In-between

On the 45-minute boat journey from Merang, Terengganu, it was evident which of the many islands on the horizon belonged to Pulau Lang Tengah (“Pulau” is the Malay word for island). It was the only one circled by a lone eagle, or lang, in flight.

The island’s geographical location, sandwiched between Pulau Perhentian and Pulau Redang, explains the other part of its name.

Like the middle child in a family, Pulau Lang Tengah does suffer somewhat from the middle child syndrome. It is often overlooked in favour of Pulau Redang’s famous marine park and Pulau Perhentian’s Long Beach – both having earned a following among tourists and backpackers from foreign countries.

When it comes to Pulau Lang Tengah, even the locals could only offer a blank stare as to its location.

Well, perhaps, this neglect is not such a bad thing because in the end, it puts Pulau Lang Tengah where it should be – left for the quiet enjoyment of those who would truly appreciate the peaceful nature of this secluded gem in the South China Sea. Because unlike its siblings, Pulau Lang Tengah is best enjoyed unhurriedly, like that slow sip of fine champagne or the melting of a truly fine piece of chocolate on the tongue.

Without the crowd and screaming children, you get the sense that the island is all yours. There is no one around to block the sun while you sunbathe, no one to elbow at the buffet counter, no one to fight with over the last deck chair. With only four resort operators spaced out on separate beaches on the island, there really is space for you to breathe and relax, whether on land or in the water.

Of course, when in the water, you might have to jostle about with the schools of fish, but again, that’s not a bad thing. Not when you have colourful parrot fish, silver needle fish, and sergeant fish coming up close to inspect their new swimming partner.

With just a mask, fins and, for safety, a life jacket, one can already enjoy what Pulau Lang Tengah serves up best – abundant marine life in its beautiful blue waters. Most resort operators here offer full-board 3 days-2 nights package deals that already include two snorkeling trips round the island.

Snorkeling off the beach easily offers encounters with colourful fish and corals. With a boat, snorkelers can explore the underwater world at other parts around the island like Batu Bulan, Karang Nibong and Blue Coral where the best snorkeling sites are.

Although some protest it, feeding the fish with bread is sometimes practiced here by the boat operators to attract fish and draw out squeals of delight from snorkelers. Fry fish, silvery pompano, red breasted maori wrasse, snapper and masked rabbitfish are among the common underwater denizens. The various types of coral here include table, boulder, brain, cabbage and staghorn corals. While some are still in pristine condition, other parts of the island reveal many dead corals – a kind of coral graveyard, which is a sad sight to see.

There have been sightings of black tip sharks around the rocky outcrops in the sea by snorkelers. Harmless, the guys at the dive shop say. Still, a close encounter with this shark may stir memories of another dorsal fin that struck fear in many. Besides spotting a shark or two, the other highlight would be to see turtles coming up to lay eggs on the beach at Turtle Bay. It happens, but is a rare occasion. Guests can check with the resort operator for details.

For an even closer look at the underwater world, there is diving to be done. Most of the resorts on the island have their own dive shop with PADI-certified dive guides. The ten or so dive sites around the island are colourful feasts for the eyes.

Since Pulau Lang Tengah is pretty small and is mostly covered under dense jungle, trekking into the interiors reveals a different type of adventurous experience. Trekking over steep slopes, navigating in thick jungle and scrambling over rocky boulders, one can easily find a nice spot from which to view the sunrise, with waves crashing on the cliffs and rock boulders below.

The staff at one resort recommended a pre-dawn trek to Batu Kucing in the south which takes about 25 minutes from the nearest resort there. Promises of a breathtaking sunrise makes the equally breathtaking trek worthy.

So yes, despite being the hidden gem that it is, Pulau Lang Tengah has plenty to keep its guests occupied. But then, who cares about all that when you’ve come to escape from it all.

Backgrounder:

Pulau Lang Tengah is located off the coast of Terengganu, a state on the east coast of Malaysia. There are flights available to the state’s capital city, Kuala Terengganu, and from there, hire a taxi to Merang jetty (not Marang jetty), about an hour’s drive away. Coach buses from Hentian Putra also ply the Kuala Lumpur – Kuala Terengganu route.

