resting on my laurels backing west

today, Joey Yap told me to look back at my past and rest on my laurels for two hours. to be kind and proud of what i've done so far so i sat down, with my back facing the West and wrote this.

...

i've come to realise that most problems lie in these two areas, heavily mourning the past or stressing about the uncertainty of the future. we've heard this time and time and time again, the present is a gift, focus on the NOW, which are all painfully simple proposals but with ninja level difficulty to practice.

when i look back and read my blog posts, i cringe hard. but it was also painfully clear that i was deeply wounded, aimless and had no idea which direction to head, let alone move forward. however, a little over 10 years later, i'm still here with a little more understanding of what i was ranting about all those years.

to some 10 years may seem like a long time, to some not so much but i did not give myself any time frame to get better, to feel better. i didn't even know if it were possible. i just kept moving forward. at times it felt like i was not moving at all because i had to take a few steps back first.

in the past my ultimate goal/ambition was to get back on stage because in my mind, that equated success. it meant that i won. won what? won against the voice in my head that said that i was faceless now that i had become a mother and wife. this happened many times until i decided to take back that voice in my head, which also meant to actively work towards removing that power from the stage.

this did not mean that i would stop performing, but it shifted my focus from making the stage the goal. this meant that i needed to spend time with the process or developing a new way of creating. something that i absolutely do not know how to do.

if i look back at my past narratives, themes of my works you'd get the sense of a battle with an invisible enemy, which really was this voice in my head. funnily enough, that voice in my head was what kept me going all these years, which is good in a way because i never gave up but it also meant that i was never quite satisfied with myself. i always ended the production feeling like i was back at square one.

being back at square one and repeating narratives did not sit well with me but i had no idea how to look forward because i was still very much emotionally stuck in the past. there were many layers that needed to be unlearnt, removed and i did not know how to do this but somehow i tried. i mean how does one even begin to unlearn one's childhood?

now, as i look back i realise that all the decisions i made about dance heavily revolved around my insecurities and lack. my stamina was non existent so I focused on abhinaya, i knew that my technique needed so much work so i avoided it as much as i could. until i challenged myself to complete one of the most complex pallavis i had ever learned.

this was how dedicated was created really. i wanted to perform something that was my own (and incredibly difficult) and i dared myself to perform this impossible task in front of an audience a year after giving birth to my third child. some like diving out of planes, some like to do things like this. we will never know why...

after presenting dedicated i felt a little more confident about my relationship with Odissi so i agreed to join Sooraj and spent a week with Madhavi Mudgal in Delhi. this was the first time i spent away from my entire family. it was 10 days of unlearning, intense physical pain, going back to complete basics but a complete reset to my system and training. i returned home believing in myself, i believing in my body.

i had romantic ideas that dedicated would travel and tour, but it did not and it broke my heart. but life lead me to Pichet and i fell in love with dance art again. in this production i was reminded of the importance kindness, respect, generosity, compassion, love. it was healing. i came home and felt like i had moved forward somehow. 

i remember lamenting every time our rehearsals ended and i had to leave Bangkok and return back home about the pending domestic chores waiting for me and he said 'just do it! you know it will be there, so walk in to the house expecting it and do it.' 

this lead me to my next production reclaim, which was for me a tremendous departure from Odissi. in this work i focused on me. what i did every day. this investigation brought me closer to the present, allowed me to find gratitude in my everyday and also showed me a perspective of Odissi i had never seen before. 

...and because my works also need to have a fear element for myself, i also decided not to give the audience what they expected of me. again, this was my way of taking my own power back.

funnily enough 3 months after reclaim the world came to a halt and reclaim became our lives. everyone was pushed back into their homes and forced to deal with their inner worlds. artists had to deal with themselves without the stage. we had to come to terms with the mundanity of life, a term that was often shunned by artists but here we are.

we've come out of lockdown only to be forced back into many versions of this. last year was 'what is a more severe word of difficult?' last year was '______________' enter your own word here. i shuffled in and out of very dark places and sincerely learnt how to be kind to myself. somehow, with the grace of the powers that be, and wonderful beings that i proudly call friends, i was able to reconnect with dance once again.

i started a virtual mentorship with Bijayini Satpathy whom i have watched and admired for years. i applied for an online mentorship program hosted by Dance Nucleus (Singapore) and got accepted. i started online classes with people i don't know on instagram. it took a great deal of effort to come to terms with my fears and insecurities but this time i took them in, held them close and moved together with these insecurities knowingly. i did not avoid them, and i also did not go to the virtual realm and spent time venting about it there.

