Dream a little dream of me

I intended the last post to be the last post for the year but I had a dream - 2, to be exact but recording one here:

He was always the one behind the camera, trigger happy, freezing all in their glorious moments. We met at some sort of a park and he asked me to capture him. Odd, I thought, he never asked that I took him...still puzzled but not wanting to ask, I took the camera off him. As I focused, I realised that it wasn't just him that I was taking, I realised then that there were the others. I can't exactly remember now how they looked like, damnit, I should have written it soon as I was awake but...anyway, the first word that popped into my head was "schizophrenia". Not sure why...Of course, we all know that everyone is made up of parts. Just that most keep it together and remained glued with the toss and turns of life. Others, disintegrate.

I know he is a whole person but divided at times. More so now with the situation he is in. I saw the one who was the cad, the one who stepped in in times of crises and the gentle one with soothing words. I've met some of them, not all but I'm sure I'll meet them all soon enough. I didn't understand it at that point of time - I blinked back, making sure I wasn't just seeing things but they were there, waiting, to be captured in their glorious moment, an acknowledgement of existence.

Petal P. Rose

The End........ALMOST

Last weekend marked a few things for me. It was the end of my art therapy course and also the “beginning” of Migrant Voices.

Part I – Art Therapy

We ended the course with each a presentation. There were a few angles with which one can do the presentation. I sat through a few the weekend before and it was my turn last weekend. I didn’t want to have to go through all the notes and be factual, regurgitating notes that we already know and I didn’t have time to do research and gain more in-depth views. I didn’t want to quote anyone infamous on the topic – I have always liked sharing things that people don’t know about. As I’m certainly no expert in this course, I shared myself. I let pieces of me be shredded much like tissue paper in nervous hands. My hands were Icelandic cold and at times I felt myself tearing. My voice, it broke, hoarse at certain points as I choke back the lumps. I could see the empathy and understanding in their eyes. I also wrote an impromptu poem when one of my course mates was presenting. I closed off the presentation with it. It is not the exact one I wrote then but you’ll get the gist of it:

Lines

squiggly, straight, thick, wavy
lines connecting
Red - it outlines boundaries
excitement “do not enter”
celebratory?
dashed lines
Yellow,
pause
A wait –
I guess that’s where I am
stomach in, containing.

Part II – Migrant Voices, The Beginning

I underwent training for a forum theatre piece that we were putting up as part of our International Migrants’ Day celebration. He wrote the script and was the director. I was his shadow, the co-director. We only had about 2 months to work on this, putting a lot of stress on the actors who are not professional actors. It put me under strain too because I’m not a trained theatre practitioner. But I can’t tell you how proud I am of the outcome of the whole thing. Everyone was there in full force, supporting and helping where they could. It was heartwarming to see everyone band together to make it a success. We have always partnered up with organizations such as DramaBox and SDEA to produce a drama piece. I am proud to say that this is the first Migrant Voices production that we weren’t partnered with such organizations. True, we had help with the script and directing but all the rest were entirely stamped with Migrant Voices’ mark. It showed me how far we have come from day one. I will always be grateful for the endless creative talents who are willing to work with us and the support from the arts’ community as well as the general public. It makes it all worthwhile.

Fast forwarding to Year 2008, I’ve already met up with some volunteers who will be running creative writing workshops. That’s about to take off in late January/early February. It has been on hold since October so it’s about ready to hit the ground running. I hope to also recruit more volunteers to run certain programmes that do not require too much off them. Hmm…plans plans plans….

I bought a digital camera recently and have already started taking pictures. This blog will be updated with some pictures taken. Be patient. I am thinking of starting a photo blog too. Look out for that.

Oh yes, I will be starting a beginner’s course in Javanese gamelan – that should be fun…Will update as I go along on that progress.

Till then, have yourself a good Christmas with your nearest and dearest and see you again sometime in January.

Hugs & Kissies,
Petal P. Rose

p/s: FINALLY! Year 2008 is only 2 weeks shy – can’t wait for it to begin. I’m impatient as to what it brings.

"Parting, ah, such sweet sorrow."

"Bye Love."

Like the precious petals strewn on a promising wedding march, carried by the slightest of draft, those words rang through the quiet of the night. It dissipated quickly but enough to unsettle me. I turned back and flashed my cynical smile. It's becoming a daily affair,this cynical flash. I don't like it.

