Scattered Seeds

one by one they slowly come.
in a multitude they gather.
each looks at one another in the eye.
exchanging uneasy pleasantries.
they search the sky for directions.
though they are not the same,
they carry within all the same.
one heart.
one voice.
one belief.
once words from a distance is heard.
feet begin to ruffle the silent leaves.
a march on abandoned streets.
though quite unlike princes in a procession.
they try treading as not to trample pots.
hours wear on under the midday sun.
sweat trickle in the unbearable heat;
not of weary feet but of passioned clashes.
they shout in boisterous unison–
claiming ownership on plots usurped.
they raise their hands–
creating waves of unsettling welcome.
fists cut through air of steel.
Molotov’s bread baskets are brought to the fair;
cocktails are served by tossing ‘em in the air.
drumbeats sound.
echoes all around.
fire bursts from the ground.
clouds of white ascends.
Hodamus and Cydoimus have come!

the crowd shows no fear
they do not waver.
streams of water
from directions unknown
gush forth like spears.
piercing the sides of those standing near.
but they do not shed a tear.
not when no eyes see eye to eye.
rivers of water turn into a lively red flow
into drains.
into the earth.

all in one.
one selfish uprising.
what is all that for?
what future?
what lives?
what justice?
what freedom?
what fairness?
what leaders?
what opinions?
what now?

but i.
i would rise.
every time.
when it comes to matters of you.
let me sing praises to the one i love.
the one and the same.
let me sort out the silver from the sands of Sahara
and comb the ancient archives for secrets unknown.
for you are the one i love and cannot love.
all that i do for you.
can never be enough.
in plain sight you stand.
within my arms reach.
and yet.
i cannot grasp.
i cut my own heart.
bleeding for you.
what is all that for?

for who am I?
no one wants to know.
in headlines across the news.
what the world assumes are issues.
are of bloody fights.
senseless protests.
and allies of an unassuming axis.
all seemingly important.
all thoroughly covered.
the west at the center.
the rest in blurbs.
in boxes of six-by-twos.
inconsequentially.
when twenty thousand loses a zero.
eventually mentioned.
though they are the same,
their weight are not the same.
one voice.
one heart?
many in disbelief.
such are the unbiased
reports to the world.
so what’s all that for?
what fairness?
what freedom?
what justice?
what future?
what lives?
what now?

The dynamics of reinvention
Give language its life.
Yet I am slow.
Slow to invent new languages.
I’m limited to the little I know.
Few words are all I can offer.
I wonder if they are ever enough–
For it is difficult to describe
The wonder that is you!

The love that I have for you
Reaches unfathomable depths.
I would spend the time till the end of days
Just to be with you.
And when I pass through the gates of eternity,
All that I share with you
Comes naught to an end–

I will always want more.
I will want to go to you.
Always.
But I can’t.
Though you are in my sight within reach;
Waves in the ocean draws me only nigh.
I’ve to wait for you to call.
I’ve to keep training lest I fall.
I’ve to draw up a plan.
I’ve to make others understand.
And it’s so hard
To express my need to climb up high
to reach you and reside in your embrace.

Know this: Every once in a while
I need to look you in the eyes and hold you in my hands–
To tell you of the love of unfathomable reach
But when I see you, there’s no need for words.
We can simply let silence speak.
Or we speak of other things–
Of different phases and happenings in our lives.
For we know my words are never enough.

Cascades at Tanglir River.

Tanglir River

Nee On and his models, Amelia and Sherrie

Contemplation

Mummy Should Think With The Tummy Like Us

Kids at Tanglir River

It all started with Nee On inviting me to a waterfall a week ago. I was somewhat reluctant initially. I wanted to go up solo on a mountain, but then I also got a phone call about a possible photo shoot in Penang. So I kinda ding-donged Nee On quite a few times throughout the week–one day it’d be I’d go, then I won’t go, the next time I’d say I’ll go, followed quickly by a I can’t go and the whole lot of other phrases that only an indecisive person can concoct. I didn’t decide on what to do for the weekend until Friday night; the night before the trip.

My start time of 7am got postponed to 9am. The perfect excuse for the delay was that I had decided to pack my whole family in the car to join in the fun of playing at a waterfall. With kids coming along, there would be delay (quite naturally actually). Anyway, once we were on the journey, all was smooth sailing. I got to the Selesa Resort–the place where we parked out cars–about an hour later.

Together with Nee On, Amos, Amelia and Sherrie, my family and I started walking towards the waterfall. The journey would take us at least one hour, and I kept wondering how my kids would fare. We walked. And we walked. And we walked. Every so often, I’d try to distract their attention from focusing on the walk. “Look, there’s a snake. It’s dead on the road,” or a “Look! Pomelo’s on trees. Did you know they grow on trees?” (Nee On didn’t know. He thought they grew on the ground). I also went, “Did you see the busy bee?” or a “Wow! This is a vegetable farm. Do you think your friends have been on a farm?” But I soon heard, “Can you please carry me?”

