Happy Birthday Datin!! May your baju be filled with lots of katoks and maniks :D
Although a year older, oh please don't get scarier!

Aspa (L) Izaa (R)

“Why are you back?” The store-owner exclaimed when he saw Magico, the magic spectacles, back on his display shelf. He had just sold it to an odd couple — a pessimist and a dreamer. “Your new owners must be looking for you!”

Magico simply dropped his gaze.

The store owner’s brows creased. “What’s wrong, Magico? You look so sad. Did your new owners mistreat you?” he asked softly, opening the display cabinet. He took out the magic spectacles and made it sit on the glass top, facing him.

Magico shook his head. “No master,” he replied softly. Beads of tears were slowly forming around its framed eyes.

“Then why did you leave them? What happened?”

“Well, Master,” Magico sighed. “The dreamer put me on. Then he exclaimed, ‘Oh, how lovely everything is. Beautiful clouds across a clear blue sky, smiling flowers and swaying leaves, vast oceans, captivating sunset and sunrise, spellbinding moon, twinkling stars… ah! How beautiful earth really is.’”

“So? What’s wrong with that?” The brows creased deeper.

“I don’t know, Master. It just made me very sad. I thought it was sad that even with me on him, he still couldn’t see everything. He was only able to see the beautiful things, not the bad.

“So?”

“So,” Magico gestured helplessly, “it means he thinks he lives in a perfect world. Even with his sharpened vision, he still couldn’t see the troubles of this world. That means he never will. So he will never be able to address them.”

The master touched his chin with his right hand.

“Then,” continued Magico. “the pessimist put me on and exclaimed, ‘Moon? Captivating sunrise and sunset? Twinkling stars? My, you must be on to your pathetic dream again! I don’t see anything across the sky. All I see are the blackish clouds threatening to fall. And the flowers, the leaves… what’s so special about them? Can’t you see they will eventually wilt? Pathetic, that’s what life on earth is!”

“Oh, so they quarreled?” The master exclaimed. “Is that why you left them?”

“I don’t know if they quarreled, Master,” Magico shook his head. “I left them as soon as I heard them exclaim those things. I realized I’m of no use to them. Sure, I could make their visions clearer, I could sharpen their eyes, but I can never make them see the world as it really is. I can never widen their perspective nor inject understanding into them.”

//Sherma E. Benosa

24 July 2008; 11:30

_______________________________

Be-spectacled Me

My vision is now clearer. I now recognize faces even from afar. I am still adjusting with my improved vision, and with my little spatial disorientation. But I am hoping that in due time, I’ll get used to my additional eyes, unlike how I never got used to my spectacles the first time I was prescribed corrective eyeglasses in 2004. My vision then was -50/-75; now it’s -150/-200!

Unlike before, I now have to use my glasses all the time, and not just when I read. And this time, I really have to religiously do it, if I want to slow down the degradation of my vision. Ah, the price of stubbornness!

As I was walking to the taxi stand from the 'eye center', feeling a little dizzy, I told my self: “How nice it is to really see things as they are — their details, their colors." And I wondered how I had managed to live during the past three years with my blurry vision (although it wasn’t as bad then as it is now).

As I walked, a thought hit me: will my improved vision also improve my perspective on things?  The above is the answer to this thought. Please tell me what you think.

Though handicapped with a lack of business skills and a sullen personality, Slimane has the good luck of having a large family, a new lover, and her daughter who are enthusiastic about realising his dreams. All is amiss at the lavish opening night of his restaurant, aimed at impressing investors, when his ex-wife's delicious couscous goes missing.

Attempts to allay his guests impatience become desperate: his girlfriend tries to rescue the situation by cooking her less than tasty couscous instead, and her daughter distracts the guests with an oh-so-sensual belly dance. Cliche alert! During the search, Slimane's moped gets whisked away by three children. His absurd chase for the moped then becomes a glaring symbol of futility of success as an immigrant. At the end of the film I was left feeling a little bothered and frustrated. What bothered me was the investors will be served bad couscous: bad stereotypes of Moroccan immigrants, when there is good couscous, somewhere out there. If you can see through the subtle symbolisms and racism depicted in the film, then you might enjoy it, like my bf.

