Langkawi, Told In Songs

Sunday, August 19, 2018 • ,


I couldn't let a post like this go to waste just because I didn't post it on time a year and a half ago, could I? And if I'm being honest, the length of time this was left for made it easier to come back to and just finish.

The third of three separate adventures I had in the space of one week, my trip to Langkawi was significant because I was traveling with my cousins on our first holiday together. I want to write this post a little differently, in that the few photos that I have will complement the words — little vignettes, retold like stories; memories stored vividly in songs that we played in those exact moments. I want to tip them over like vases, to spill their sounds and run my fingers through the invisible contents, feel them pulse and ripple in my cupped palms.

This is Langkawi, told in songs.


The Playlist

City Of Stars — Ryan Gosling / A Sky Full Of Stars/O — Coldplay
April/Chasing Ghosts — Imaginary Future / Oh Sailor — Mr Little Jeans / Beautiful Lies — Birdy
When It's Sleepytime Down South — Wynton Marsalis / You Matter To Me — Sara Bareilles ft. Jason Mraz
Shore — Daniela Andrade




City Of Stars — Ryan Gosling

Doodoodoo-doo-doodoodoo, Hmhmhm-hm-hmhmhm.
City of stars / Are you shining just for me?

I was undulating, like a strand of seaweed out of sea, as we walked on water towards a hidden sunset — one that lay across a rubber pier rising and fell with the movement of the waves. I couldn't whistle City Of Stars, so I hummed it instead. And that melancholy little song forgot its origins, married the pier and the sunset and the water, became synonymous with watching the sky change its colours while the hole in my chest ached.





A Sky Full Of Stars/O — Coldplay

Fly on, ride through / Maybe one day I'll fly next to you.

There was no sunset that day, the sun falling behind grey clouds instead. But we played volleyball close to the tide anyway and danced along to A Sky Full Of Stars before it faded into a beautiful, contemplative mood with O. One of my favourite moments from that day was pausing for breath — my forearms tender and pink, the shell of my ear catching the breeze like a mini hurricane and the sand soft and sharp between my toes — to feel the gentle piano notes press against my heart, like the impression of fingerprints around clay.





April/Chasing Ghosts — Imaginary Future

Straight through the maze / Where the staircase bends as you're racing / Look for a face / In the window pane as it's breaking

We found a spot in the sand to lay down; the night was in full effect, like a dark curtain drawn across the sky, while the stars glimmered like holes and rips in the fabric. I remember the taste of my mai tai, remember licking my lips and finding them taut and dry from the salt on the rim of my glass, remember feeling like I'd taken a sip of the ocean that was currently lapping at the shore just a few paces away in the dark. Particles of sand sifted across my mat as I crossed my legs, moved my arms, turned my head. At one point we began to wonder about constellations and, after a little research, found that the ones we'd been looking at were Orion, Gemini, and Taurus. I half-closed my heavy eyelids and told myself stories about them.





Oh Sailor — Mr Little Jeans

When out at sea feels nothing like a home / Oh sailor, we will blow the wind right through

A quiet moment alone, filled with sunlight. I waded out into the waves during the brightest part of the afternoon, clutching my towel and flip flops while swaying and beaming like a happy idiot. The water was clear, ripples of light cast on the sand beneath the waves, and my heart was brimming over like liquid sunshine in a glass. The trip had had its fair share of down moments before this one and would continue to dole out more before it was over, but for these some four minutes, I was nothing but overjoyed.





Beautiful Lies — Birdy

Cause I want to be forever / Like smoke in the air / Float like a feather going nowhere
The colours of the amusement park were muted in the greying afternoon light. We'd rushed back down in the cable cars, hoping to beat the rain, when we realised we couldn't remember how to get back to our car. As we hurried past stalls, dinosaurs, reds and blues and yellows, almost the only ones left in the vicinity, what felt like little icicles began to land and dissolve on our arms and heads — the rain had caught us. Tell me beautiful lies, Birdy mourned in my mind when we finally reached the deserted parking lot, our car lonely and marooned in a sea of grey asphalt and white lines. Cover my eyes with your hands; just pretend we're better. Shutting car doors against the rain, sighs and laughs of relief, the crackle of a bag of potato chips. Turn out the lights, there are no more surprises to come. We peel out of the spot while I watch the little hairs that have curled loose from my cousins' ponytails, their faces flushed. Let's be numb together. The car fills with the scent of rain and a hint of sweat.


(

We interrupt your regular scheduled stories to insert the following — 
When It's Sleepytime Down South — Wynton Marsalis

Jazz in the rain, slow jazz as the rain pelts the roof of the car, sloshes against the windows. We are warm inside, our eyelids heavy. The sun leaves without saying goodbye, and we drive on into the night, the only sound languid, marbled conversations among double bass strings and rollicking piano keys and honey-coloured brass notes.