I walked, not turning back to see if he was watching. I wanted the dark to engulf me and make us one. I exhaled a big sigh, a tired one. It is not fair that women feel so much more than men, carry a 9-month burden before the joy and yet are caretakers of their egos.

I looked out for him. I guess I was setting myself up for disappointment. I should have known better. But I felt for him - one could say, I love him, my sweet Valentine. I thought I was a superwoman, immune to the petty pangs of envy. I was his human shield - I thought I could withstand the battle and come out unscathed. It didn't matter - we were in it together. Little did I know that I was setting myself up for defeat because the enemy was not the others - it was himself.

So with grace only bestowed upon me by my Maker, I admit defeat, I lay my sword in surrender at his feet. I am only human, I cannot carry this on my shoulder, battling him and the others.

take up my sword left
at your feet, Lover
scar yourself if you must
someday
the sword may also part
the disappointment, that is now
in my heart

Petal P. Rose

Let's connect!

I signed myself up for an online dating service. Well, I’m not going to be coy about it – even an attractive girl like me, needs help.

Ok ok….this is something that’s not recent. I signed up years back, plotting revenge on an ex-boyfriend who had signed up there. Sorry, A – now you know. I did it out of spite, never intending to actually go out with any of the men off there. But I did – a few times.

For those of you who are totally not into this, this is the process:

1. Sign yourself up

Fill in the blanks. Age, stats, likes/dislikes, what sort of a person you want, etc, blah, blah, blah.

2. Submit a photo and an introduction of yourself plus what you want out of the guy, in detail.

These need to be approved by the site. In case you put up some pornographic pictures or some private information that is not allowed, though I think pornography will bring all the boys to the yard….

3. And then you wait.

I didn’t put up a picture then – of course not, I’m plotting revenge, remember? Before long I saw that some men were looking at my profile but no one sent me messages. It was cold out there in cyberspace. Then I thought, “Hmm…let’s put up a picture..” I did and that was when requests to chat starting coming in.

I chatted with a few of them. We got along well online so I decided to take the next plunge and meet some of them. Turned out to be TOTALLY anti-climatic. The men were like pieces of limp, dirty rags, with real personalities of nothingness. Most of them wanted to jump into bed, some too big for their own shoes (talking of ships when they are and will stay, mere sampans) and others, just plain, ugh!

I remember going to MOS with one of my dates. He was supposed to pick me up from my place. Michael, his name. He got lost and arrived an hour late. I saw his car and my heart sank immediately. It was a white, pseudo sports car – YUCK. I hate white cars and wannabes. But being of a generous soul, I bit back my instinct and swallowed the bile threatening to creep up my oesophagus. In the car, conversation was all about me! Me! ME! Not me, me. Him, him. My eyes watered and glazed over – he, no doubt, thought my shining eyes and attentive listening, signalled interest. I was more like, “What the fuck was I thinking?! I should have switched my mobile off and ran towards freedom!”

He knew the bartender at MOS and without asking my preference, ordered drinks for us. Some wussy mixer drink that was made extra strong, I suspect (at that time), to impress me. I wanted to move on to the dance floor but he insisted on another drink. Same wussy drink, down the hole. I had 2 drink coupons from the paid entry; I used one of it and started towards Smoove. It was crowded there, as I knew it would be. Holding the drink in my hand, I started moving to the beat. He excused himself to the toilet. I waited, enjoying myself, listening to the music. Seconds ticked by, then minutes, then more than 10 minutes. Concerned, I started ringing Michael’s number. It rang but he didn’t answer. Waited for a bit and rang. Again, no answer. Oh well, shit happens. So yes, I got “dumped” in the middle of the date. No big deal, I moved to the Main Area. Got myself another drink and brought it to the dance floor where I met 2 gorgissss Puerto Rican Melbournites, where we grooved the night away.

So it worked out in my favour. Michael sent me an sms the next day, saying that he went back to the car to rest and fell asleep. I suspect that his bravado drinking was to get me drunk – well, honey, I hold my drink well – can’t say the same about you, babe.

I am still subscribed to this online dating service. I’m just intrigued as to what drives these men to be “here”, wearing their hearts on their sleeves. I’ve since taken my photo off and changed the introduction bit. I don’t go out with strange men anymore – I can’t really be bothered to pretend to be interested. I do get the weekly updates of men who may be of interest to me but really, with their boring introductions of ** “I’m just a simple man looking…”, “shy when you first know me but chatty when I’m comfortable..” and “I’m kind, caring, understanding…” why would I bother? Which moron would go online saying that they are horny bastards? But really, how about something more than the ordinary? Tell us things we do not already know.

