Every now and then when my thoughts are still and quiet.
Before I sleep, and the moment I wake up.
I will visualise the aroma of my grandmother’s homemade coffee.
She brewed a fresh metal flask of coffee every morning.
She will scoop five tablespoons of freshly grounded malaysian coffee beans into a sock.
Pick up the handle of a kettle, and pour boiling hot water into the sock filter.
She would pour out the brewed coffee into a metal container before pouring it back to the sock about three times,
then she would cover it and leave it on the countertop for five minutes.
All this time, I would be sitting on wooden chair by a circular marble table in the kitchen, watching from the distance.
She walked with a slight limp on her left leg towards me and open a tin of biscuits and put some biscuits onto my plate.
Then she would pour a two full mugs of coffee. But she would serve my coffee while she left her mug covered on the countertop.
I would dip the large squarish yellow biscuit into the coffee to soften it before chomping it down. The coffee was sweetened with condensed milk and had a bitter aftertaste like dark chocolate. I would savour each bite slowly as my grandmother washed the dishes. After I finished my meal, I would run to watch television for the usual 10am cartoon show. Then, my grandmother would sit by the marble table with her coffee and biscuits while watching me from afar.
Years later, she is still with me in my thoughts and memories, and everytime I feel down or upset, I would go to a malaysian coffee store and purchase a cup of coffee. But no coffee tasted like the one my grandmother made, they made me think of her, but nothing in the world could replace the love and care and dedication she made to serving my meals every morning before herself. She made sure I was taken care of at every step of the way, and placed herself second in everything she did in relation to me.
I never saw or realised this when I was younger. I used to think she was annoying when she called seven times a day to ask if I would be visiting her, and she would be dead soon. I never understood she had dementia and could not remember if she had called just before. I never understood her love, nor did I see that I was her favourite grandchild and I was female, she didn’t care if I could not carry on the family surname for my dad only had one descendant.
Sometimes I want to write her a letter to express my gratitude, and I am lost for words as I could not speak or write in hokkien as fluently as I could in english. I wonder if she could read my heart, or hear my song as I write these words. That I miss her so much. I miss her coffee, her touch, her expression of love towards me. There are only so few people in the word that I would ever meet in my lifetime that would show unconditional love. She was my grandmother, and my one and only grandmother. If anything at all, she saved me from the blink of disaster during my dysfunctional teenage years, for her love was constant like the waves of the sea.
Slowly, she lost her mind. She would stare blankly into space while she lied in bed from day to night. She could no longer recognise my cousins, me or my relatives. She only recognised her caretaker and my uncle. She would call for help like a child to be fed and bathed. She jerked her body when she was cold. It was painful to see her deterotiation over the years as she became frail and skinny. We lost her to dementia.
When her coffin entered the furnace, it struck me that the very person I was running away from was now the person I wanted most in the world. I wanted her hug and to see her jovial smile once more. I wanted to hear her laughter and her voice as she spoke loudly to my relatives. I wanted her to call out my name. It’s been three years since she had passed on, but my heart longs and pangs for her love. Although I could not understand a word she said, all her actions communicated her love for me.
I miss her coffee, and no other coffee could ever replace the one she made.
I was narcissistic, self absorbed and I spent long hours looking at myself in the mirror dancing and touching my body while imagining it is someone else’s hands doing so. I was exhibitionistic and had a few million views on YouTube. I took photos of myself everyday with precise selfie angles. I loved showing off my dance moves and displaying myself publicly uninhibitedly in a way that is empowering to the world who watch the way I move. However I had transcended my artistry from serving my need for validation to the disappearance of my ego by being the mirror of what the world has created me to be. I had chosen to pursue happiness by disappearing my ego into the universe, to find myself in the eyes of others. From the eyes of the universe, I see myself dancing in the cosmos – that is true happiness and bliss – my soul lives forever in the cyber galaxy.
I want to live my life like a bursting spark of fireworks before it dissipates into thin air.
I am one of the many roses in the rose bushes, and soon, you will forget me like all the others before me.
There is a beauty in writing prose that pictures can’t unfold. That it’s the song in our souls that matter more than appearances.
In my dance I want to communicate my artistry in my transient flight on earth.
The poetry in my dance is no lesser than my fight for life.
My love is boundless like the ocean.
The waves sweeps the world under as
We submerge into the depths
in this universal flow of energy.
When pain is transmuted to pleasure,
the sublime thin line between our nerve endings,
flesh to flesh,
in our embrace in our never ending dance
creates new worlds of happy ever afters.
We will wave our goodbyes and soon we may meet again, in this life, our next lives and the lives before.
In this cyclic world of what comes and goes like the wind.
There is no physicality to love, it can’t be proven or extracted or quantified.
Yet, it is the greatest form of ecstasy available to mankind.
It is the greatest elusive form that will not take shape till one commits to creating love out of nothing.
Yet, everything around us conditions us not to create it, but destroy and deny it.
However, it could be when one recognises love exists in the universe and we are all creations of love, that it could materialise into ecstasy by the form of numerous creations one could potentially create out of creating love and beauty to the world. It is the air we breathe, the songs we sing, the movements we make. Every part of us is filled with love, and without love, there is no aliveness. For love is aliveness itself.
Love is in the form of dynamic movement between individuals, groups and it radiates out to the universe, that they share the love we have for each other, baking and partaking in it in an endless dance in the cosmos. Love contributes all over the way it is and the way it isn’t. Love is the space beyond words. It has never been bounded by space and time, and love will exist even when we are gone, love will remain where it is, and where it isn’t. For humans had created the context of love to live into, and from this context, we can create and create, build and build on being magnificent in our love for each other.
I love you. For this, I beat on against the currents like the boats in the sea for the love lives on deep inside me.
In this transient passage of time, we will meet others in our path. One thing for sure is that we are all going to die. What we make now from our journey to the point of death is the only thing that matters. From this blank state of canvas, what is the picture we will paint today for our reality? What is the world we will create around us?
I discovered through disappearing, that everything becomes nothing. Like a black hole, everything gets sucked into nothingness and dissipates. We inherently have the ability to disappear problems by recreating, reconstituting, reconstructing. The very act of disappearing is a black hole phenomenon. We have the ability to disappear and recreate, disappear and recreate. It is an ongoing what we declare in language that constitutes what happens next, next and next.
I never felt ready for the world, I held back and limited myself by letting my fears take over who I am. But who I am for the world is beyond who I am, I am ready to take flight, I am ready to disappear myself and reconstitute and recreate my reality by consideration. By consideration by waving a magic wand, I can create a life that contributes love, beauty and knowledge all over in all my interactions with others.
I gave birth to a baby boy, after embracing his warmth in my arms I fell asleep.
I woke up and his head dropped from his body like a doll and it became lifeless.
I cried my eyes out and realised that the baby’s body had turned gray.
I met my shadow self. My dark identity. It was a shadow, with no face.
She was as tall as me, but instead of the shadow on the floor, it was a shadow facing me.
She was full of dark energy, full of hate, full of violence, full of anger.
She offered to take me to the shadows, not to wake up in colour but in a world of black and white.
I said I am not ready, I don’t want to die. I want to live. Don’t take me. I know you had controlled me, you had cursed those who had hurt me, you had protected me. As the shadow, as you are, you had followed behind me since I had a physical self. But I am not ready to join the shadows. I want to live.
She is releasing a novel (Hourglass Series) yearly and weekly YouTube videos. She does experimental flash fiction on this blog, along with song, movies and character analysis using historical and literature references.
One Million Views on Scarlet Queen YouTube (2015)