)




You Matter To Me — Sara Bareilles ft. Jason Mraz

Come out of hiding, I'm right here beside you / And I'll stay there as long as you let me

The fluorescent light in our room tinted the white walls blue and green, and the ocean continued its reach and withdrawal in the dark outside alone. One of us was showering, the sound of the water escaping from the sizable gap under the bathroom door. Wet towels draped across the backs of chairs, and damp hair covered faces as we lay on our stomachs, scrolling quietly on our phones. I played this song then for the first time, and wondered at how no one seemed to notice. I would play it again the next morning, on the balcony by myself as I watched sunbathers make their way to the beach, the floor sticky under my own feet from spilled lemon juice. 





Shore — Daniela Andrade

You're where the rhythm is / Slowing down the waves of my heart

A mysterious lullaby for a world that was slowly awakening. The hushed guitar notes coaxed the sky open, and we watched as the darkness began to flush pink and gold as though giant fingers were pulling ink stained cotton wool apart. There were palm fronds waving gently in my heart. It was a bittersweet, quietly magnificent moment, and whenever I hear this song now it brings to mind the five of us in a row, sitting on towels that slowly turned damp from the sand, facing east. Plastic bottles crackling, course sand particles held up to the light so they become iridescent. Peanut butter and jelly spread on bread with a spoon. An apt song to end a trip both lighthearted and impossibly sad. Goodbye, sunrise. Goodbye, room. Goodbye, February. Goodbye.



(You have reached the end of the playlist. Thank you for reading.)
Langkawi, 07000, Kedah, Malaysia
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The Second Of Two Weekends In Penang

Monday, May 1, 2017 • , , ,






As I'm writing this, it occurs to me that I'm going about things in the wrong order: I made an earlier trip to Penang in February, so this post should technically come after that one. Unfortunately I'm terrible at blogging chronologically or on time (or at all, really) so this post is the first one you'll see.
Penang, Malaysia
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Hidden Away

Saturday, April 22, 2017 • ,


I recently spent a rainy March day or two with my aunt and uncle in their home, which is tucked away at the end of a winding road on a hill. It was a simple visit, spent mainly indoors with lots of porridge, painting, and long talks.


I love being in their house; it's often quiet except for the sound of nature (birds singing and what I would assume is mother cats calling their kittens). No sound of fan blades even, as the altitude cools the rooms down naturally. I always feel like I'm somewhere and sometime else when I visit -- as though I'm in Japan, or the early 2000s. In other words, the perfect brief respite.
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In Retrospect - The Metropolitan Museum Of Art


October 2015 | Scuffling feet, crisp footsteps. Raised voices, hushed voices. Coats unbuttoned, hands in pockets, dog-eared museum maps. Adults strolling, couples hand in hand, playful children, artists sketching. Silence, wonder, intent gazes, soft murmuring. Laughter, pointed fingers, wandering eyes. 

1000 5th Ave, New York, NY, USA
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Thoughts At 2AM On A January Morning

Friday, January 13, 2017 • , ,


I'd expected some time off this month after the hecticness that was December, but as it turned out, when January rolled around I sort of just hit the ground running. It's always nice to know that I have things to keep me occupied -- lord knows I need the reminder -- but sometimes I wonder if I'm piling tasks, passion projects, and commissions on my plate because I'm afraid of becoming stagnant and numb again. The thought makes my hands sweat -- and then I wonder when I'll get used enough to change and going with the flow that I don't leave slick fingerprints on literally everything, including my laptop keys as I type this.

If you've noticed that I'm divulging more about myself than I usually do, it's intentional: this year I want to be a little more comfortable with sharing my thoughts on here. It goes hand in hand with painting and showcasing art journal entries on Instagram -- I hope that in doing so, the idea of memories and even passing emotions being worth documenting becomes more natural to me. They're not life changing events, but I'm beginning to realise that a hundred of these little moments are as effective at shaping my life as one giant experience is, and they happen to be a lot more subtle about it. So I want to be there, present for each of them as they happen and inevitably pass away in the space of minutes, hours. And then I want to paint them or write about them.

So in light of that, here's one such moment that I want to share.

My room has the perfect view of New Year fireworks every year, and as the clock ticked its way from 11pm to midnight on December 31st, I found myself faced with another quiet ringing in of the new year, alone. My first response was obviously to find an appropriate song to press play to just as the old year slipped away, but weirdly enough that didn't have the same sort of appeal on me that it would've a few years ago. 

It may seem dramatic to say, but I plan so much of my life -- right down to little details like this -- that I'd might well as be writing a script, and I guess I was just tired of trying to manipulate myself into experiencing the same brand of profoundness I always did on the cusp of a new year. So when the clock struck twelve and the sky began to light up, I let my Discover Weekly play something I'd never heard before, in the hopes that it would make a new memory, a new experience. This was the song that accompanied me as I tentatively stepped into the first few moments of a newborn year. It is bittersweet, and wise, and somehow felt more apt than any other song that I'd already listened to. It's gone down in my personal history as the 2017 theme song, and feels right as an Anthem For A Twenty-Three Year Old Girl.

So yes. This is what's been on my mind this new year. Thank you for reading, and I hope to see you here again. x
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Yangzhou & The Return

Friday, January 6, 2017 • ,


Day five --
River cruise from Guilin to Yangzhou, and more beautiful places upon arrival

This is the part of the trip where things get really picturesque. If you thought the previous posts already showed China's beauty, you're going to like what you see here. So here it is: this is what I experienced, and I bring the memories and photos back with me and put them here so you know as well, in a way, what it was like to be there too. (Without needing to experience the degenerate state of Chinese public bathrooms.)