10 years is a long time to some. not really that long to others. but it is time spent and time that has passed. what i have learned amongst all of this is that feelings, breakdowns, darkness of the mind, they tend to pass but they also reappear and repeat. there are also no right or wrong ways to feel it or express it but the more times it's under rug swept you may one day trip and fall over it. 

this time that we're in right now is a time none of us has ever experienced before. be kind to yourself, be gentle and patient. when things come to the surface look at it. you don't have to deal with all of it at one go but look at it, let it pass. the next time it surfaces i promise you that you will be able to deal with a little more of it. one day you will find yourself (when you least expect it) saying hi to it like an old friend, when it comes to the surface once again.

life is long as it is short and its only purpose is for it to be lived. 

the only person who is living your life is you.

the only solution lying between you and the problem is you.

i'm pretty sure that you have all it takes to fix it.

...

reset

 reset

 

5 4 3 2 1…

 

_ set again or differently.

_ to put (a broken bone heart) back in the correct position for healing

_ to put (a gem) into a new piece of jewellry

 

 

2020 was a beast. It was the year we cracked open and raw, brutal truth oozed all over us and with the help of social media, our past hurt and wounds were shared across the world for all to see. And because of the mighty strength from the keyboard and courage from the shield of the screen we leapt at any chance we got, to share the first things that came to mind barely giving it a moment’s thought.

 

For the first time in a long time we have been forced to separate from one another, to actively distance ourselves physically and yet we seem so intimately woven into each others minds and lives. Through the sorcery of the virtual world we are now force fed curated 60-second versions of ourselves and we are convinced this defines a person’s character, morals and values.

 

When the whole #metoo movement came to light I asked myself many a time what I would do if I were in the same positions as these women, as both victim and witness. Last year, I was put in this exact position under different circumstances but forced with the same choices. Which side would I stand on?

 

You see, as a 35-year-old mother, wife, woman, friend, daughter, human being, I pride at the wide spectrum of my belief in the ‘grey’. I am becoming less and less interested in compartmentalising people by their gender, race or sexual orientation and I am leaning more towards wholesome concepts like kindness, generosity, humility and compassion. Growing is big one for me so a huge no-no is lack of growth, lack of compassion and lack of kindness.

 

Over the course of my life in the arts I have made many friends but I have let go of many friendships as well. Such is life, as painful as it may be it is necessary to break apart to set oneself into the correct position for healing.

 

One needs to unlearn

__ in order to grow.

 

One needs to reset

__ in order to grow.

Based on my past narratives, apparent in my writings and work, you could sense the trapped insecurities, trauma and inner child wounds, which stemmed from not knowing how to love and respect myself. Every blog post, every dance production was steeped in self-doubt searching for validation.

However what happens once you’ve told every story, danced out every hurt? Which direction do you start to walk towards? How do you even stand up?

 

You don’t. You don’t stand up. You sit there for a while. And last year, that’s what I did. As uncomfortable as it was I sat with myself and allowed myself to grieve the loss of my past self but at the same time welcome this new sense of being with open arms.

 

Last year, many truths were uncovered and every truth came to the surface. People took their stands and as painful as it was it made it easier to let go and wholeheartedly walk away for the very first time.

 

Many questions arose within me and at first I had no answers. Perhaps overwhelmed with emotion I could not think but even then I knew what was right and what was wrong. For the first time I was made to recognise how much weight my words held and how important it was to stand up for myself. 

I could finally ‘reclaim’ all the parts of me.

 

So I sat. I sat for a while but I also realised that I was not alone. There were many who sat with me, who held space for my words, my voice and my emotions. We sat together and helped tend to each other’s wounds. We knew how to ebb and flow, we knew when to take space and when to come together. After all, art was our common ground. Sometimes, words were unnecessary.

 

I questioned my childhood, my adolescence, my twenties and all the decisions I have consciously made till today. It was simple, I grew up took ownership and responsibility for this person standing here today. I have also learned to be truly grateful for all the hardships, ‘lost’ opportunities and work I put in to create this person.

 

Last year was a beast of a year but it was also the year where I grew up. I truly learned how to support my family on my back while showing up for myself. I found strength in others and experienced the concept of being selfless.

 

My relationship with my dance levelled-up once more. Who would have thought, from only dancing for seconds, it grew into minutes and today I am carving out spaces for other women to realise long lost dreams. 