The boat ride from Merang Jetty to Pulau Lang Tengah takes about less than an hour. At press time, boats depart the Merang Jetty at around 10 or 11 am but it’s best to check with your travel agent or the resort you are staying at.

If you are driving to Merang Jetty, there are parking lots where you can leave your car at the jetty.

The best time to go to Pulau Lang Tengah is between March and October.

For more information, please contact Terengganu Tourism Office Tel: +609-622 1433 / 1893 or log on to http://www.islands.com.my/

Embarassed

I have to warn you that this post might gross you out.

Today I went for my ultrasound. No, not pregnant again. Just some fibroids growing in my tummy.

Before I went in for the scan, the nurse came out to ask me how much I had drunk (best to be scanned on a full bladder). I said I just had a glass. She laughed and sent me downstairs to drink the 1.5 litre bottle of water and to wait till I "tak tahan kencing" before doing the scan.

So, there I was like an alcoholic clutching to a whiskey bottle, only it was mineral water, and chugging the whole thing down in a few minutes.

Then I sat under the air-conditioner and waited for the "tak tahan kencing" feeling to announce itself.

When I was sure I felt it, I told the nurse. But she told me to wait pulak for the doctor. The "tak tahan kencing" feeling was becoming a little too overwhelming, and like a 10-year-old who wanted to pee, I started pacing about restlessly.

Finally, the doctor was available and I laid myself down on the bed while she used a probe to glide some gel over my abdomen.

I started tapping my toes together because I really "tak tahan kencing."

Are you okay? The doctor asked.

No, I'm not, I thought. I think I really need to relieve myself but if I do, then I'm gonna have to repeat this whole process of chugging down a whole bottle of water and waiting for dunno how long!

But, all I said, while still tapping my toes together, was, I'm okay.

But then she started to press down on my abdomen right where the bladder was and it took all my focus not to have "an accident" there in the room. I imagined how pathetic it would be if I had to mop up after myself...

I tapped my toes harder, knocking my knees together in the process and almost quaking the hospital bed, too!

Are you okay? The doctor asked again. She was this sweet, young thing, who probably was all manners and sweetness in real life. You know, the kind of girl you would be happy to bring home to your mom (if you're a guy, that is). The kind who would never get herself into embarassing situations like this one!

And there I was at the threshold of letting go, just seconds before it reached the point where I would have to clutch my hands between my legs...

I jumped out of the bed in a shot and hastily got dressed.

No, doctor, I'm not okay. I think I need to go now...I was almost jumping from one foot to another.

I think the doctor was just as embarassed as I was because she never looked me in the eye.

Before I closed the door behind me in search of the nearest toilet, she called out, Don't pee everything away, or we won't be able to scan properly.

Oh, great, now she wants me to keep some of my pee in! Good thing I've been doing my pelvic floor exercises, heh.

Needless to say, it was a great relief when I was able to spout the fountain from between my legs!

La di da!

Temptation

Sylvan has been coming in to the office with very dreamy eyes lately. As though she got some the night before...

And a couple of days ago, during our breakfast together, she had this faraway look in her eyes and she suddenly giggled for nothing. As though she was remembering a pleasant memory or her own little private joke.

It turned out that she had been reading Midnight Sun and was once again reunited with her fictional boyfriend, Edward Cullen. No wonder she was happy...

At first, I tsk-tsk-ed her for reading an illegal copy of the book. Apparently, she had tracked down the scanned version of the book off the Internet. How resourceful!

But then, I dismounted from my high horse and *gasp* asked her to forward it to me! So now, I have a copy of it downloaded on my desktop.

I read one chapter and felt so guilty...it doesn't seem fair to the author. Oh, but then, the temptation to read Edward's side of the story is too great...

For now, let it just sit on my desktop for a while longer, and burn in my head. I shall try to distract myself with some other book (that could never be as compelling as Midnight Sun)...oh but I shall try...

Officially dazzled

I cannot believe it. Midnight Sun has been leaked out!