Three out of five popcorns

Let me begin this blog by answering my own questions about this blog, as they do in self-aggrandising FAQs:

Q: What is this blog for?

A: It's for me to practice and sharpen the difficult skill of writing. Years of being in the sciences have not helped and it's a skill I yearn to master when I reincarnate as a social scientist.

Q: What are cycads?

A: Ah, the noble cycads. Cycads are a group of tropical plants often mistaken for ferns and palm trees that date back to prehistoric times; some 300 million years ago. I met my first cycad after botany class in university - it was my first existential awakening.

Q: Who am I?

A: I'm a woman who's really happy with her age but won't tell her boyfriend that because it makes him feel old and useless. Recently I gave up high-heeled shoes for feminist reasons and also because I have wobbly ankles.

Memories in the Old Acacia Tree

Jeffrey Umotoy

.

I love playing

Under the old acacia tree

Drawing my name on its husky trunk

And hiding to the warmth rays of the sun

I am here through My good and bad times

Remembering the days of the Blossoming flowers

Where grasshoppers chirps and hops through the lawn

I see the rosy red morning, and the orange yoLk sundown

I play with my peers, running, hiding to the acacia tree

Alone, all I do is get a twig and write to the ground

A malady came; I’m not allowed to go to the tree

I’m so sad, cry all day, happy days are gone

I plea to my mother to bring me to the tree

The tree have chaNge, it change a lot

I don’t feel I’m home, he left me

Not just the tree,

Everything’s gone

The rosy red morn’,

Blue sky and clouds

I can hear the chirps

But they seem hiding

All I can see is Dark

And all I can feel

Is the warmth of the sun.

High school, high school! Haha, I made this poem way back in high school, suppose-to-be entry sa english week celebration. Pero yun, di ko sya naipasa. Ok lang, wagi naman ang essay entry ko (yabang!) haha.

Fat lot of good that does, they would say, when he pointed that out in the playground.

At least I break the rules in style, would come the reply.

This special attribute never took off as a status symbol. What it did was earn him the nickname "Balls Grabber." These things tend to take on lives of their own, he learned, and people are mean.

This sketch for a painting is more about night (and squares) than about fish.  (It's a sketch for a painting.)  But, lo and behold, the fish snuck in.  I count five, maybe six along the bottom.  This is hardly more than a scribble, but I love this.  If somebody calls me on the phone and takes up a whole bunch of my time ... friends ... this is what's taking place on my side of the conversation.

[Top of the page:  Study for a painting, by Aletha Kuschan, ballpoint pen]

I'm going on a long walk, and I don't know if I'm coming back.

The last few months have been very difficult for me.  Beginning with my mom's illness and death, much has happened, and quickly.  Adjusting to life in Malaysia has, strangely, gotten harder as the weeks go by. I miss my close friends in Denver tremendously, and not a single day has gone by without my thinking about them and some memory created by the simple everyday realities of our life together.

Writing has also gotten increasingly strenuous because of the fairly seismic shifts in my own theological outlook these last few years.  Many of the questions raised during graduate studies and by my engagement with the Christian East have changed me as I've asked them, refined them, and sought answers as best as I can.  While writing the post in which I confessed to being a "Zoghbyite", I realized more than ever how different my views had become in recent years.  I am now especially doubtful about the wisdom of airing my own transmorphing opinions over so public a medium.

Like Dr. Peter Gilbert, I've lately grown suspicious of the value of theological discussions that take place over the Internet, though I have undoubtedly benefited from quite a few of them. A few weeks ago I posted a link to an article entitled "Is Google Making Us Stupid?" That article challenged me to rethink the proliferation of "information" and the modern means by which knowledge is acquired.  Reading it made me ask whether or not I had, effectively, subjected myself to being catechized by the Internet.  The answer scared me very, very much.