 

I see you, I see all of you in me. None of this has been easy, every time I am brought back to square 1 it takes twice the amount of effort to start again but I have done it more than I can remember. 

But now I know that there is nothing wrong with starting again. 

it is never too late

it is never too late

it is never too late to start again.

Oof...2020.

 Oof...2020.

As someone born in the year of the wooden ox, this metal rat year was supposed to be great for me. Joey Yap said so...but I guess even he could not predict what was going to go down this year. None of us saw it coming.

We're in the final month of 2020 and my mental health has had quite a journey. The first round of lockdown felt like I was hit by a bus, throw in online learning, all the meals multiplied by three months power to 5 people and you get a math equation I have never done in this lifetime. I hit what felt like rock bottom, but I kept going because well, I had mouths to feed and little people who needed me. 

To keep me going I volunteered to cut plastic aprons for our frontliners. I committed to one plastic bale and then another and then another and then one more. It felt good to have purpose, to do something for people other than yourself. I agreed to teaching some classes online, till well I just wanted to crawl into a hole and hide.

I stopped the classes, I stopped sharing stories on social media, I stopped my own personal practice and sat with all my self-loathing for a couple of months unsure if I would feel better again. Somehow, I did.

The children went back to school at the end of August, I went back to the gym and we hit the ground running. I felt great, I started de-cluttering the house, made space in my basement once again and then the second round of lockdown happened.

This time would be better, I told myself. We were fortunate to borrow two laptops from family and the whole house went online. I pasted all the Zoom IDs and passwords onto the wall in the living room and also stuck all 3 different timetables up. Everyone, would be responsible for their calls and homework. I organised my basement studio and boosted my router. I also decided to offer classes to get myself going, to force myself to practice and share what knowledge I had with others. More than anything I wanted to reconnect and find out how other people were doing and somehow create an online community of healing through art.

Everything was going pretty great in the first month, then the second month came and went, and here we are starting our third month at home and in the final month of the year and all of a sudden I feel the familiar sense of dread, self-loathing, the heavy, sticky feeling of unworth.

I look around my home and am grateful for everything that I lay my eyes on but I am cranky, moody, naggy, irritable and short with everyone. My children shriek with joy at the prospect of heading to my mother's house, where they can get away from me, the grumpy wicked troll of the west.

My children didn't do too well on their online assessments as well and I feel responsible. I tell myself that my children are fortunate to even continue their lessons online but they have fallen behind. They are young, I tell myself and need to be in a physical classroom, to be in the presence of their teachers, to get feedback, to play with their friends, but I am wracked with guilt. What about all the other children out there, falling behind. 

My motivation comes and goes, my grit has worn off, my energy levels are blahh and social media makes me feel like a failure. It makes me feel lazy and unsuccessful. 

As I'm typing all of this I immediately think to myself, stop complaining, stop whining, get off social media, get onto your mat, be grateful, no one cares, there are real problems out there in the world and I feel like I should send this post to the trash. This is the exact reason why I haven't written in so long. Because honestly, I read my old posts and I cringe. I feel embarrassed about how much I wrote and how little I did about it. 

But if I learned anything at all this year it would be that healing is continuous and never ending. That episodes and triggers keep coming back because life is such, and it's okay to feel things because there are no right or wrong feelings. I've also noticed that whenever I feel like this, completely down in the dumps, it usually lasts till I cannot stand it anymore and then I get back up and dust off my knees and continue. 

My hurt has fuelled me to do many things and has definitely assisted me to keep going but the inner turmoil has never really gone away. I am a lot kinder to myself and I catch myself as I spiral down into the abyss but I am not so afraid when I am down there in the dark by myself. 

The cleared basement has helped create an escape room for me to be alone with some Alan Watts and my Spotify playlist. I'm pretty sure I'm doing better, I've grown up a lot this year and have taken responsibility of my emotions and reactions and all my shame.

I am no superhuman and no one really expects me to be one. And that is okay. 

m . i . a

m . i . a .
missing . in . action
mother . in . arts

she is impatient
she is irritated
she is compassionate
she is envious

she is cynical
she is rushed
she feels time slipping away
she is resentful

she is patient
she is calm
she is strong
she is loving

she is exhausted
she is split
she is guilty
she is kind

she is lost
she is finding
she is hiding
she is spent

she is observant
she is sensitive
she is fragile
she is hesitant
she is vulnerable

she is responsible
she is commited
she is dedicated
she is loyal

she is you
she is me

she

bound

_heading to destination, or restrained from movement


Over the course of this pandemic, I have sat in front of my laptop countless times, typed all of 20 odd words, clicked save draft and walked away.