To understand the gravity of this statement, one has to realise the phenomenon that is gripping the book-reading population right now. It's a 5-book series called the Twilight Saga, a money-spinner created by this mousy little Mormon wife-stay at home mom-sister, Stephenie Meyer.

When she started the Twilight Saga, little did she know that it would create such havoc (and believe me, it is chaos when she goes on her book tours and promotional events), and that it would be bigger than JK Rowling and the rest of her little wizards and muggles.

But, too late, she wrote her stories, and they became huge No. 1s, with legions of screaming fans comprising of the young and old, straight and gay, single and married (I did a little localised research).

Okay, let's back up a little bit and give you a little history.

The Twilight Saga started with a dream.

Meyer says, "I woke up (on that June 2nd 2003) from a very vivid dream. In my dream, two people were having an intense conversation in a meadow in the woods. One of these people was just your average girl. The other person was fantastically beautiful, sparkly, and a vampire. They were discussing the difficulties inherent in the facts that A) they were falling in love with each other while B) the vampire was particularly attracted to the scent of her blood, and was having a difficult time restraining himself from killing her immediately."

Intrigued by the dream, she sat down to write everything out in detail. That writing later became "Chapter 13: Confessions" in her debut novel, Twilight. Among fans, it would be the turning point of the whole story, and known as The Meadow Scene (yes, it's that important!).

But even as she was writing it and subsequent chapters, she never thought that there would be a second, third, fourth or fifth book. The "Saga" didn't exist till later when she got a publishing deal. And yeah, about that, she didn't even imagine she would be a published writer. Her writings were, thus far, a self-indulgent hobby. She only counted on her sisters to be her only readers!

To cut a long story short, Twilight was published in 2005, and this was followed by its sequels, New Moon (2006), Eclipse (2007) and Breaking Dawn (2008). They tell the love story of a human girl, Bella Swan, and a 108-year-old vampire, Edward Cullen. The series paints a whole new world of vampires that is far-removed from the hype created by Hollywood before this. Forget fangs, garlic and crosses. Meyer's vampires are achingly and debilitatingly beautiful, super-fast, and sleek.

Just recently, on August 4, Twilight fans all over the world were saved from serious Twilight Saga withdrawal symptoms with the release of the much-longed-for Breaking Dawn, the fourth book in the series.

And to illustrate just how big this phenomena is, the book was released to sold-out Breaking Dawn concert parties in several states in the US. Twilight t-shirts are everywhere (and if you see them in Malaysia, it might just be me!) with words like "Edward Cullen is my fictional boyfriend," "Officially Dazzled," and "Team Edward" splashed across, and even Twilight rings and bracelets being made and sold to masses.

And soon, fans can look forward to the release of Twilight the movie in November (in the slot vacated by Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince), starring Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart as vampire and human respectively.

In the meantime, fans can re-read the first four books and dream, while anticipating a fifth book, Midnight Sun, to complete the series. This fifth book is creating quite a stir among readers as it would reveal the turn-of-events from swoon-worthy vampire Edward Cullen's point of view.

Originally slated for release next year, the book somehow got leaked out on the Internet recently! Whether or not it is the authentic version, no one knows. There is much speculation over the matter -- who leaked it out? why? should we read it? should we not? but i want to...but i really shouldn't...we should respect the author...but who cares?!

Still, as these events unfold, one thing's for sure, fans everywhere have been seriously bitten by the vampire bug. They will grab at anything to satisfy their craving for more of Edward Cullen and Bella Swan. And if we don't watch out, it might get pretty ugly, just like the uncontrolled newborn vampires that Meyer herself described in her books.

So, if you're ready to be dazzled by Meyer's brand of vampires, then go get yourself a copy of Twilight. But don't blame me if you get seriously bitten!

For more information go here and here for some really detailed information by Twilight Saga super fanatics.

Twilight Saga mentions in my blog:

1. A yearning

2. Candy

3. Twilight crazy

4. Romance

5. Sixteen again!

6. Weekend

Book

I dropped by MPH today to look for David Mitchell but Black Swan Green was unavailable.