Before I knew it, I was carrying weights as I walked up the slopes. Because I had two sets of weights, I had to rotate them every ten steps. These were not true ten steps, by the way; I was counting one step for every three to five steps I made. So I was like doing fifty steps with one load of weight, then put it down only to pick up the other weight instantly. I’d walk another fifty steps, and would change weights again. The whole process went on in many cycles. phew. It was a tiring workout indeed. This went on for quite a bit, and I was slowed down even further when I continued with the can you spot the river, leaves, water dropping like rain, beans and other things around you game. Soon, I lost sight of the four young people who seemed to just march on and on.

I wouldn’t have fallen very far behind if I didn’t have to stop to spur the other one on so often. We were still walking on slowly when a woman, probably in the mid-twenties, came into view. She was on a motorcycle coming in the opposite direction. She must have seen how tired the kids were, and took pity on them. She offered us a ride to the top of the farm, very close to where the waterfall was. I was ready to battle the slope, but my wife was excited about the ride. The offer accepted, my kids and my wife hopped on the motorcycle and got the ride up.

So I was left alone by myself; I wasn’t in the jungle, but I was alone on the trail. I had been released from my chains, and I sort of liked it. I looked at the lush greenery around me, and I let the sounds of the jungle–of rhythms of the cicadas, rustling leaves, distant roaring waters–ring in my ears. I took a few forced breaths, filling my lungs with the fresh air, and started walking again, picking up speed as I went on. In less than five minutes, I caught up with the four. Seems like Sherrie was a tired and had slowed a little down. I greeted them and kept on walking; I wanted to get to my kids and wife.

As I passed Amos, he made a remark to the effect that it was the wrong thing to teach my daughters. He was, of course, referring to the motorcycle ride. I wasn’t in the mood to argue; my kids were kids after all! And they’ve walked their fair share of the journey. Let them have some fun and the experience of riding a motorcycle. I haven’t said anything when Amelia came to my defence: “You don’t see Mr Tan on the bike. He’s still walking.” God bless her soul! I didn’t stop to say thank you, pretending not to have heard her. I just picked up speed–my walk turned into a slight jog–and I left them behind.

We weren’t very far from our destination, and pretty soon we were all playing in the water. The river wasn’t as calm as when I first visited the place. It looked like it had swelled somewhat after a rain, and the rapids were much faster. When we got in the water, we were dipping ourselves in really cold waters. I was expecting to head down to the main waterfall later in the day, so I didn’t bother to dunk my head in the river. Unfortunately for me, time sped on unknowingly and when we decided to descend to the waterfall, it was already getting a little late. Dark clouds were forming in the sky, and my family and I had to go home for a meeting. But Amos wanted to bring Nee On to see the waterfall. Amelia and Sherrie followed them. As for me and my family, we took the trail back to the car.

Once that decision was made, I was at it again: carrying weights in cycles. I tried to make my kids walk by distracting them from the trail. But the only thing that caught their imagination was when we walked pass the vegetable fields, and they got to see a flock of swallow take off and circled the sky a few times in unison. That was something new for them; and even though I have seen such sights before, I still marveled at the birds acrobatic-like act. After that entertaining act, I had to carry the kids again. Then light raindrops came a falling. We tried to speed up in our little walk, but the kids slowed us down. After walking quite a distance, a middle aged man in a jeep/4WD came from behind us. My wife stopped him and we all got a ride out. My kids sat at the back with baskets of freshly plucked four angle beans and French beans. My wife and I stood outside the jeep on a bumper bar, and held onto the railings like we were holding onto dear life. My kids thought we were having all the fun. Maybe we were, but the ride was a pretty short one as we’ve walked quite a considerable distance.

Once we were in the car, I attacked a packet of nasi lemak. I hadn’t eaten anything when we were at the waterfall. While my family were eating oranges and sausages (or more like feeding the fish in the river because the kids kept dropping them into the river!), I was taking photographs.

Just as I stuffed the last spoonful of nasi lemak into my mouth, I noticed one of the farm’s jeep/4WD coming to a halt in my rear window. In not more than seven minutes–even before I had adequately warmed the car seat–Amos, Nee On, Amelia and Sherrie were clumsily getting off the vehicle. Hah! Here was my chance to get back at Amos–for making his comment about the motorcycle ride earlier in the day, and for having the nerves to even ask someone to ferry him out now! I opened the car window, popped my head out and shouted at the top of my lungs, “Lemahlah, you all!”

Amos shouted back, “You walked out?”