I have prepared over 300 meals, gotten on my knees and scrubbed toilets, vacuumed, mopped, washed what feels like a million dishes and even more piles of laundry.
I kept my children up to date with their Zoom lessons, sat down with them and explained concepts of multiplication, division, fractions, units of time, currency and weight, taken photos of their homework, uploaded them onto my computer and submitted them, until I just could not anymore.
I have done home workout videos, 100 burpees a day, cut over a thousand plastic aprons for our frontliners, taught zoom lessons, uploaded videos and tasks onto my social media feed to stay relevant, current, shared my daily life to ensure a sense of comfort and routine, a sense that we’re not alone in this, until I just couldn’t anymore.

At the beginning of the year I clocked in over a hundred circuit-training sessions that I committed to over the course of a year and a half. I showed up a hundred times and felt that my mental strength was stronger than ever. However in slightly over a hundred days I find myself defeated. Everything that I worked on for years, crumbled into an exhausted heap. Not sure that I can muster any more energy to get back up once more.
I stand in front of my wardrobe to grab a pair of tights but for the first time I find myself returning the pair of tights to its pile, I shut the drawer and head back downstairs, empty handed empty hearted.

 This pandemic has been difficult for everyone and even more so for many others. There is much unrest all over the world and I fail to see why my problems are even problems to begin with. This invalidation of my own feelings has led to the loss of my sense of self, my sense of being. To put it simply I am unable to write feely because I feel that I’m being an ungrateful brat. I am unable to find space within myself. I feel trapped, claustrophobic. This has led to shame, this has led to self-censoring, this has led to a sudden halt in self-expression, this has led to where I am right now.

 When we were all forced into our homes it was as if the reset button was activated. We were all placed at the first square of a board game and now that Malaysia is slowly easing back into the world I feel the all too familiar sense of being left behind. Some thrived and found huge spaces for themselves for self-care while others found themselves depleted. These others were the ones whose capacity for self-care slowly diminished while caring for the household.

 I haven’t felt like this in a long time. I thought I was done, I thought that I did the work. I thought that I was better equipped to deal with this. But I guess that I was wrong. Healing doesn’t end, healing is continuous. This time I am able to pin point what I am feeling and what to work on. It doesn’t make it any easier but at the same time it doesn’t seem as scary as it was the first time.

I fully accept this discomfort, I will allow myself to be awful, I will allow myself to be lazy, I will allow myself to do absolutely nothing and I will allow myself to let go of dance for awhile.

 There is no right or wrong way to doing things but I do know that I need to be kinder to myself. Over these past 3 months, I took it upon myself to maintain a sense of norm for the home. Of course no one told me to do this, but it was my responsibility. The house is my domain, I thought that I had it but I overestimated myself. While the house was my domain, so was the outside world and what I did in it to keep myself sane and to keep myself me. 

While I had physical space in all sense of the word it was the shrinking of the mental space that did me in. The mental load of keeping stock of groceries, rationing produce, ensuring that everyone had their daily intake of vegetables, proteins and carbs, the sheer noise in my house all day long, the con-calls, the children, it all became too much. My world, the space that I only held for myself vanished.

 I know I will find it again, but as always, it will only happen once everyone has  settled and are back on their own separate routines. My needs, space, wants, as always are appeased last.

are you a girl?

by january low

are you a girl?

does it matter?

what are you going to be when you grow up?

does it matter?

do you dance?

does it matter?

do you know how to cook?

does it matter?

are you married?

does it matter?

do you have any children?

does it matter?

how many do you have?

does it matter?

will you have any more?

does it matter?

when is your next performance?

does it matter?

do you still dance?

does it matter?

are you a girl?

does it matter?

what do you want to be when you grow up?

are you kind?

are you generous?

do you say please?

do you say thank you?

are you patient?

are you helpful?

do you let the other car into your lane?

do you say good morning to the Starbucks barista?

do you say hello to the uncle in the grocery store?

yes

are you curious?

are you brave?

are you capable?

are you loved?

yes

then why does it matter?

if you’re a girl or not?

