do you mind if I sit here? I want to look out the window."

Lifang and Bawen were both natives of Guangdong province. They asked if I could help fill in their immigration forms. "No one from our generation studied English."

From their dates of birth in the passports, I did the math. She was 69, and he was 75.

"How long have the two of you been married?"

"Two years shy of our 50th anniversary," he replied, with unmistakable pride. They reached for the other's hands. It was unbearably sweet.

They used to do business in the region, but had retired long ago and were now heading for a week-long holiday in Phnom Penh. They tried to explain the type of work they used to do, but my Mandarin lacked the vocabulary to comprehend. I did, however, understand that it was large-scale, profitable work which required them to travel to different countries.

"Is Singapore still as beautiful as it was?"

"That depends on whether you think buildings are beautiful."

"Ah well, all in the name of progress. Guangzhou is also too big now. It's such a waste."

They told me to come back to China. I should find a job here, there are plenty of opportunities for someone who could speak English. I should travel and see the rest of the country. China is the most beautiful country in the world, and I had to see it all.

Just minutes before the plane began its descent into Phnom Penh, I found out Lifang was Teochew - the first I had met during my trip.

"I have a traditionally Teochew face."

She was delighted to have found another Teochew speaker, and didn't seem to care that my dialect was worse than my Mandarin. She grabbed my arm and whispered conspiratorially into my ear. It was wonderful.

The pilot didn't do a very good job during the landing - the plane shook a lot more than what I was used to. Lifang saw the look on my face, and she patted my arm as she leaned back in her chair, utterly relaxed.

"I don't have the same fears as you do. I'm not scared. Once you hear the wheels being released, you have nothing to worry about. Trust me."

She gave me a wink.

"We are old and experienced. We know these things."

Chinese Impressions 1

He was short and squat, and I was uncomfortable. Why had they assigned me the male masseuse, and not my male friend who was in the other room? "I'm happy to be able to serve you," he said to me in Mandarin as he arranged the towels on the chair.

There is always that awkward conversation to be had during a foot massage. It's a lot easier to avoid eye contact during the full body ones, but there is no escape when someone's seated right in front of you. How do you make small talk with someone who's holding your feet? I try my best, in any case.

We went through the usual routine - where are you from, what are you doing here, do you like China? He was very concerned about how cold I was.

"Bad blood circulation. You are too skinny."

I asked him about a tattoo he had on his arm. It looked like one of those insignias that members of a gang would have. "Everyone in my family has one," he said. "It means I have 'heart'."

He told me he had a friend who was in Singapore. I asked if he would try heading there as well, that it might be easy to find a good job in one of the many massage places we had.

"I don't have a passport," he replied. "The furthest place I have ever been is Shenzhen."

We passed some moments in silence before he spoke again.

"If you are in Singapore, can you make phone calls to China?"

For sure, I replied.

"I don't believe you. I don't see how it is possible."

I tried my best to convince him, telling him my parents called me daily from Singapore. I don't think he believed me. When the massage was over, he told me my liver was in bad shape.

Siem Reap

I find it difficult to accept the fact that I'm actually working and being productive - not when I'm in a town like this, when everyday feels like I won the lottery and got sent on a dream holiday.

Siem Reap is beautiful to me because of its simplicity despite the multitudes of luxuries available. It seems like a contradiction, one which I've struggled with for all of five minutes, but I suppose such things resolve themselves in the end.

Of course, this is only because I've deliberately refrained from seeing things as they really are. The only relevant question I've asked was something about local salaries, but I don't think I really listened to the answer. In the midst of the beautiful restaurants and Pub Street there is reality to be found, but I don't quite want to see it yet.

-

I find that I've been getting angry more often -- not the kind of irritation that stems from a momentary frustration which can be brushed off if you just take a deep enough breath, but the kind of anger that makes me want to go on one of those never-ending rants that always ends with an awkward silence and with me feeling embarrassed. Suddenly, I'm back to being a fucking expert with an opinion on everything. I guess I'm still a judgmental bitch, and no amount of wishing is going to make that part of me go away.

