The morning view from my room.. :)
In this virtual absence, I have finally graduated, been confirmed at work and struggling to eschew the banal entrée of every day life. I varied daily outings, I dedicated certain nights to working late, I attempted to be (erhem) "the embodiment of carpe diem" but some nagging thought keeps coming back – that all my eclecticism is just a routine. A tiresome one.
There was Womad – the world music of arts and dance. I had to attend. I’ve been their annual denizen for years. How campy. I womadised myself to the point I was embarrassingly enervated from all that dancing and Heinekens. I remembered the grass stains and at a point, was skimming the ground with my bare feet. Very boho, but not to the point of looking absolutely wasted like a
Subsequently, in between those fits of hedonism, I made a good friend cry.
Afterwards another good friend made me cry.
It was quite a month.
It’s also Ramadhan now. Never fails to bring you a fresh wave of bourgeoning optimism – the idea of losing drastic weight and looking like a supermodel at the end of it. Hah.
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I’m just about done with the dishes and deciding whether to clear the undrunk cup of coffee dad left behind. There was his mobile phone blinking furiously, with the pet kitten staring at me from the screen and me rushing to the lift only to catch that distant whiff of Egyptian oil and I ended up watching from the window, amused as hell, him heading away from me towards the spiritual twilight of his years, resolutely walking towards the direction of the mosque with his white jubar billowing forcefully behind him. My old man is getting pretty absent minded.
Earlier on in the day, emaciated from the lack of food and too much sleep, I dreamt. I dreamt I prayed, halting in between my Qur’anic verses. I woke up and tried to recite a once familiar comfort phrase, and I stopped. If it’s true, that spirits of the departed visit the beloved abode of their loved ones in this holy month, I would have six feet worth of disappointment from my grandparents.
If you ask me now, in between all this halting non-sequitors, what I’m feeling, I would have to say “I don’t know”. Maybe spiritually, every year this month, I feel more “Muslim” than most. Then again, what is being Muslim (other than murdering our own women), or Protestant (hey, I love horses) or Jew...(no.more.diatribe.stop!)
Anyway, took a trip down to JB for dinner with friends yesterday. We broke our fast by the side of the road, slurping lychee from the box, popping Hello Pandas and after the causeway jam had a feast consisting of black pepper tepanyakki, lemon chicken, tom yam, buttered squid, kalian, sambal kang kong, sweet and sour sea bass, banana split and good old ice kacang. Can’t remember much, but I know we headed down to City Square, tried to get the counter lady to recommend us a good old horror film and eventually we ended up speeding back to good old Golden Village in Choa Chu Kang to scare ourselves. But as all Japanese horror flick goes, everyone got spooked but lost the plot completely.
Two and a half more weeks to the end of Ramadhan. Of all months, I have to do more schmoozing and attend more free flow alcohol events. The trials and tribulations of a not quite Muslim girl. I’m craving for a pint of beer and a cigarette. Will I lose 10 pounds? No. Will I quit drinking? Doubt it. Cigarette? Hmm…
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to munch. Damn the cold turkey.