by january low

love was a silent telephone call
love was fixing my broken earring
love was the other part of a two piece pendant

love was shy

love was holding hands
love was valentine's day
love was a ring

love was destruction
love was tears
love was insecure
love was livid
love was rage
love was poisonous

love was no more

love sparked over half boiled eggs
love grew over beers
love spanned the bosphorous
love burned in snowy chicago

love became hard to see
love became unfamiliar
love became something else

love grew

love is a full tank of petrol
love is a grande cold brew coffee
love is salt and vinegar potato chips

love is quiet
love is strong
love is fluid
love is kind

love is ...

art versus life

early last month i presented a live case study of my current work-in-progress reclaim at the dance nucleus in singapore. we had a very exciting dialogue post presentation which lasted for two whole days. i yearned for this critical environment. endless questions, perspectives, people saw different spaces, landscapes within my body, words that were used were - visceral, nurture, care, deliberate self-care.

i came home with a scrambled mind. i had no idea how to move forward. what did all these words, questions mean? how do i add them into the process. what do i keep, what do i release? what are my intentions ultimately? what participation do i want from the audience? what role does the audience play? do you understand why my mind was scrambled?

if you follow me closely on this blog you will notice that i stopped writing after i presented dedicated. this was both a good and bad thing for me. good because it meant that i had exhausted all internal material and managed to heal and release conflict but bad because i did not have any material left (or so i thought). i did not know what to talk about anymore. where was this well of great ideas?

this infuriated me. after such a successful production wasn't i supposed to be experiencing some sort of momentum? couldn't this show carry me through another year without me having to create something else from scratch?

'no jan, it couldn't. get your butt back to the drawing board. stop living in your past glories, keep moving forward.'

i was stuck. i didn't know how much more forward i could go, i was facing a wall. so i decided to stop moving. instead i did a 360 and looked around. i stayed in one spot and observed what was right in front of me. it was my life. my very own life.

why couldn't i bring my traditional dance into my life? because i found several disconnects that interrupted the creative process. the themes were also disjointed. nothing related to the other and i wondered why this was so. or was this an idea to pursue?

the odissi dancer tells tales of gods and the heavens. she is a sacred being, she is beautiful, heavily adorned with silver and tinkles her ankle bells everywhere she goes. whether intentional or not, there is a set distance between mortal and something of another realm. based on my observation it is what the audience wants (or what the audience is used to), but how does this affect the performer? 

i find performances emotionally exhausting. i find myself drained but at the same time experience out of body exhilaration. i am unable to sleep on nights that i have a performance and this high can be addictive. has this been what i have been chasing all along? how does this role of performer translate when i get home and am confronted with housework and zero adulation. this is hard for the performer. it has to do with ego, power and it does not sit well with me. this also increases my anxiety because it seems as if people expect wondrous things out of me but i really am nothing but ordinary. this is as complex  as it is simple. this happens when the dance becomes bigger than life. this huge tradition had become a weight on my shoulders. the responsibility to represent a certain dance style, culture, tradition. it became too much. 

how could i change the way i thought about dance? what if the dance was not as big as i imagined? what if i looked for dance in my everyday? what was the rhythm of my day? what sounds do i hear everyday? at what pace do i go about my day? how much time is left to dance? how do i want to spend that stolen time? what kind of movements would i create? how do i use the space? does this affect my dance dynamic? speed? intent?

dancing on stolen time. 

hopefully by expressing my life through my dance i will be able to bridge the gap between the performer and audience and reflect art in our everyday lives.

crushed

during drop-off this morning, my daughter bumped into the boy she likes at the school gate and proceeded to run after this boy who didn't so much as wish her good morning. their 'love' was mutual i was told.

here were my reactions to this situation:

1) i wanted to tell her that these kind of men suck and take away all your power and are not worthy.
2) i wanted to tell her that we do not run after boys. we let them come to us. even if their mere presence sends our heart straight into our mouths.
3) i wanted to tell her to not appear too excited, not to wear her heart on her sleeve. that one day, he will get bored and eventually move on to someone else. that this is life and life, sucks.

but i did not say/do any of these things. instead i kept all my feelings inside, walked back to my car and sat down and started writing this.

here is how i will react to this situation:

as much as i don't want to, i will stay out of it. i will let her enjoy her friggin childhood and when the dreaded day comes i will hold her close and tell her that she could not have done anything differently to change his decision. that she is wonderful and that none of this has anything to do with her. that there will be someone out there who knows how to treat a girl well. that she deserves so so much more. that she decides on how she should be treated. that she decides on how she should feel. that she decides on who is worthy to stand next to her and hold her hand.

till then i will have to learn how to deal with my own emotions. to hold my tongue and let her experience her life knowing that i am always nearby ready to punch any scrub that gets in her way.

mothering is living with more than one heart outside your body. it ain't for the weak.