All these have come together to persuade me leave the blogosphere---for a long time, if not permanently.  I started this blog during a time when I needed something to distract me from the pain of what I thought was a friendship permanently undone.  When it became clear that that friendship would survive one of the worst mistakes I've ever made, I thought to stop writing, but by then I'd acquired a small readership by then and thought that this blog could perhaps do some good.  Plus, I did enjoy the attention tremendously.

And so, despite the fact that this project was born of a selfish need, I hope that it has done slightly more good than harm. To readers and friends near and far, thank you for your encouragement, attentiveness and willingness to hear me out these last few months.

For now, there is a journey that beckons, and to the voice of my heart I must attend. Peace and good!

Eighteen years is fairly more than enough for me to be attached in my country, it's my home. It shapes me to who I am today, my ideology and mythos has been yielded in my country's vast struggle against difficulties. It is my comfort zone my kinsfolk land, my friends gazebo and my memories and childhood's hurdle, however it  is also for them that evokes me to leave and take a leap.

I am bound to depart the Pearl of the Orient to live the American Dream. I don't know how life would work there, but I never doubted my capacities. This decision is not a choice because there is no choice at all.

I am not dismayed or dejected. Anxiousness, vague one, is the one that conceals me now. After months lapses, I have mulled over, things can work even on that way. Things has been so easy now with advance technology in communication. I told my friend, "I'm just a click away!".

The City of the Golden Gate awaits me now, only the plane ticket is missing in the action. Sure I'll treat this as an opportunity, I'd rather think it that way. I'm not there to play over, it's actually an emancipation from childhood. Suddenly, I am old enough to look to myself and be responsible in my decisions. It's not an easy task to be far away with people that is close to your heart. It is often stereotyped that going there and experiencing the fantasy of four season is always a catch of green pasture. I know in myself it will take me hard work, arduous one.

No pain, no gain. I told myself my life will give me some worth if I have my college diploma. I pursue it here in the Philippines but not for so long, I do not consider this moving as an interruption, rather an ascent in opportunity. Wherever I am, I'm ready to sacrifice toilsome effort to earn that golden ticket to success.

I don't know what it's like to live in a place that only in postcards I tend to see. I am preparing myself for racism, chauvinism ... kidding. But I admit, it really hint me to think of that possibilities. Expect the worst as folks says.

It's much better writing it in blogs, so I'll have some shame of myself telling this all to the world and not making it.

Homebody in my case does not denotes a metaphor which affirms, rather it's the opposite. Homebody in which is psyching me out. It is not because of my full volition, but yes it's practically "partly" by choice.

Since the last summer break, April. I am locked up in my so-cliched-four-sided-wall-room. Counting how many times the earth rotates in it's axis for 23hrs 56min 4.2seconds per day. I have been secured in my your-ordinary-teenage-room for more than more than two months now. Bet you, it really sucks!

I am not prompted to enroll in the summer semester and even on the present academic year because of our present status for immigration in the west end of the earth. Here comes the unintentional reason why I barely leave the house, "wait for the phone call or any mails coming from the immigration office". So I have been a rotten fish swimming in a dirty fish tank...oops just an hyperbole.

Well, it's not just always "it sucks!" and not liking it. Let me quote something "it's like a flower that blooms in adversity", don't you notice? I like exaggeration. It's just there is something about it which is good after all. Things unnoticed because of some dominant commotion reveals themselves, which actually is quite fun. Let me try to list it all down for you.

Clocks don't tick at the same rate

Another irrelevant discovery candidate. I barely noticed that our family are so fond of clocks. Wall clocks, clocks in the shelves, clocks with fancy design, clocks with lamp, clocks in the living room, clocks in the dining room, clocks inside the rooms, clocks even at the attic. Whoa, that's a lot!

Clocks "second" hand does not tick at the same rate, which means each clock second precision is different from others. Which also means they are not telling the same time. Even clocks are not reliable at some time.