To that end, I've kept myself away from most people. I find that I'm much better behaved if I just stay in with the cats.

I always read about people wishing from their death beds that they hadn't worked so hard, that they had stopped to smell the roses and enjoy life and take more walks on the beach etc etc. -- what about the others? What about those who spent their lives walking on beaches? Are there any dying people out there that say, "Fuck, I should've done something useful with myself. I can't believe the amount of time I wasted getting sand out of my clothes."

I have a feeling I'm going to find out.

Things I would like to regret: Spending too much time riding horses, reading far too many books, and wasting too much money on train tickets.

Along The Way

While on Bus 107

• A mother with her young son on a bicycle at a traffic junction, making use of the waiting time by cleaning the boy's face with a towel.
• A place called 'Yong's Teochew Kueh'. How is it that can't name a single type of Teochew kueh? Does peng kueh count? Is ngo hiang considered Teochew?
• An ad for '24 hour Prawning'. What? Prawning is the new fishing, apparently.
  
• A new 24 hour Indian Muslim coffeeshop on Upper Serangoon. Yay!
• Serangoon is in Marine Parade GRC? WTF.
• Public Campaign posters spotted: Recycling, Fire Hazards, Be Gracious on Buses

A little notice at our lift lobby informs us that Lift A and B will be permanently shut down in a couple of days. The openings will be sealed up. Since Lift C has gone through the ubiquitous Upgrading and now stops at every floor, joining its gleaming counterparts newly installed at either ends of the building, the HDB folks probably figured there was no longer a need for these two outdated lifts.

I felt a little sad at the thought of these two coffin-like contraptions becoming scrap metal. After all, I've been taking these lifts for the last 24 years, to the point that I can instinctively predict down to the last second how long it takes to reach each floor.

And then felt really sad for myself because it seems that I've formed attachments to inanimate public objects.

Three Things

1. Heard

"Ah but where is Singapore River ah?"
- local teenage girl speaking on mobile phone while next to the Singapore River.

2. Seen

A man with a bloodied arm.

3. Occurred

A Bangladeshi worker walking towards made a complete U-turn and headed away as I approached.

Homecoming

I've been meaning to blog, to say something in the public sphere - to issue a statement of sorts regarding my supposedly big leap back home after having been away. However, that would require me to summarise, or to explain, or to offer some sort of narrative, but that all seems rather impossible right now as the words just won't come, and personal understanding seems rather out of reach.

Isn't there supposed to be, at the very least, sort of an emotion upon homecoming? I've been trying to figure out what it is. Relief? Respite? Happiness? Unhappiness? Something? I just haven't been able to figure out what I am feeling, and now I think perhaps the elusiveness of that emotion is due to the fact that I feel nothing.

There has certainly been tangible feelings - such as feeling sated by good food, enjoying being physically seated at a kopitiam, and being able to hold and see the cats - but these are physical responses, not emotional ones, and with regards to the latter department, I must say that the lack of response scares me a little.

Then again, I am a bit of an idiot, and its only been less than two weeks. I've not even unpacked.

Goodbye crazy land, and thanks for everything.

Will probably (and hopefully) be offline for the next month as I try to keep my mother out of trouble in India, and then there's this beach you see, which is waiting for me before I embark on my professionally unprofessional life.

Kainee Shesh.

It was late, and as I hung around outside the Building waiting for a CNG to show, I knew I had been spotted. I had seen them as I came out, and it didn't take long for them to be behind me.

"Apu, taka please. We're so hungry."

It also didn't take long for Ruby and Mithu to understand I wasn't dealing out cash, and so their questions started.

"Where are you going?"
"My house."
"Where is your house?"
"Dhanmondi."
"Can we come with you?"
"Why?"
"To see your house!"
"Ha, I don't think that's possible."
"You want to come to our house?"
"Where is it?"
"Agargaon. It's nearby. Come?"

There were other questions, but I didn't understand them.

"You need rickshaw?"
"No, a CNG. Dhanmondi is too far away."

Solemn nods of agreement. Ruby asked if she could have my shawl. I said no, I only had one with me.