#decadeinart

It’s become increasingly clear that I have some need to express myself, for what reason I do not know. I have spent the past ten years analysing everything. My choices, my past, my life, my identity. Why am I this way? Why do I constantly feel like I’m not good enough? Why do I feel like I do not belong anywhere?

I wrote my way through many challenges and people seemed to respond through that. I cooked my way through motherhood and people seemed to respond to that. I started, stopped, started dancing again and people seemed to respond to that.

I struggled mainly because I didn’t know how to express myself through just dance. How could one part of me express my entire identity? I wrote, I cooked, I thought a lot and now I think that it’s time to put everything together.
Let me show you who I am, what I have done and what I intend to do. It is hard to put an artist’s mind on paper but this is my attempt at trying to keep my presence in my absence.

How can a dancer be present without being present? How can I share with you everything that I have created, performed, wrote? Is it possible to know everything after watching a 90 minute performance? Do you know why certain artistic decisions were made? Do you know the dialogue that was exchanged?

More attention needs to be paid to the ‘process’ rather than the actual product. By doing this we invite everyone to enter our minds. Our inspirations and sometimes even the reactions. We are such a product-driven society that we forget how to create anything anymore.

Enough reacting, I want to activate.
#decadeinart coming soon

decade . in . art

ten years ago, around this time, i drafted a resignation letter and gave my six month notice. i spent six months in seoul and had my first taste of artistic freedom. this elation was soon met with a crushing existential crisis that lasted well...about ten years.

starting from zero, i tried to rebuild my identity, stumbling here and there, drowning, gasping for breath, staying afloat only to drown again. it was not a pretty time. whilst i was going through all of these emotions i met my love, got married and had a couple of babies.

most of my conflict revolved around my self-worth and self-esteem as a person and artist. without the high acclaim to back me up, i was nothing or so i thought. i did not know how to create. i have always felt that i was not creative. i never knew how to say what i wanted to say let alone create something to express my thoughts.

however, i also knew that i did not just want to dance. i wanted to say more. i knew that i needed to be better than before, stronger than before because i needed the goods to back up the talk.

i knew everything that i did not want to do but knew nothing about what i wanted to do. it was a double edged sword.

the dance that blessed my childhood had indeed become a curse. everyday i spent not dancing was sheer torture to my psyche. i felt guilty, worthless, everything society said i would be once i became a mother, a wife.

but somehow, with the grace of god, the power of intent and love from my support system, i managed to face head on every demon i had inside me and turn the healing process into my work.

last year, was a strange year. but it was the year that turned everything i had learned on its head, forced me to unlearn many, many things and ignited a spark within.

the only way i could move ahead was to incorporate art into my life. i had to work realistically, in a way that reflected my life and vice versa. i needed to change my approach towards the artform and look at it at an even bigger scale. dance to contribute to art and not dance for the individual me.

through this therapy of art i managed to find my own voice and intent towards my life and my art.

just a month ago, i was lamenting that i felt that my career seemed to stop and start and never really take off. My husband then asked me to write down every work i created or performed since 2009 and i did just that.

to mark a decade in art i made this video for you and for me. to remind all of us that what we need is already within...

#decadeinart

gurus . shishyas

gurus

shishyas

what makes one

what breaks one

what is it about this relationship that is so misunderstood yet so unconditionally cherished?

sacred bond tightly interwoven with childhood memories

of decades

formative years

impressionable years

dedication

commitment

loyalty

when do you start to question?

when do you start to choose?

submission . obligation . luck 

seek . yearn . validation 

gurus

shishyas

what makes one

what breaks one

do you really

can you really

ever

let go

by january low

x

letting go

as an asian woman, i can tell you first-hand that letting go is the hardest thing for any of us to do. i've seen it in my grandmothers through hoarding, i've seen it in my mum when she is mad at our decisions, i've seen it through my grand aunts.

along with motherhood comes a power like no other. the feeling of being needed by another being. i was needed by two little bubs from the get go and it took a lot out of me. i had to go through such a shift that i did not expect and the only emotion that resonated with me was anger. it was a dark time.

i escaped from the house at every opportunity. i did not know what this was. i did not know why i was filled with so much hate and anger. i prayed for strength to get through this.