All was not in vain, however, as I found Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go. I've heard of this author in passing (I think he wrote The Remains of the Day which was made into a movie starring Anthony Hopkins) but never bothered to look him up until I saw him listed in Time's 100 books list. The reviewer had good things to say about him and within just the first paragraph of his review, I was already hooked to buy the book.

It feels like I'm attempting one of those literary books and I'm a little apprehensive about it because I never finish reading any of the literature greats except for Huckleberry Finn which was compulsory reading in English class.

Let's hope this time is different. Well, it will have a little competition because I'm tandem reading Ishiguro and Meyer's The Host. The first is like a snobbish book, the second is like trashy romance sci-fi.

Well, may the best author win my love!

Opposed

This morning, Sylvan and I came to the very enlightening conclusion that no girl should ever be born an Aries and no boy should ever be born a Pisces.

We deduced that Arien women would be too much for any man to handle and that Pisces people are so dreamy, that only a woman could handle being one. Is that warped? But I say this with no malice or hurtful intentions to the gajillions of Arien women and Pisces men out there.

How did that come about? It was over breakfast and Sylvan was saying that she believes that she will never ever ever ever marry.

Don't say that, I said. Maybe the guy you're supposed to be with just haven't found you yet.

We became silent after that, each pondering over our own thought bubbles.

My thought bubble was that if I had never met Zane, I don't think I would ever have married. I vocalised my thought to Sylvan.

I mean, some people go through life, falling in love so easily. From one relationship to another and another. And I was boyfriendless for pretty much of my life.

Until Zane came, of course. Only he could handle my petulance, my arrogance, my selfishness, and the rest of my insecurities, and make me need him!

And the ironic thing about us is that I'm an Aries and he's a Pisces. We have our moments, of course, when our true astrological characteristics surface. Such opposing characters, he at one end, and I at another end of the spectrum.

He and his water, me and my fire.

He with his dreams, and me with my practicalities.

He with his endless tolerance for patience, and me with my irritation at time.

He with his delicate feelings, and me with my brash responses.

I'm not in the best of focus to completely write my feelings down on this at the moment. Wish I could be more articulate and write this better. Suffice to say that his love for me makes me strive to love him even better.

"Loving someone means taking the risk that they might fuck up your nicely ordered little life." Mark Haddon, A Spot of Bother.

Body

So this Sunday is a very important day for Zane. It's the launch of his solo exhibition in KL. He went over to the gallery yesterday to boss around the people there and tell them where and how to put up his paintings. No, actually, he wouldn't boss people around. He's very nice.

Well, anyway, all the paintings are up. I haven't been to the gallery to see yet, but I am sure that it would look really pretty with his waterlilies, his sunrise and sunsets and some very colourful abstracts.

Last week, he went out shopping with his "fashion advisor" to get some new clothes for the opening. A few days ago, my sis picked out the shirt that our little chickadee would wear on that day. That left just me with nothing to put on for this special Sunday.

I was a little sad. So, it was time to go shopping for me!

In the dressing room, I ached over my body! My tummy is huge people are gonna think I'm pregnant again. My boobies are sticking out like mamayas on a tree. My butt is like two huge basketballs at the top of my legs.

Since I completed my confinement period, I've been hiding behind non-descript clothes, long skirts and huge blouses. My sis tells me that I have no fashion sense at all. I've become the dreaded "aunty" I used to make fun of! Haha...

If it weren't so special, I'd probably pull on my jeans and Team Edward t-shirt. But I finally found something decent to wear. I hope I won't look too awful in it. That's the best I'll hope for.

And if I'm brave enough, I'll even put up a picture of me later. Heh.

Seberang Takir, Terengganu

In Kuala Terengganu, on the day we were to depart for Kuala Lumpur, the weather was gloomy. The clouds hung low, the sun went into hiding. There was an earthy scent, an unusual coolness, in the air.

