花樣年華

Siempre que te pregunto Que cuándo cómo y dónde Tú siempre me respondes Quizás, quizás, quizás Y así pasan los días Y yo desesperando Y tú, tú, contestando Quizás, quizás, quizás Estás perdiendo el tiempo Pensando, pensando Por lo que más tú quieras Hasta cuando, hasta cuando

I've been wanting to watch "In the Mood for Love" for ages especially since it has spilled into common culture and passing comments of "one of those" movies, like "Farewell my Concubine", or "Raise the Red Lantern".

It was definitely a slow film, but sometimes you don't need words, action or conversations in order to entertain. After all, passing through life, I can't help but figure that reality is defined by the silences. Like walking through a foreign city by yourself and being silent while the noises of traffic, people and activity overwhelms. Surprising isn't it? That the island of quiet can exist. I often feel that I'm quietest when I'm in the midst of activity.

So this movie captures that perfectly, those silent walks to a quick takeaway. The rain and conversations and routine. Completely mundane, but her Cheongsams make me wish they were common day dresses nowadays. The absence and pain of  a cheating spouse turned slightly comical when they were re-enacting the scenes of confrontation. Where imitating the person that is hurting you becomes the only salvation to get through reality.

But the ending was something else. When the word flashed on the screen, I was left with the stunned silence that comes with completely unfulfilled endings. Seemingly no one is ever happy by the end of chinese movies.

That's life isn't it? Where two people's threads of life connect and dissipate, overlap and diminish. What you're left with is nostalgia. νόστοςἄλγος.

But, oh, so, restrained! Throughout.

Opulance

The beautiful things in life enthrall us all do they not? But with constructed beauty also comes a recognition that there is a $ sign behind every object that's presented in the pages of a magazine.

Sitting in The Bee yesterday with my absolutely gorgeous boozy milkshake and waiting for friends to come, I was thumbing through the magazine before stumbling upon coverage on Chanel's Metiers D'Art show which took place in Paris with a "Bombay" theme. Which involved lots of kohl and some Indian models thrown in the mix obviously. Oh, and Karl has never gone to India. Duh. He would die the instant he steps into that place.

That's where I started contemplating about how sometimes we are often disillusioned by the romanticism of a place. This means the constant references to obscure locations, "Oh have you tried Ku De Ta in Bali?" or "Have you never been to Paris? Milan? Barcelona? You should! It's beautiful."

Often I then find myself in these places, these mythical "Shangrila's" of the world and fairly, it's gorgeous, but after a while seems disappointing-Niagara Falls..seriously..you're water going over an edge-.

What I do remember are scenes like, sitting in the Highline writing an epic diary entry. Waiting by the sidelines of my first Milonga. Reading in Sweetwaters. Making epic treks from AA to NYC on a bus with chinese people who do not speak mandarin. Searching the streets for the original Magnolia Bakery. These are the stories I pull out that touched me in some way, because the convergence of purpose and emotion. Concoctions of life. Like those boozy milkshakes. So perfect.

Weekends & Family Portraits

Was an activity packed weekend what with lipstick launches, dolling up for family portraits, last minute impromptu drink sessions and gossip.

Over the past few weeks it's been fun times going on with Russell Peters concerts, movie nights, futsal sessions, Bootcamp mania. Saying hellos, saying byes. A dozen tasks to do and a million more places to visit. Barely remember what I did yesterday, I think I'm losing my memory.

Funny how back when (10 years ago now) we weren't really friends with the people that we still keep in contact with in current times. Friends that once knew you inside out turn into the people that you don't actually really know at all, while friends you barely spoke to become the ones that you have conversations with.

Which brings me back to the age-all question, who really knows you at the end of it all?

Selfishness

It's all about you isn't it? All. Life and social etiquette teaches us to share, to try and care more for others because once you get so consumed by what you are feeling and feeling sorry for yourself, you become a selfish little brat and no one like that, do they?

But you can't help it. After all, that little voice in your head isn't exactly going away is it? And sometimes all you want to do is scream to the heavens when things don't go your way, people don't do what you want them to do. It hurts, really.

"I'm thankful that I have everything I want and nobody else has anything better."~Betty Francis, Season 5, Epi 9, Mad Men

Travel times:
-June/July: Italy, Singapore, Penang (?)
-Aug: Diving (?)
-November: Hong Kong
-December: Argentina

Things that inspire

So recently a whole slate of things have been building up that I've slowly discovered about Malaysia (KL really) that have made me really want to be able to call something my own ala:

Friendly Fashion: For awesome Ebay style clothes swap/sell forum

Ong Shunmugam (Sg really): For updated cheongsams and GORGEOUS lace

The Last Polka: For totally Malaysian ice cream

Mollydookers/Artisan: For delicious coffee!

Culturerun: For teaching new skills

Thirty-Four: For bags I am saving up to buy

OJ Law, Yuna, Zee: For proudly Malaysian artistes

Man, seriously, makes me want to start something!

Strumming a major chord

When we talk about the people we no longer know, we do it timidly because we’re prone to remembering things better than they were, because we know we’re saying all of the right words to the wrong ears, because we never really knew our strangers to begin with — a truth our hearts can only acknowledge in the quietest and smallest of voices

http://thoughtcatalog.com/2012/how-we-talk-about-the-people-we-dont-know-anymore/


It's connecting the past with a present and then realizing that the connection to the past has already been lost to the sands of time. That really is what letting go is all about.

I drop secrets around the world with different friends. Each of them hold pieces of me that I've forgotten until gentle nudges return the next time we meet again. It is as though they give me little slips of papers with shared memories written on them that I only get reminded of after years, weeks or days.

There's the awkward memory of short haircuts and nerdy glasses. There's the laugh out loud memories of chickens whispering hot hot biscuits into cow ears during math class. There's the days in schools and KL-eer stories. There's lunches behind old libraries and lockers with padlocks thrown at annoying boys.

That's what friends are for.