They waited with me, yelling and shouting at every CNG that passed. I felt sick to see them so close to the heavy speeding traffic, even though I knew from the feather dusters they carried that they could probably maneuver the traffic a lot better than I ever could. Still, it made me nervous and I ordered them to stand away.

A younger boy showed up, carrying a hot flask of tea. I asked the girls if they'd like a cup. Yes!! We went to sit by the curb, further away from the road. They continued to ask me questions I didn't understand, so I decided to take over the conversation to tell them about myself. One hand each on my lap, listening to me babble in my limited Bangla.

When I lit up a cigarette, both girls looked horrified.

"No! Very bad! Not good!"
"Why?"

The boy, who had been silent all this while, countered with a "It's good!" The girls shushed him.

"Cancer! Make you sick!"
I looked at the boy. "They're right, you know."

We finished the tea, and the boy didn't have change. I was going to let him earn an extra taka, but the girls would have none of it. They took out their own money, made change, and sent him on his way. We went back to look for a CNG.

Before they left me to my own devices, Ruby suddenly asked, "Would you take a photo of us?" She hugged Mithu close to her face, stroking the other girl's cheek. I wasn't carrying a camera, nor had I mentioned photography at all, so I guess this is something they ask everyone - but it was still rather poignant to me. We set a date for tomorrow.

"See you tomorrow!" yelled Ruby as she left.
"Inshallah."
"Inshallah!"

I thought about it on the way back, how the happiness I feel from these small, inconsequential conversations trumps all the good feelings I've ever felt from having someone praise my photos or having my work published. It's nice to think that sometimes it could really just be as simple as that.

I walked for half an hour from my house to Neelket - last minute panic-induced attempt to sort out shit in my life - and realised I did a good thing cancelling that trek in Nepal because at some point my mother would've had to drag my exhausted body back down the mountain. I mean, she could do it. That woman runs marathons for fuck's sake.

I've been caught up in a wave of anticipatory nostalgia as the days tick off, trying to soak in the things I think I'll forget. Which, given my goldfish memory, is a pretty fucking long list. So I try to keep things in my head - like how, no matter how hard I try, I always end up stepping on someone's spit. It's everywhere. It's bound to happen.

And like how every road junction has the potential to become a clusterfuck of illogical driving - you stare at the mess of vehicles and the one helpless traffic policeman standing in the midst of it all looking slightly overwhelmed, and you just can't imagine how anything will move ever again. And sometimes, the rickshaw wallahs will start bitching - why can't that car just move oh my god they are idiots. Yesterday, my rickshaw wallah got off and went up to the car in front of us to inform the driver that this jam is all your fault, get the hell out of the way. I would've slapped him a high five but that is probably too much.

The guys at the book market tried selling me Lonely Planet's Bangladesh guide. I looked at them and threw up my hands in the air. Ami keno lagbe? I'm ekhane na? (Why would I need this? Am I not right here?) They laughed. New edition. Bangladesh! Come Bangladesh. Thanks dudes, I'm glad we understand each other.

Measure of Adaptability

The one day I get a CNG driver that actually seems to not have a death wish, I end up feeling extremely impatient in this very safe vehicle and wish that he would just speed the fuck up. I mean, three car lengths between you and the next car? Observing braking distance? How did you get your license?

Bangladesh Trumps Singapore: Reason #453 & #454

• Very high chance that you will pet a goat before the end of the day (every day, any day).
• The fastest way to avoid a traffic jam (and to die) is to switch to the opposite lane. Sure there's oncoming traffic, but at least you're moving.
  

This image has been blogged and re-blogged to death, and I (obviously) love it even though I've seen it everywhere. Thanks to my current infantile addiction to exploring the archives of Nick Holmes' tumblr (the most attractive man I've ever slept with), I've finally discovered the artist is 27-year-old Sarolta Bán. Guess who else turns 27 this year? I am a talentless idiot.