The Editor, MazManja and I bought an 80 sen ticket for the bot penambang that would take us across the Kuala Terengganu river to Seberang Takir. The bot penambang is a quaint little water vehicle, painted in the bright colours of pink, yellow and green. It goes chug-chug-chug over the murky waters of the river. The journey took less than ten minutes but it was a therapeutic crossing for me.

I put my face to the window and breathed in the scent of the river. The engine chugged lazily in a rhythmic, hypnotic tempo, and I set my pulse to it. I think I left all my worries on the Kuala Terengganu side of the river. The other passengers, so used to this life, carried theirs with them across the waters.

Only a small river separates it from Kuala Terengganu and yet Seberang Takir couldn't be more different than its capital city. We arrived late evening when the day's work had all been done, when children abandoned their homeworks to play outdoors, when time aged largo.

As we made our way around, the Editor told me about the blind poet from these parts. I have forgotten his name now.

We entered a little coffeeshop and ordered keropok lekor, goreng pisang and lime teas in ice. We got used to the presence of flies -- almost ignored them -- as we discovered the true taste of keropok lekor.

Not too far away was the sea with a new embankment of rough-red rock that crunched underfoot. We walked clumsily across it and the physical effort required shook loose a memory of walking in thick snow in Columbia, body wrapped in layers of protection.

Here, children played self-invented games with slippers and Coke bottles. Cats came out to sun themselves under cloudy skies. Two makeshift goalposts marked a football field. Down by the surf, men cast their thin lines into the waters for a lucky catch or two.

The quiet of Seberang Takir seemed predictable and safe. Life here seemed protected. We three stood there for a while, looking out to sea, reluctant to return to Kuala Lumpur.

Time

"What is it? My dear?"

"Ah, how can we bear it?"

"Bear what?"

"This. For so short a time. How can we sleep this time away?"

"We can be quiet together, and pretend -- since it is only the beginning -- that we have all the time in the world."

"And every day we shall have less. And then none."

"Would you rather, therefore, have nothing at all?"

"No. This is where I have always been coming to. Since my time began. And when I go away from here, this will be the mid-point, to which everything ran, before, and from which everything will run. But now, my love, we are here, we are now, and those other times are running elsewhere."

A.S. Byatt, Possession

Black Swan Green

Run across a field of daisies at warp speed but keep your eyes on the ground. It's ace. Petalled stars and dandelion comets streak the green universe. Moran and I got to the barn at the far side, dizzy with intergalactic travel.

Pining for a real good book to read.

Am attracted to David Mitchell's Black Swan Green. Was tempted to nick it off that show-house unit at Mont Kiara. I don't think anyone would have missed it if I did!

He wrote so beautifully in Cloud Atlas. I found it complicated to read...like cutting my way through dense undergrowth, making slow progress forward with a small machete. But the way he constructed the many stories, one within another and another, with only the Cloud Atlas song to thread it all together...it was amazing. And well worth the effort.

HEAD IN THE CLOUDS by Sunil Badami (appeared in The Australian)

MANY first novels are autobiographical, coming-of-age stories marinated for years in the author's difficult childhood. David Mitchell's Ghostwritten was not your usual debut.Fizzing with originality and verve, it connected discrete narratives involving, among other things, an old Chinese woman living in an ancient tea shack on a mountain, Russian art thieves and a disembodied spirit rushing through Mongolia and its inhabitants.

His second novel, Number 9 Dream, was short-listed for the Booker Prize, as was his third, Cloud Atlas. Even when the latter became a bestseller, little was known about its author: having completed a masters in comparative literature, he moved to Japan for eight years, marrying a linguist he met there while teaching English. In this age of celebrity authors, where the novel seems indivisible from the biography, the England-born, Ireland-home owning but temporarily Netherlands-based Mitchell, 36, seems the most non-celebrity double nominee in Booker history.

"I try to keep the writer in me insulated from the 'authorsphere'," he says over green tea in his office at the Dutch National Institute for Advanced Studies, about an hour from Amsterdam, where he's writer in residence.

We are talking ahead of next week's release of his new novel, Black Swan Green, which he describes as not necessarily the best but "the least imperfect book I've written".