So, what's the official time? Weird!

When I'm uneasy, I diddle with my cellphone keypad

Having your cellphone around with you--undetachable seems normal just like dressing up, so I decided it's not worth writing it up. But this unusual thing I did when in some kind of uneasy situation feels weird and unnoticed.

It has been an unnoticed habit clicking my keypads unconsciously and when I'm back in my self, I am already diddling my inbox and/or playing with my cellphone's game.

I can navigate the house, closed eyes

Oh yeah, sure lot of us can do this, but it's worth some attention. Sometimes when peeing wakes me up in the middle of my sleep, I don't bother not opening my eyes fully. I learned to use my hands to sense some struggle on my way. Luckily I have never been hit by the wall.

Even when it's brownout, I always tend to switch on/off the light

When things occupy me for a moment or so, the light switch brings me up a sort of reality check, "power lines are off dude!" Yeah, the light switch reminds me that it's fucking brownout again which gives me emotional downfall. No hyperbole this time. Brownouts really makes me feel sad and bored!

Meal time, "whats the food?" habit

My mom and grandma really might be so sick and tired hearing all those question almost three times a day with only almost less than five hours interval. Sometimes this question are not really intended, they just spill out in my mouth...but I admit, I'm guilty! .^^

Refrigerator rackets it out at night

Sleeping close to the dining area and the big giant really gives me trouble when night falls and silence embraces the atmosphere. It's racket really disturbs me during can't-sleep-nights. It's really loud at times.

This phenomena battles my scientific instinct to a question. How much noise do we accumulate when it's racketing aren't audible? Think of that! Our eardrums might be furious.

Home TV shopping

Oops, I am not a patron of these products, but again, because of my unconsciousness in things, I just wakes up watching this inutile shows. Growth pills, breast enlarger, scar remover, kitchen knifes and wait theres more!!! haha!

Can't find it when I need it

When things are badly needed, they tend to hide until you give up trying. Up to the smallest things, when you don't need them you know where to find them but when the time you needed them, they play hide and seek.

Watch out with the latter one, can't find anymore things to write down but I'm sure there still a lot. Hate that last part!

Well, all of these are bit fun after all. When I'm thinking each one of it, it put some sort of helium air in my head. Being a homebody does not sound always rebellious, it can even cater the other side of your intellect. Isn't it obnoxious to find all the wonders of the outside world when in fact, just being inside your home can be totally worth spending when you just spend time discovering and challenging yourself?

Being a homebody for more than two months now is not a waste of time, because I have used it in some sort of valuable things. I had never read books continuously, I had never enough time to read all the school newspaper articles, I had never watch some good movies and tv shows... but during that break, I did, it's worth it.

But I never said I'll be homebody forever, I experienced it already, time to move on. I'll prepare myself for that migration and for another life in school.

Wish me luck!

]]> http://brainteaser.wordpress.com/?p=420 Tue, 15 Jul 2008 09:53:20 +0000 brainteaser http://brainteaser.wordpress.com/?p=420 I am no visual artist, but among the skills I tried to teach myself when I was fresh from university and work did not yet demand so much of my time was graphic design. Armed with some how-to articles I could find in the internet, I tinkered with Photoshop, in the hope that one day I’d be able to create personalized and especially made cards to send to my friends, or some good images with which to decorate my photo albums.

Years after those hours of tedious self-instructions, I found myself very thankful that I had the sense to make my spare time productive by trying to learn things that, during those times, had seemed daunting (hence, better left to the real artists) and even useless. Not only was I eventually able to create passable designs for simple invitations and even coffee table books for family and close friends, but my little knowledge of the process also tremendously helped me perform my job when I got to a publication where, from time to time, there arose the need for me to know what is visually appealing and what is not.

But that is not all that I am thankful for. There is also something in the process of image editing that helped me better grasp the idea that there is a great design of things, of which we only see a part because of our limited perceptions.

Let me elaborate.

