Ruminations

Soulmates

My rational, objective bent in many things notwithstanding, I believe in soulmates. (As well as jungle spirits - but that's another story.)

The ancient Greeks have a nice way of explaining this romantic notion of "soulmates". The first humans created by the gods apparently had four arms, four legs, two heads, two hearts and two sexual organs - one male and one female. The gods were amazed at the perfection of their creation but amazement soon gave way to fear. Would it not be possible, the gods wondered, that such creatures - so perfect, so beautiful, so intelligent and so strong - grow to be so invincible that they would one day overthrow us, their creators?

The gods pondered on the matter until it was decided that to reduce the menace posed by humans, their strength and beauty and intelligence must also be diminished. And thus the new creations were cut into half, with each human having only half of what he originally had - two arms, two legs, one head, one heart and only one sexual organ.

Our soulmate, according to the Greeks, is our other half. That other part that is so vital for us to revert to our original state of perfection. The missing half that we spend our life seeking.

It's a beautiful idea, no?

Farewell!

My name is Fazu, and before long, I and those who are like me will become extinct. And this is the first of my farewells.

Vita Brevis Est

The tsunami taught me a couple of things. Or rather, it reminded me of a couple of things. First, whenever I wail and lament about the little imperfections of life - my less-than-perfect body, the seemingly constant lack of money, my love life, my work - I had better get a grip, since fundamentally speaking, compared to those hit by the tsunami, I really have no idea what hardship means. Second, if it's your time to go, you will go. You could be on holiday in a foreign land like Thailand or you could just be having lunch at your home in Kuala Muda, but if your time has come, there isn't much you can do about it.

Life is short. Embrace it, live it, plunge yourself into it. It'll be the only chance you get.

The Milky Way and Other Dreams

I missed yet another workout session at the gym yesterday (damn, I really need to lose all that fat accumulated during end-of-Ramadan festivities) and went to have dinner and coffee with some friends instead. Conversations meandered from the subject of drunken birthdays to gentlemen rapists and various other lofty subjects, and at one point, someone related his experience when hiking around the Himalayas:

"We were on top of a hill near the Himalayas. When night fell, it was very, very dark. There was no light that could be seen for miles and miles. And then, we looked at the sky and we saw it. It was as if someone had just spilt a giant pitcher of milk across heaven. We saw the Milky Way."

La chanson des vieux amants

(The song of the long-time lovers.)

This song is a gift, of sorts, from E. I vaguely remember him saying something about how important it is for me to cultivate an appreciation for, and familiarity with, Italy's considerable repository of pop songs. Without even asking what I think about this pronouncement, he set about transferring numerous songs onto my laptop. By the time he was done, a look at my hard disk revealed scores of titles by Italian singers Franco Battiato and Carmen Consoli (whom E seems to have a rather unsettling obsession with) and three versions of this French song - La chanson des vieux amants.

Thank you, M

It must have been a month ago when I sat down with M and told her the truth about myself and the fuzzy, despair-inducing cycle that is my love life (if I can even call it that).

She sent me these words. Thanks, M.

Bull's eye?

The Italian writer Susanna Tamaro - whom some have accused, rightly or wrongly, of soppiness - once wrote: "La vita non è una corsa, ma un tiro al bersaglio."

Life is not a race. It’s target shooting.

In a life that has continually seemed and felt like an unending, exhausting race, this phrase has, thankfully, resonated like a lone comforting voice.

When did the race start? I can’t honestly remember. Maybe it started when I was in primary school, when getting top scores in the year-end exams all of a sudden seemed inescapably urgent. Or maybe it was when we moved into upper secondary school, when we were told by the headmaster that all of us were to opt for the science stream and that we would be better off studying physics and chemistry than Malay or English literature. Or maybe it started after we finished secondary school, when most of us anxiously enquired after each other's exam results to see how relatively well - or badly - we'd done. Or maybe it started later: when we all started making a tally of who got into the better universities and who secured the better-paying jobs.

Of Tamarind and Salt

I woke up very early that morning and got ready to leave. It was windy and bleak, the perfect weather for parting.

By the time I finished getting dressed, E was already up. I hugged him tightly. Somehow this goodbye hug felt different. It was as if I'd never see him again.

Shinjuku Ni-chome

One street. That was all there was. There I stood, reminding myself that over 200 clubs and bars are jam-packed in the buildings that lined the street which could otherwise have passed for any other unmarked street of Tokyo. Is it not ironic that, in the capital of a confident nation like Japan, the topographical testament to the love that dare not speak its name accumulates to only one ordinary-looking and unassuming street?

After having a drink in a small bar that was overflowing with customers and having relished the sight of the beautiful creatures on the street, E and I found a club playing 80s music. We walked in. Cover charge: ¥3,000 (RM75).

Berjalan Menengadah ke Atas - A Tribute to Kusumoto-sensei

I was standing on the platform of Kamakura train station, waiting for the train back to Tokyo. It was already dark. It must have been around 19:30 when I heard it.

Ue-o muite arukou
Namida-ga koborenai-youni
Omoidasu natsu-no hi
Hitoribotchi-no yoru...

Right across the rail track, on one of Kamakura's streets, there stood a group of people, holding candles in their hands. Under the flickering flames, they sang.

The song they were singing, "Ue-o muite arukou" (or better known as "Sukiyaki" in the Western world) was popularised by Japanese singer Kyu Sakamoto in the 1960s. More importantly it reminds me of my Japanese teacher, Takahisa Kusumoto.