He praises his publishers for "shielding my anonymity and humility". "Success can be one of those things that cuts you off from the wellspring of stories that the world is."

Other writers, especially Italo Calvino and Haruki Murakami, have influenced him, as have friends, though "I don't see the point of being friends with people just because they do the same thing you do".

But his seeking to emulate his influences is "a desire to do for others what other writers I've admired have done for me". Fear plays a part too: "It's like a voice deep inside daring me to write, saying: 'I bet you can't do this, I bet you can't pull it off."'

His books, with what he calls their "symphonic sweep", reflect that. Part of the joy of reading them comes from the repeated motifs and recurring characters "who bash through the walls of each others' worlds", forming a sort of meta-novel, a diverse no man's land of bleeding borders, whose nomadic denizens somehow don't quite belong. Assiduous readers of his previous novels recognise familiar faces in each new one.

Yet his ability to ventriloquise eras and perspectives sometimes makes it difficult to find the real Mitchell in his work. Like the disembodied intelligence of Ghostwritten, his voice is pervasive and elusive. So which of his characters is he most like?

"All of them," he says with a laugh. "And none. All because they come from nowhere but my head and if a part of me wasn't like them I couldn't make them as they are. But I've never written a fictional self and I never will."

Mitchell's temporary workplace is a surreal campus of imposing houses and silent streets, where the brightest and best humanities scholars gather to research pet projects without having to teach. At lunch, our table includes the world's leading authority on Norse sagas and a medievalist specialising in Renaissance Latin.

"Sometimes I feel the poor cousin, surrounded by such intellectual expertise," he says. "Writers seem such dilettantes by comparison."

He considers every word to each expansive answer, sometimes betraying the boyhood stutterer he was -- and was, until now, reluctant to write about. "Not that I was afraid, but you learn devices to cope with it, put it out of your mind. People who wish you well won't mention it and so neither do you," he says. "Strangely, more people seem to know what it's like to be blind than it is to stutter."

Black Swan Green marks a departure from the intricate Russian doll narratives that have made his name. Set in a Worcester village in 1983 England, it follows 13-year-old Jason, struggling with puberty, unpopularity, a troublesome speech impediment and the growing tension in his parents' marriage.

He is sympathetic, funny, engaging, striving to understand the confusion inside him and in the world around him. His stories are riddled with misapprehensions and mispronunciations: the machine his therapist uses to measure his speech is "the metro gnome".

Yet despite being tangled up by hormones, schoolyard politics and his tongue, he's believably articulate. Through him, Mitchell evinces the ennui and intricate politics of small-town adolescence, interspersed by moments of poetry ("Run across a field of daisies at warp speed it's ace. Petalled stars and dandelion comets streak the green universe") and terror ("Hate smells like burnt dead fireworks").

Mitchell shies from the term coming-of-age novel, saying "it's a collection of short stories I imagined commissioned by different editors". So what's the difference between a chapter and a short story? "Short stories should start after the beginning and end before the ending."

However, the novel doesn't suffer for being read as a straightforward narrative and Mitchell is wary of falling back on old tricks. "You spend your 20s finding your voice, but you need to work out how to lose it before you can keep going," he says, paraphrasing Philip Glass. "I don't want to be the guy who always writes the same kind of novel, always known for the wacky structures."

He notes that "however breathtakingly inventive a book is, it is only breathtakingly inventive once".

In some ways it's a risk not to give his readership more of the same and it's paradoxical that many may consider this more conventional structure an innovative shift.

Mitchell says Black Swan Green is cannibalised from an aborted first novel to which he only now had the confidence to return. Why now? "A combination of different things: having children, wanting to make sense of that strange in-between time when you have adult emotions and desires you're unable to make sense of," he says. "I needed three books' experience to be able to write about that fear and uncertainty without cliche."

As with Jason, Mitchell grew up writing secret poetry in a village, but his new novel is only "38.2 per cent true", he says. "The stage is the same, the costumes similar, but the cast is different. I had a much happier upbringing; my parents are still together." Although he concedes that "if you want to write stuff that means anything, you have to try to put a kernel of truth in it", he refrained from writing in people he knew because "you still have to live with them".