i was gifted with the pregnancy that would heal everything in one fell swoop. i danced throughout, i danced after. i am dancing still.

an opportunity fell onto my lap and i knew that i could not miss this golden ticket. i decided to take on the 5 week project and somehow figure out a way to survive.

the first week went superbly. i was away for just long enough for the children to barely miss my absence. my brother and sister in law from Brisbane were down and the children were surrounded by family and love. we all grew.

the second trip was a full week longer. i would be away for 15 days. we started the kids in school a day and a half before i left and it left my son and i traumatised. till today my heart still flutters when i pick him up from school. i am constantly filled with dread and worry that he had had a horrible day at school. i cried all the way to the airport, at the airport and in my hotel room. it was devastating to be away from the children when i knew for a fact that they needed me there the most. but i had to commit and i had to look at the bigger picture.

i came home to 3 children who had missed me terribly. i met them, tear streaked, deliriously happy to see me. they kissed my hand every 2 minutes, they squeezed me, they could not let me go. my heart cracked.

the gap between my next trip was only 2 weeks. i had to rebuild the house, strengthen the bonds between the kiddos as i would be gone for another 15 days. this time to tokyo, slightly further away. this would be our chequered flag. this would be the finishing line. if we got through this successfully it would have been a triumph. and indeed it was.

it was unbearable to facetime the children. i hated seeing them on the other side of the screen. i hated feeling so far away from them. i hated not being able to pull them close to me and squeeze them till they scream at me to let them go. it was heart wrenching to say the least.

but i adulted my ass off. i took the opportunity to give my heart out to the production. i would not be distracted. i would be present. i would take it all in and learn from this.

i came home a different woman, to a different man and to different children. we all grew up a little and we all missed each other terribly. but it also taught us to appreciate the time that we spend together as a whole unit.

i learned how to let go and parent with my husband. he did things his way and i let him be. it was not easy, let me be perfectly honest. i am the biggest control freak in the universe and there is absolutely no point in telling my husband what to do when i am miles away from him. so i let him and i trusted him.

my husband is present now. we are in this together and we are a team. we support each other's dreams and we make sure that we are always there for each other.

my children now see how a marriage should be like. they see compromise, they also see support and courage. they see determination, strength and hard work. they see that dreams can and must be chased.

letting go has been the hardest lesson that i have had to go through but the reward and growth from it has been so worth it.

fight for yourselves ladies. fight for your dreams. if you don't fight for yourself, who the hell is gonna fight for you?

MI(X)G

MI(X)G was going to be brilliant from the get go. Khun Pichet decided that the only way it would work was to invite 6 dancers from all over Asia and spend time in the most local part of Bangkok. I mean even my mum's Thai friends were shocked that I was so localised in that particular area. An area where foreigners are almost never seen. We showed up and stayed in their space, ate in their markets, commuted in their minivans. We were as local as you could get. Imagine how the locals felt? 9 of us, wondering around for a total of 3 weeks. Most of them didn't even know where Chang Theatre was.

It was a social experiment. There was adaptation, exchange, acceptance. Note: I said acceptance and not tolerance. We were in the front row seats of our very own production. We experienced it in real life.

We learned about the different cultures. We shared ghost stories, counted our birth dates so we could find out our destiny number. We spent genuine time with each other, which enriches the process and work so much.

A lot of left baggage, emotional. We worked through everything that was going on in our lives at that moment. Especially for me. I am in the process of moving back from being away for two years. This production is everything I am feeling right now. Anxious. Nervous. Unsure. Uncertain.

But I danced it all away. I danced 7 hour days. Therapy. Bliss.

Adulting

It’s pretty mind blowing to think that my entire being has changed in a mere 5 years. I had been myself for 28 years and yet in 5 years I have become a completely different person.

In my youth I remember wishing that I could react differently to things. Not to care so much. Not to take things to heart. Not to be so emotional.

I was a huge cry baby. Ask my sister. If I was hot I’d cry. If I was sick with fever I’d cry. If I was angry I’d cry. If I was happy I’d cry. If I was sad of course I’d cry. But I was a silent crier. Just tears streaming down my face. No sobs no whimpers. Just uncontrollable tears.

After marriage and till quite recently I would blow up over many things, mostly I can’t even remember why. Then I noticed that my outbursts became less frequent and till very recently it’s become somewhat rare.

Last year I remember wishing that 2018 was full of touring and performances but this year has turned out to be lessons, life changing lessons. 