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An Afternoon With Mossery

Saturday, December 3, 2016 •

I was going to wait for better light to retake this photo, but now I feel it fits the mood of the post. We've truly transitioned into the end of the year here, and the rain knows it.

One week ago -- on a Saturday morning with a shy sun that made its appearance for only a brief moment -- I took the train down to the heart of the city to my favourite bookstore, where I would meet the team behind my favourite local stationery brand at the event launch for their 2017 planner. Listening to them speak about why their work inspires them to get out of bed every morning, while I stole occasional glances at the rainy city skyline outside the window, was, for lack of a better descriptor, truly special.

After the event was over, I got to speak to one of Mossery's founders for a bit. There are few things that I treasure more than meaningful, intelligent conversation with likeminded people (which goes to show how rare those conversations are), and the one I had with her was definitely one of those. We talked about how paper still has a place in the digital generation, what it's like being an artist or designer in our country, and a lot of other topics that flowed naturally from my mind even though I didn't always have the opportunity to bounce them off someone else. I'd had my apprehensions about coming of course -- it's always daunting to meet people you respect and admire face to face -- but after that, as I was herded back into the train with a swarm of other commuters, I knew that I had not one single regret.

Unfortunately, I didn't take any photos during the event so you'll just have to soak in everything I just described with the visual aid of the (sloppily done) flatlay above. If you think that the black and grey marbled planner in the middle -- which I'm endlessly pleased to call my 2017 companion for the next thirteen months -- is gorgeous, you should know that it's a thousand times lovelier in person, and such a treat to hold in one's hands. I'm serious, it feels so good to touch. I didn't get a personalised name in front, but you can and you should because it's all kinds of cool. (Hint, hint. I'm just going to leave Mossery's links below for you.)

Persiaran Petronas, Kuala Lumpur City Centre, Malaysia
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Autumn In The Tropics

Monday, November 14, 2016 • , ,


We don't have four seasons where I live, just two: sunny and rainy. But even as the northern hemisphere bundles itself up while the November days slip by one by one, mornings in my little corner of the world begin to change as well, turning dark and muted and carrying the distinct, earthy scent of rain in the air. On this particular grey morning I decided to leave my room and visit the cat downstairs, and as she sat on the bench with me, soft and warm and purring under my cold hand, the trees above me shook their leaves in the wind and I distinctly felt that my favourite season had arrived at last.

I wish I had a photo to show just how wonderful it was, but there's no way a phone camera could've gotten a decent shot in light like that. I suppose I can only say that you'd have had to be there to know just how wonderful it felt... which is why I'm starting to believe that the phrase "Pics or it didn't happen" is truly redundant. Even if you have nothing to show for the experience you went through, you still carry its imprint on your heart, where it will stay softly, drawing your attention back to the memory at just the right moment. Sitting on that bench, shivering in the wind, I found myself remembering when I was thirteen or fourteen and staying in Cameron Highlands for my grandmother's birthday celebration, how I had had the time of my life running around in the freezing rain and stopping to watch the droplets of water form diamonds on the rose petals in the garden. Then my mind took another leap and suddenly I was in a beach in New Zealand, battling against the strong frigid wind as I looked for beautiful rock formations. 

Sure, there aren't any photos or art I can show you to accurately depict the beauty of those forgotten moments, how they made me feel as they happened, and how I feel now as I look back on them. But both of those memories happened once upon a time in my life, and they made those five minutes with the cat this morning a much richer five minutes than I could've expected.


Since I'm here, it's probably a good time for a little life update. November has been busy for me; the days are dark but I haven't had the opportunity to hibernate, even though I really love falling asleep to the sound of rain. Between juggling online classes and various commissions, collaborations, and projects, I've come close to feeling extremely overwhelmed a couple of times, but spending my down time reading, writing, and binge watching New Girl and Brooklyn Nine Nine help to soothe the hysteria that comes with the realisation that I am actually adulting (a feeling not unlike tightrope walking and deciding to look down when in the middle of the routine).

Because of all this, I haven't had the time or energy for personal art, but recently I was able to bring a drafted illustration of a favourite poem of mine by Nayyirah Waheed to life. I've been spending a lot of time trying to come back to myself and understand who I am as an individual (all people pleasers know this struggle), so looking up in the midst of my work and seeing the artwork propped up against my easel is an always apt reminder.

Tiny things like fading light catching on the bronze paint and navy blue stitches for binding make me so happy.

At the risk of monologuing, I think I'll bring this post to a close. So to sum up my November in books and music so far...

Books -- The Waves by Virginia Woolf (read), The Wind Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami (read), A Swift Pure Cry by Siobhan Dowd (currently), and Persuasion by Jane Austen (to read).

Music for a morning like this -- Back Again by Flor, I Want To Feel Alive by The Lighthouse & The Whaler, Still by Seinabo Sey
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