The novel he's researching sees him on more familiarly exotic ground. Comprised of six novellas spanning 80 years, it's based on Deshima, the first Dutch settlement in Japan, with alternating chapters from Japanese and Dutch perspectives. He'll be moving back to Japan next year for the foreseeable future, not just for research but also so his children "can connect to their maternal culture".

As with reading his books, an afternoon with Mitchell is completely engaging: you cover vast and sometimes unfamiliar terrain, illuminated by his uncommon intelligence. And when you reach that last page, you're a little sad it is ending. However, despite his being a candid and charmingly self-deprecating subject, who can be sure if they have managed to know him? So many interviews, he comments wrily, "only have a sliver of me hidden in them".

As Kierkegaard observed, the more you pursue something, the more it retreats. It's certainly true of artists such as Mitchell, who seem to disappear into their art.

Given how much his work has had to say so far, that's probably more than enough for him. And hopefully, for his many readers.

A discovery

Suddenly, I found myself all obsessed with all things Muse. Googled it here, googled it there, tried to get every piece of their music.

One of my googling led me to a song that was so uncharacteristic of Muse. So haunting and delicate, the song played itself over and over again at my workstation.

It turned out that the name of the song was mis-spelt "Muse" when it should have been "Musee Mecanique's Under Glass."

Apparently, the song that I had been playing to death was Musee Mecanique's Under Glass which was re-orchestrated for cello by another talented group of people who call themselves the Portland Cello Project.

Pretty good stuff.

Gitanjali No. 19 Triptych

If thou speakest not

I will fill my heart with thy silence

and endure it

I will keep still

and wait like the night

with starry vigil

and its head bent low with patience.

The morning will surely come,

the darkness will vanish,

and thy voice pour down

in golden streams breaking through the sky.

Then thy words will take wing

in songs

from every one of my birds' nests,

and thy melodies will break forth

in flowers in all my forest groves.

Rabindranath Tagore

jika engkau tiada bertitah

akan kuisi hatiku dengan senyapmu

dan menanggungnya

aku akan diam menunggu

seperti malam menunggu

dengan pengawal yang berbintang

dan kepalanya bertunduk sabar

pagi pasti akan menjelma

gelap akan lenyap

suaramu akan melanda langit

melimpah ke dalam arus keemasan

kata-katamu akan berkepak

bagai nyanyian

dari setiap sarang unggasku

nyanyianmu akan terbuka

bagai bunga dalam hutanku

Translated by Latiff Mohidin

jika engkau membisu

akan kuisi hatiku dengan senyapmu

dan menanggungnya

aku akan diam menunggu

seperti malam menunggu

dengan di awasi bintang-bintang

dan kepalanya tunduk sabar

pagi pasti akan menjelma

gelap akan lenyap

dan suaramu melimpah turun

dalam pancaran keemasan

menembusi langit

lalu kata-katamu akan terbang melayang

dalam nyanyian

dari setiap satu sarang unggasku

dan iramamu akan memancar

pada bunga dalam semua rimbun hutanku

Translated by Nordin

In the spirit of the Olympics

I've never been much of a sportsman. In fact, I hated PE classes coz I always felt so awkward and uncoordinated. Hockey practise seemed like I was shoveling dirt. Badminton was too wimpy to count as sports. Netball made me feel like a clown.

Growing up with athlete friends made me envy their energy, their health, and their popularity. Things I didn't possess. I was more a bookworm. A loner. A misfit. Heh.

But, in the spirit of the Olympics, I thought about what kind of athlete I'd make. For sure, if I was an athlete, I would definitely fight to be in the Olympic Games. I mean, that's like the Grammy Awards of music, the Oscars of film!

So, when the topic came up between Zane and me, I told him, without hesitation, that if I were an athlete competing in the Olympics, I could definitely see myself kicking ass in the 100m sprint and the 100m butterfly.

I think I may have surprised myself with my own answer and evaluating it, it only became apparent why I would naturally, instinctively, say that.