“Yeah,” I said, not revealing that I didn’t walk out all the way. I thought I’d let the thought linger in his head for a while. At the same time, I had reversed the car onto the road and was ready to head home. I simply waved goodbye and I drove off.

I’ve been wanting to revisit Tanglir Falls since I first “discovered” this place in July 2007. Unlike Amos who has returned to the waterfall numerous times, I only got to it for the second time today. Then again, I didn’t get to it. Dark clouds hovering in the afternoon sky and a meeting with kindergarten teachers I had to attend in KL meant I had to leave before I got to the spectacular waterfall. I only spent time at the calmer cascades of the river above the waterfall today. It’s like I have yet to satiate my desires; and I’ll be wanting to go back to Tanglir Falls again.

The same night, I sent messages to Nee On and Amos–about me being a really sensitive guy because I had a mild sunburn, and a confession that I walked about 80% of the trail, and got a ride for the last 20%. I can’t tell a lie. I’m not wired that way. After a while, Amos came back with messages about him eaten alive by mosqkwerties mosquitoes and leeches and “we walked 20% ride 80%…”

So much for toughing it out; all of us cheated a little today. Maybe some more than others, but the measure is inconsequential. The bottom line is we didn’t go all the way. The next time we head to Tanglir together, perhaps I’ll get Amos to race me up the slopes. I’m sure this wasn’t our last time.

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Note: You can click on the first three images for a larger (and better looking) look. Trust me, the do look better.

Related Link: Tanglir Falls • 3 July 2007.

Sometime in May 2007, I wrote a post about Tomislav Torjanac and the illustrated edition of Yann Martel’s Life of Pi. Today I was casually flipping through the book, and admiring the wonderful artwork. There are few artists whose work capture my eye and imagination. I know I have to forcibly peel my eyes away from his work, and no matter how many times I look at his images, I do not find them dulled by time and familiarity.

I was keen to find out if he was involved in any new work, so I went to his personal website. His latest post, which was already over a month old was a news about some of his artwork being offered as prints. Out of curiosity, I followed the link only to arrive at a specially dedicated website that showcases his work in the The Life of Pi

From the website, I learned that, “[a]s well as being an artist of unquestionable skill, Tomislav also creates his work in a highly unusual way. First he sketches out the scene before painting it in oils and with a fairly free hand. Once he has completed this stage he photographs the painting, then runs it onto his computer, at which point he finishes the illustration using various digital techniques. The end result combines the painterly qualities of a great oil painting with the modern sophistication of a digital print.”

There are few sample artwork showing the different stages of his work. The more I look at his work, work flow, and technique, the more impressed I am with his work. And that itself warranted that I put up another post about this artist. Here are some clippings from the website.

—————
Related link
May 10, 2007: Tomislav Torjanac and Illustrated Books

Do not trouble your hearts overmuch with thought of the road tonight. Maybe the paths that you each shall tread are already laid before your feet, though you do not see them.

–Galadriel, The Lord of the Rings

Aargh! So many books to read! But which one?!

Tolkien’s The Silmarillion just arrived and it is in my hands. With this copy, I now have a complete set Tolkien’s Middle Earth stories. Not just any ordinary set, mind you. It’s a handsome DeLuxe set; except that I open them and read them and soil them, and I put my mark on them. They are well-used and not in collectible condition anymore. But I don’t care. Books are meant to be read.

Then one might ask, “Why spend all the money of such expensive books when there are cheaper versions around?”

In my younger days when I was reading comics, I was caught in the stream of comic collecting. But after a while, I figured that it was a waste of my time. I was buying comics to read, consume and forget. For me, comics provided a means of escapism from the rigours of education (and homework). So the idea of buying multiple copies of the same magazines only to store them in plastic bags–sometimes in acid free mylars–was beyond me. Plus, I was yet in the category of money earners so the whole notion of buying a carrot just to dangle it in front of me as if I was a donkey, seemed absurdly stoopied. Sure, one would argue about the potential rise in value, and the kind of money I could make in the future. But I was more of a now kind of person. I admit that the speculative nature did consume my soul a bit, but I learned the errors of my ways quickly and soon lived a less desirous life. There are indeed more important things in life. Now that I do make a little money from the work that I do, the interest in comics has waned. I still buy a copy or two every once in a while, but the need for escapism into a superhero world is no longer present. Perhaps that is one reason why I do not look forward to the recent slew of superhero movies (when in my younger days I would have clamoured for more more more and more). Then again, I remember being more excited that certain artists–like Sienkiewicz, McKean, Mazuchelli, Miyazaki, Moebius (wow, that’s a lot of Ms)–were drawing certain comics than the stories and titles.