193 pages down, don't know how many more to go. My ass is now permanently glued to this chair, and my fingers just can't stop clicking on websites just so that I don't have to insert punctuation (a full stop is NOT OPTIONAL), correct very strange language and feel like I want to yell LEARN SOME ENGLISH FOR FUCKS' SAKE out of the window. That would be just wrong. Very wrong. Mustn't do that.

aquariums and puppets

So there was a huge French house that I was lucky enough to lived in, even though I was a student and rightly belonged in a dormitory room somewhere. The second floor had a floor-to-ceiling aquarium running around its entire perimeter -- but the water was half-full and it was clear that the great white shark (and smaller tiger sharks?) were not faring too well. There was even a huge sea cucumber stuck on the wall that looked like it was drying out.

So I found the hose, and turned on the pipe and poured the water into the tank which filled up surprisingly quickly. Before I had the chance to see how the fishes were enjoying all the extra water, I noticed a painting/figure/doll of an old woman that was just settling onto the bottom of the tank - no doubt it had been moved around when the waters swirled in.

I stared hard at the wrinkly face and I just knew, that if I stared long enough, it would move. In all my worst nightmares and lengthy-imagination sessions - this always happens. And so her face moved, but I wasn't sure - maybe it was the water that was making her move - and so I tried again and again. And the face got more and more grotesque. I couldn't walk away - what if she followed me? I yelled for Sandrine. I whipped the curtains close around the tank to hide that face from my view.

Sandrine, who had been cooking in the kitchen, came running. What? What? She's alive, I said, trying to sound calm so as to not freak Sandrine out. I let my hands go, and the curtains came down, only now there wasn't an old woman - there was a wooden puppet in the shape of a little girl and she wasn't in the tank anymore. There wasn't any glass between us and her.

Ah. Oh. Sandrine and I stared hard. The little girl came alive, she looked human now, she stepped out and in front of us.

Sandrine tried to speak to her, but it didn't seem like she understood. Try speaking to her in French, I said. It worked (I'm very multilingual in dreams) and the girl said she used to be owned by a duchess, and it was a very long time ago. She didn't seem to realise that time had passed.

I vaguely thought of Harry Potter and how that movie had made talking paintings a lot less scary.

Are you angry I made faces at you just now? I asked. I don't remember her reply. Sandrine was pissed off by now - what the fucked had I dragged her into?

NO MORE AFTERNOON NAPS FOR YOU JESS.

commas

Was out for the count due to a viral fever that went on for too long (at least it wasn't dengoo), now rushing to finish what I couldn't do due to too much lying in bed incapacitated, currently technically unemployed for the first time in I guess a not-so-long time but still busy as fuck, missing roommate Maria who left for some lovely little island in Norway (enjoy the summer, while it lasts), slightly sad the espresso maker broke but will learn to cope, cat-sighting count at an ALL TIME HIGH and I can't help but think its a sign about something but not sure what, feel like I oughta learn the Robot & Robo, successfully stopped Mother from freaking out about monsoon in Nepal & India, still can't stop fantasising about a beach in Sri Lanka.

“Thou shall not kill. Thou shall not commit adultery. Don't eat pork.
I'm sorry, what was that last one? Don't eat pork. God has spoken.
Is that the word of God or is that pigs trying to outsmart everybody?”

My annual Jon Stewart obsession is back.

“I want to look back on my career and be proud of the work, and be proud that I tried everything. Yes, I want to look back and know that I was terrible at a variety of things.”

Sometimes I spend too much time imagining what my life would be like if it had more animals in it. (And I don't mean on my plate, although I do think about that as well.)

Which is precisely what i did

Its time to stop. To think. To question the self and see if you can find a new way to proceed. Otherwise just put aside that camera and do something else.

- The Spinning Head

Asim Rafiqui says exactly what I am only able to express in vague, unhappy grunts. Too much love for his writing.

The handover process is in full swing - with or without a replacement - and I've had to engage in uncomfortable self-reflection. What does it mean to be in charge? What have I learnt? I've always known that I would be an unpleasant person - I have no patience, no tact, and I'm too prone to arrogance. I warned them all at the beginning. I may yell at you, but I'll always apologise later. But only if I'm wrong. Which I won't be. Or something to that effect.

