O, I C

There are butterflies all over the green pants that I currently have on. I have not always had these pants neither did I buy them for myself yet here is this shaped cotton with it’s elastic band around my waist. They are pink, blue, red and orange - the butterflies, I mean. It gives me a moment of serenity in this world of chaos to look at something as easy and as individually complex as butterfly pants. There are too many senses we own and mechanisms we are so used to using blindly, curated care towards each one becomes overlooked. Recently, I’ve been a better spectator of happenings unfolding without warning. To be alive is excellent entertainment. Wherever I look, there is always something to see and when I don’t, someone’s always saying something funny. I grew longer, wider and to fit into the acceptance of my mortal human form by way of inspiration towards how insanely huge the role this tiny soul plays.

Tragedies are inevitably a part of life, though it varies. To many, tragedies hold many different meanings. As a member of the human race of explicit emotions and confusing notions, I have had to witness various people in my life face several ‘tragedies’ in their own respects. There are a lot of tears and physical illnesses from internal deterioration. There is a lot of worry I feel for a lot of people in this age where I cannot even afford to take proper care of myself, or be in fourteen different places at once. The fine line between work and play is as thin as the one between empathy and sympathy. I mourn for the passing of many great days, ideas, sanities lost in the process of finding oneself. The feeling settles: you are finally putting the sick dog to sleep.

I find myself in rented lukewarm soak operas more often. Sometimes it’s half-filled, other times it spills. In Malaysia, the average bathtub is the size of two people pressed close with little space for shyness or another person. There is something sacred in the physical cleansing of oneself. It became fascinating to watch children reach for the sinks at restaurants. The ritual we’ve learnt to adapt from an early age in order to take care of our exterior shells. Cleaning a human being (another/yourself) is an experience to not take lightly. There are so many layers, textures, colours and shapes. There also exists strange distortions as there is on every breathing being. Besides the practical jokes and blessings that have been bestowed upon us, we scour the Earth in a strangely well designed blood and bone suit. The shower thoughts only entertain to a certain extent but you must first be there and realise that basking in filthy soap and shared microbes is a luxury not many are granted. I had to be there, really, immerse until the line between myself, space and time was erased. The ripples stay still and I witness these borrowed bones start floating lightly among the body of water that is putting me on display. When wet, the length of my hair covers enough for it to not be too erotic.

Being a spectator continues as long as life does. Everything is a constant painting, orchestra, film scene, paragraph. In creativity, there is no one true authoritative voice. One thing cannot divorce itself from another as it would not have existed without the other facets that live in the spectrum of creativity. Creating means participating in a bigger picture and allowing for a flow of repetitive change and multiple readings towards everything. In trying to achieve superior authentic aesthetics, most people want to believe they can achieve beauty with the belief that they know what is beautiful, and what they can tell the world beautiful is with the mundane being neglected. In instances where there are attempts at exploring mundanity, it is not exposed or played with. The beauty in the mundane remains a magic mantra only for those who choose to really listen.

Slippery is the state that is the price to pay towards realising one’s life as a provider. It isn’t a generational issue as much as it is a concern involving our entire species. Society is made out of many layers of human races of all ages, this is how it has always been. Humans need Humans. Other humans have roamed before us to become the master providers, intergenerational reference points and marks of evolving cultures. We are so great, we idolise each other. Although I would like the admirable traits of the many charming human beings dead or alive, I much prefer the ways of rice stalks. In this logic I become smaller as I lean and I learn to need less. I grow to become brilliant at being a bridge, I want to know that they have safely crossed. By sharing my words, I am providing.

I drew this in 5 minutes. Imagine if I had 10

It looks like wrapping paper over a present that I dare not tear

The sentiments become less sentimental when it is learnt that they are ever varying. Every improvised movement of any given vehicle or finger placement puts a great weight on the order of every other happening. I am at peace with my placement in this fast and vast plane of existence. I accept that I have found the middle ground where I am writing this from in this moment. As the creatures never built to last and ever thrilled by lust, I give in as I spend so much time learning multi instruments that I start to grow the more I go along with it. Observing a pair of green butterfly pants, I fail to acknowledge where the instrument begins and where my body ends, all in the name of finding peace in being alive to remind other people that they are too.

Til next time.