First off, both events require sudden spurts of energy. They are not long-drawn out affairs like triathlons and relays. There is the element of challenge -- I consider the butterfly stroke as the most difficult in swmming. There is fierce competition because everyone is at the starting line, waiting for the gun to pop. They're not wimpy like archery or shooting. They are popular events with guaranteed audiences. The competitors are individuals and not groups like synchronized swimming and volleyball. To succeed requires physical strength, speed and pure adrenaline, rather than strategy, endurance and wits like the relay events.

In other words, its purely an Arien thing! I want things fast and I want it now. I can't be bothered with anything boring or something that takes too long. I love a good challenge. I like success to depend on my own ability rather than a group's. I love the attention. I like to outdo others, and myself, too.

I rest my case.

And Zane? What Olympic events would he rather compete in? Well, he'd rather not compete. There is not an ounce of one-upmanship in him. And therein lies our difference.

But, if pressed, he would probably go for booger flicking and farting.

That is so Zane! Case closed.

Dating

Ever since we got the maid, Zane and I have been able to spend more snatches of time together. It's lovely...to be in the car with just him alone, my arms unburdened by the weight of Musa; to enjoy a leisurely cup of coffee with him at a nice cafe; to joke around like we used to.

We miss each other so much these past few months. I truly and deeply love him. Feel extremely lucky to have him as my partner in this life.

Yesterday, we wore matching t-shirts, just a declaration to the rest of the population that we were "together," you know. I know, it's so juvenile, but hah!

I love you, sayang. So very much.

Sombre

The mood this week is pretty sombre.

Firstly, my cousin, Tab, is barely holding on to life as he lies perfectly still in ICU. One by one, his internal organs are failing him until he has to be kept on life support for now. His once stocky, stout body is now a dead weight on the bed. His face is bandaged to keep the blood from oozing out. The doctors told us to prepare for the worst.

Every single minute of the day, Kak Yati, his life partner stands by him. I don't know how she's taking it -- knowing that there are just days left for her and her husband. Knowing that the inevitable will happen. I don't know what her internal dialog is but I can imagine all the kinds of thoughts crowding her head. Or maybe not. Maybe she just feels numb.

Her daughter, whom I'm very close to, is a skinny shadow of her former self. We hugged and cried in the ICU. She had been there for too many hours, and perhaps because of it, felt some relief to leave the ICU behind, if only for a few minutes to take her lunch with me.

I left with a heavy heart and the image I couldn't shake off from that afternoon's hospital visit was of Adik, the prodigal son, putting his face so close to his dad's, and looking at his old man with a kind of longing look, as though waiting for his father to miraculously open his eyes and smile.

The second piece of news that is disturbing me is the one that's made it on all the front pages of our major newspapers. My boss was arrested by the ACA on Wednesday morning. We all certainly feel the loss. I have worked closely with him in the past few years -- on sales missions overseas, attended interviews and press conferences with him, wrote his speeches and letters, etc. He is a fine leader who knows the industry inside and out like the back of his hand. He rose through the rank and file and can summon any piece of information regarding the industry from as far back as 20, 30 years ago as though it were etched in his brain.

Things are topsy turvy these days. Again, it's like the juggler has missed some balls and they're all crashing down to the floor.

Listening to Muse. Time is running out. How appropriate.

Weekend

So much has happened in the space of a weekend. But since I'm too lazy to write about them all, here are some notes:

1. Zane has gone off to Kuala Besut and the Perhentians...without me! I'm a little miffed because it's a mini road trip that we were supposed to embark on before our next-year-road-trip.

2. My maid has finally arrived. I waited till 4 am at the airport to get her. She's okay but I can already see that I'm gonna have to rein her in frequently. I so don't know how to be a Ma'am!

3. My period's back after breastfeeding for 7 months. Eww...

4. I just got my copy of Breaking Dawn...and can't wait to be reunited with the Bella-Edward love thingie. At Kinokuniya, with The Star coupon, the paper-back version was just RM30 something.

5. Sylvan and I actually made Team Edward t-shirts to wear. I made one for Zane too...but they're not ready yet. Will post them up when they are.