Instead of the fantastical world comics provide, I have shifted to books. But not just any book. The bane of learning how to read critically because of my professional training in the academia world is that I find too few books (or films for that matter) to my liking. I am pretty selective. I don’t buy a book just because everyone else is reading it. Case in point: the Harry Potter books. I buy the books that I hope I will really enjoy. And keep (not collect like speculators do). Thus, the hardcovers. But the truth is: I don’t like paperbacks much. I’ll avoid them if I can. Most paperbacks use paper of lower quality. The pages turn yellow and age far too soon. The font size is often too small. It’s usually too light–there is something about having a little weight in my hands. And I sleep with my books, so I have a tendency to squash the covers. (Hmm… I seem to have written about this somewhere before. But I guess I just need to remind and reassure myself of why I buy hardcover books).

Anyway, I am so tempted to read The Silmarillion now! So why shouldn’t I?

Well, I’m in the middle of so many books I don’t know what to do. I have not read My Name is Red for more than two months already (and the story, which is actually quite captivating, is slowly fading away). The reading of C.S. Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia is moving too slowly; the reading of this book depends on the ears of others. And my reading of The Lord of the Rings has slowed to a trickle, too (but that’s because I know the story, and is in no rush to find out what happens to the various characters). I have the two scholarly books about Tolkien’s The Hobbit sitting on my bookshelf–waiting for me to have the time and proper frame of mind to read them. I’ve just started reading about Elizabeth Hawley two days back. Add to that, Maurice Herzog’s Annapurna is a few days away from my doorsteps. And the book about Hermann Buhl’s first ascent of Nanga Parbat is still somewhere in the world… coming (After reading his climb in Messner’s The Naked Mountain, I felt that his climb would be one amazing read). And I’ve been dreaming of the Easton Press’ signed leather bound edition of Hillary’s High Adventure, the book about the account of his ascent of Everest!

Decisions. Decisions. Decisions. And they are only about books to read. Haish.

Actually, the answer is pretty clear: Tolkien rules this time!

Mountaineering is a relentless pursuit. One climbs further and further yet never reaches the destination. Perhaps that is what gives it its own particular charm. One is constantly searching for something never to be found.

–Hermann Buhl

My US$0.99 (excluding US$13.00 for shipping) book, I’ll Call You in Kathmandu: The Elizabeth Hawley Story by Bernadette McDonald arrived today.

I couldn’t wait to get started. I was in the middle of Anatoli Boukreev’s The Climb. So what did I do? I went to a mamak restaurant, plonked myself in a corner, ordered a teh halia and spent the next two hours racing to the end.

I wouldn’t have taken over a week to finish the book if it was more engaging. I approached the book having just finished Messner’s The Naked Truth and that came across as a very powerful book. The mountain he was on was Nanga Parbat, and the experience Messner went through was something beyond most people’s endurance and desire to survive. Many would have died in his situation. Reading the book drew me back in time to the early days of expedition mountaineering (and I liked that a lot!), and made me feel quite strongly about the conflict and tension between the different personalities on different expeditions. It’s such a compelling tale that I think I would like to read the book again someday.

Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for The Climb. Perhaps it was because it was written with the help of G. Weston DeWalt, who, through his vocation as an investigative reporter, approached the Everest May ’96 in a matter-of-fact manner. Because of that, there is a sense of detachment; the book lacked the emotional impact and strength that made Krakauer’s Into Thin Air and Bourkreev’s memoir Above The Clouds enjoyable reads. Anyhow, I finished reading it.

I’m free to tackle Elizabeth Hawley. But I’ve only got a week of so. Maurice Herzog’s Annarpurna is coming!

I am not a programmer. I know nuts about .php codes. I only fiddle with existing codes. I deconstruct them and rebuild them. In that sense, I am an artist who imitates from what’s seen as a work of beauty.

Orange Sky Theme

I had no intentions of changing the looks of this blog, but I had been writing and telling people that I like pitcher plants, particularly of the nepenthes species. So when I came across Eric Head’s “Ladybug Heaven” WordPress theme, I thought I have found a template from which I could modify to my liking. As the name suggests, his theme had ladybugs in it, and it’s pretty neat.

But I wanted something to reflect my current mood–of wanting to be up on a mountain, and feeling alive with Nature around me. One of the few reasons for my upcoming December 2007 trek revolves around the idea that I want to photograph some rare species of pitcher plants. When I went through my library of images, I knew I had found what I was looking for when I came to my collection of pitcher plants from my Gunung Tahan trek. Spoilt for choice, I chose only one image with one pitcher plant.

With a little Adobe photoshop work, and a bit of a code cracking, I have a new theme for this website. Perhaps there are still a few little nitty gritty details that I would like to change, but I don’t want to spend too much time deconstructing codes. I’d rather be on a mountain.

Pitcher Plant Unleashed

I hope you enjoy the new look.