Petal P. Rose

**believe it or not, these are actual self introductions – totally not made up!

Disconnected...

I just started an art therapy course at LaSalle on Saturday afternoons - I'm the student, not the "teacher". Had my first lesson last Saturday. Highly awesome! Go do it!

We chose our own papers and choice of "tools". There were charcoal sticks, glitter, pastels, crayons, acrylic, etc etc. We each had our one minute of fame - we left a mark on each other's piece of paper. I felt like a naughty child. I could take whatever I wanted and deface that perfect piece of white. No one would know which mark I made, we were anonymous. Some of them felt a bit of stress because they felt that they needed to conform and follow the pattern. I, for one, didn't want to conform on purpose. I felt free. I could feel my heart racing, fingers numbed from the excitement of this unexpected naughtiness. Exhilarating!

Another exercise took us on a walk with our crayons and whatnots. Music played in the background. Eyes closed, fist curled around my white crayon. I followed the voice. I walk in the park, breathe in, breathe out. Everything is green, watch out! Rock in the path and a dog running through your path, excitedly chasing a duck. Smell the air, freshly cut from dawn. Cool air resting awhile before flitting away with the pretty, pretty butterflies. We opened our eyes and looked at the random walk we took. Next task - "see" a picture in the random walk and draw it out. Time: 10 minutes.

Alot of them started working on their piece almost immediately. I was stuck. I couldn't see my picture. I started turning the paper, this way and that...I finally saw a man standing there. I started to fill in the details. I was surprised at the end product. I had pulled up a memory from a long time ago, when I was about 11 or 12 years old...

I visited an uncle of mine in a drug rehabilitation centre when I was about that age. I was allowed to because I didn't have an IC yet and mom could go because they are siblings. It never struck me that I would remember it. I thought that I was drawing out my mother visiting but it turned out to be an observation I didn't know I had. These "prisoners" are only allowed visits from family members once a month and their wives would tart themselves up to appear all well and good for their husbands. I also had a name for it - "The Great Partition". Picture will be up soon. It is also for sale so holler if you are interested ;-)

In the evening, I was at the Arab Association for an event. I watched various middle eastern string and drums performances and basically danced the night away. Ladies who were there, I thank you for your warmth, generousity and the Dzaffin steps. It was a lovely evening and I do feel priviledged to have been allowed that precious peek.

I am not going to write in detail about the evening but will leave you these words, recorded then:

traditional, swaying, plucking oh so skillful, string instrument from Turkey
cameras annoy my eyes with their bright lights
my emotions run, trickling at times, accompanying the quieter notes
escalating, shut eyes backpaddling me to when I was a muslim.
Do I miss it? eyes fixed, lullled and lost but dark kohl-lined eyes watch me, hypnotic
light-footed horse warriors, they twirl, I see only white, flashes of those dark eyes again
the earth shifts as they hold hands, hop and skip,
always graceful, they never slip
fingers touched heels, bending down, celebratory yet humbled
ululation proclaiming devotion and love
heel to earth, bow down muslims, keep yourselves grounded
evoke loyalty to the One royalty
toes curled upwards, heels strike the ground

ku sangka dinda,
tapi dia pusaka
membuka jendela dan
membelai hatiku yang gusang

Petal P. Rose

Happy, happy, joy, joy

" I didn't see it coming. I hoped for it but thought that there was no way that it is ever going to happen.

Then it did. I wasn't prepared for it. I mean, I am happy that it happened and happy that it happened the way it did. It came as a greater (welcome) surprise. I had the expected reaction....My heart raced fast, limited by my rib cage or I'm sure it would have strained to free itself from the flesh that holds it in. My fingers were cold as a dead carcass, head was swimming with a thousand and one questions.

But I lived for the moment and absolutely LOVED it. What's next, boy? I think I am ready for it so come on, make haste!!"

Petal P. Rose

Bedside tramp

she comes to him during his days
him to her, the dark
illuminated by the bedside lamp
they entwine in a breach
of trust that wasn't there to begin with
a glimpse of disillusionment
she allows, indulgent
to her wants, needs neglected
preferring the dark
when he comes to her
illuminated by the bedside lamp
locked in a tight embrace
of reality and insanity
tempestuous affair rocking
their lives together yet apart
cocooned in their virtual net
she feels undisturbed,
him smoothening her furrows
when he comes to her, borrowed,
illuminated by the bedside lamp

Petal P. Rose