There are times when, as I work on an image that need to be retouched or edited, say a picture of a smiling girl holding a bouquet of flowers but whose arm is smudged with few patches of dirt — nothing that simple editing cannot correct — I need to zoom in the object to have a much closer view of the part that need to be edited.

Looking at the object this close and seeing just the part I need to work on, it often seems to me that the part I am looking at doesn’t make sense at all. There are moments when I have a hard time imagining how that particular part is related to the whole object, even if I know what it is, having seen it in its entirety before zooming in the image.

I zoom in the object some more, and it becomes blurry and all the more senseless. It looks like just some pixels or dots thrown in together at random, with no connection with one another whatsoever. At this view, it is hard to connect the pixels and imagine what they might form.

Then I zoom the object out a little, and a little more, and I get a clearer view of the part I am viewing on my computer screen. I will now recognize it as a part of something, although at this view, I may still not see it as what it really is in connection to the whole picture — how indispensable this part may be to the whole.

I zoom the image out once more and, now seeing the whole picture again, I see what the part exactly is, how it is connected to the whole picture, and just how relevant it is. Then I start feeling like an idiot for failing to recognize it and make sense out of it when I was looking at it at “close range.”

There are still times when I find the time to sit down in front of my computer and do some image corrections. But even now, I am still mesmerized each time I get on with this process of zooming in and zooming out, especially when I connect it with the idea I adhere to when trying to grasp life and its many mysteries. Each time I do this process, or think of it, I see some sort of parallelism between how differently we view an image when we see it up close, focusing only on a single part, and when we see it in its entirety; and how differently we view a life event when we are in the thick of it, and when we are simply observing it from a distance.

When something happens and we are personally involved, or someone close to us is, it is often hard to see things more objectively. We tend to be emotional and subjective. But when we aren’t involved, we can be more objective and are more able to keep our emotions in check.

There are also times when, as something is happening, we don’t understand what it means no matter how hard we try to analyze the events leading to it. Then, at a much later date, in some mysterious way or another, we get to understand what happened, how it happened, and why it happened. And as understanding dawn upon us, we say, “Ah! Kaya pala!”

So yes, I am thankful that I know a little about tinkering with images. Because with this little knowledge that I have, I understand that like everyone else, I may also have a limited perspective of things. And every time I sit down and work on an image, I am reminded that in many instances, I may not be seeing things in their proper perspective; that all I may be seeing is just a part or several parts of a whole. So I am more open to other people’s ideas —understanding them, analyzing them, testing them — instead of dismissing them outright. And so I write this piece, realizing that all I am presenting may just be a part or an aspect of a whole.

//Sherma E. Benosa

27 October 2007; 2:01am

I was chatting online with a good bud of mine when he shot me this link... Jackson Pollock.  Needless to say, that was the end of our conversation because I became totally enamored by the site.  What's not to love about creating Pollack-like paintings on your computer with a click of your pen (or mouse)?  I guess my next step would be to try to pass it off as "art" like Pollack.  Nah... how many times are people really going to fall for that?!?!

Erinn: My gums hurt.  It hurts to chew anything.
Dad: There's probably too much "heat" in your body.  You should drink more water and eat more fruits.
Erinn: I have been.
Me: Dad just bought some longan ["dragon eye" fruit] today.  They're in the fridge.  Have some of that after dinner.
Dad: No, she shouldn't eat that.  Longan is "hot" [i.e. contains yang energy].
Me: I thought all fruits were supposed to be "cold" [i.e. contain yin energy].
Dad: No, not longan.
Erinn: Yeah, longan has "wet heat" [i.e. appears to be predominantly yin but is actually predominantly yang].
Me: "Wet heat"?
Erinn: Yes, wet heat.

• On my way to the train station, the azan fills the air through speakers on a nearby minaret.  Time for solat Asar.
• Heavy rain in the late mornings.
• I dodge garlands of bright-colored flowers hanging from strings along the sidewalks of Jalan Tun Sambanthan.  To the black smoke from cars and buses are added scents of jasmine, chrysanthemum and incense.