Today, I received one of the best compliments of my life: "Jess, you are so rude, but you feel our pulse."

How on earth did they ever put up with me? Love them to death.

En route to Barisal.

Sights En Route to Sylhet and Back

• Nothing like a rat's disembowelment to kick off your day!
• The "Magic Tree" car freshener in the shape of a pine tree.
• A little van full of packed full of bananas. A windowful of bananas.
• The Sea Fish Centre. (No, it is not a food court.)
• A room named Compassion.
• Two ring floats, a plastic ball, and too much clingy t-shirt action.
• Chains around and around an elephant's belly.
• The bobbing heads of swimming cows. (Cows are beyond awesome, now that I've seen how they can swim.)
• The midnight cry (or moans) of a mating frog.
• The heroic/misguided attempts of a shama to ward eagles away from its nest.

Discombobulated

This is my word of the week. It has been a strange couple of days, fueled by my indiscriminate consumption of coffee.

It has been raining a lot. In the morning, during the night. Someone asked on the way to dinner, does this mean the monsoon is here? I didn't know. I've lived here through three monsoons and I still couldn't remember when the season started. The streets outside were flooded today.

So a building collapsed earlier this week. And then there was that fire where so many, so many had died. And then another building (next to the one that had collapsed) started tilting and they had to evacuate the area. And cracks appeared in the walls of another building, somewhere else, and everyone had to leave too.

I don't get that tingle anymore from these things. I don't feel that urge to hop into a CNG and rush there so that I can be part of the media covering the event. I don't feel stressed about 'missing out' on the action. I can remember how that felt like, though.

I looked through the photos when the photographers came back from those events. Dead bodies, crying people, body bags, charred corpses, more grief, more pain, more loss, all caught on a wide angle lens, and you mark down the ones you want. This image works better than this, don't you see? See how her hands clings on so tightly as her friends try to hold her up? It shows just how much pain she is in. And this one - a hint of a dead body, just a foot, its better than the whole thing. We don't show the whole body. That's tasteless, don't you know?

One of the photographers told me he couldn't sleep all night after covering the aftermath of the fire. It's just too much, you know? I patted him on the back and told him he had to let it go.

During drinks at one of those clubs, I said nothing when the topic came up in the conversation. Isn't it horrible? How so many people died in that fire in Old Dhaka? Yes, its terrible. I looked at my feet and sipped my wine. The woman across me wore a flowy silk blouse in salmon pink with sequins across the collar, matched with a thin belt across her waist. She looked very fashionable. Behind her, two men played a game of tennis. I watched a little cute mouse scamper across the tiled floor.

I feel like I don't live here. Like, this happened in another world, you know? They were still talking about it. I lit up another cigarette.

Nazrul called me two days ago. Where are you? Dhanmondi, I said. And you? Woodlands lah. Next week I come back. Fantastic, I replied. It would be nice to see him in his own country. But how will we meet? You live in Gazidpur! Aiyah. Then I come Dhanmondi see you lah.

I would like that very, very much.

OH GOD NO.

This was so painful to read. So, so very painful.

Beauties dating 'beasts'

By Goh Shi Ting, Multimedia Journalist, RazorTV

IN THE Disney cartoon Beauty and The Beast, Beauty falls in love with the Beast for his beautiful heart despite his hideous looks.

And many 'Average Joes' are finding that fairy tale coming true for them as they live happily ever after with women who are considerably better looking than them.

Founder of dating agency Table for Six, Andrew Chow, who recently match-made such a couple said that it is 'really true love'.

'They look like an odd couple. The man is 1.65 meters and the lady is above 1.7 meters. The lady is very well-groomed and the man is losing his hair. But the personality and character of the gentleman is so much of a giant. He walks like a man who is 1.85 meters,' claimed Andrew.

However, the reverse doesn't seem to be true. Fewer good looking men are taking 'Plain Janes' as girlfriends.

I don't know where to start. I only regret that I read this online, because if it were in print I'd at least have the satisfaction of ripping this page to shreds and watching each strip of paper burn to its death.