I must say that it started with my first trip to Bhutan. Today the lady washing my hair told me that Bhutan was a magical place. Like Mecca, she said. You go there one time and your whole life will be blessed. You sure happy wan. I smiled to myself, what a beautiful way to put it. Bhutan truly is a magical place and I am so honoured to have said that we’ve been twice.

The kids, Raymond and I were completely drawn to Bhutan the first time around but because it was a first time there was a lot of learning that needed to be done. 

1. the flying route with 3 toddlers
2. temples to see, treks to do
3. Skew towards more child friendly activities

These three tips kicked up our trip to Bhutan a couple of notches. We did so many things and got to get the kids out of the house on most days. They hiked muddy paddy fields, washed off in the streams of Punakha, they shot bamboo bows and arrows, played with Paro clay and camped in the forests of Paro. These are also super fun adult activities to do too. 

I am super blessed to say that I made it to Chumphu. By far one of the most soul enriching experiences I have ever had. 

I was also compelled to light butter lamps everywhere I went. Up to a point that our guide, Tshering Dorji, made fun of me on our last day. 

That trip strengthened me so much that I took it upon myself to fly solo with my three children  back home and i did. And honestly it was not difficult at all. 

I had 2 mind blowing dance experiences this year too. One early this year with Madhavi Mudgal in Delhi and the other ongoing project with Khun Pichet Klunchun.

I received not 1 but 3 rejections and by the time I received the third I was ok with the rejection. It will come eventually and if it doesn’t that’s fine too.

I need to keep moving forward

My heart is leaping out of its chest

I am ready

I can do this

I’ve got this

1 step forward 2 steps back

1 step forward

3 steps back

Where does that place the start?

Am I behind it?

In front of it?

I’m not starting from scratch

2 steps to the left

1 step to the right

Am I in the Centre?

Why do I feel so out of place?

Forward

Backward

We rock

Back and forth

Where will this take me?

Where will I go?

I finish my show and I wait

I return from India and I wait

I burn my arm and I wait

I am constantly waiting

What I am waiting for

I do not know

What is this curse?

What is this unease?

What is this punishment?

I always thought I didn’t know what I wanted to be

But the sheer pain and torment I am feeling makes it certain

I know exactly who I am

I know exactly what I want to be

And knowing that imprisons me

So keep pacing

1 step forward

Sometimes 3 steps back

But the constant movement helps me

For we need to remember that we aren’t nouns

Instead we are verbs

fucking fuckity fuck

wrote this on a pretty bad day...glad i did. sorry for all the profanity.

22 march 2018

i've just fed my youngest dinner, left over ricotta pancakes from breakfast. we took the twins for celebratory pancakes after their student-led orientation morning today. as i sit in their playroom post dinner i am slumped over and i am consciously upset, livid even. i can't help but feel what a fucking waste of my life this all is and immediately the guilt seeped in as if on cue.

two months ago i sat in the boarding lounge before my flight to delhi. the post still lies unfinished in my draft folder. it sounded too hopeful, too 'motivational', to barf-worthy. i could not even stand reading it myself. i completed 2 weeks in delhi and flew home. inspired, recharged, impatient to sniff my children. i wonder how long this high will last, i thought to myself.

i came home and held onto my children tightly, tighter than i ever have. i realised how much i loved them suckers and for the first time i actually missed them. i could do it all i thought to myself. i did the school runs, got the groceries, cooked the meals, bathed them, fed them, put them to bed, happily. i didn't hound my husband on what time he'd be home, all expectations went out the window and i was grateful for whatever he could help me with if he could. i even managed to keep up my daily dance practice.

two weeks ago i burned half of my left arm in a kitchen grease fire and i am unable to carry my baby without leaving my wounds bleeding. my husband went back to work, continuing his work travel as if nothing happened and still it didn't bother me. i am so proud of me i thought. i didn't despise him, i didn't feel like a victim. i did what i had to do and went about my usual activities. i just prayed that my baby didn't poop between 4pm till 7am the next day because that was when my helper would not be around to help me.

this feeling of superheroism lasted for a week.

i am now in my second week of recovery and though parts of my arm has somewhat healed, my skin is as thin as tissue and any little thing rips it open again. i can barely bathe myself, put on the children's diapers and the one thing that is really killing me is that i can not dance.

i am trying. i am trying everything i possibly can but today i throw in the towel.

today my son complained about a tummy ache all the way to school, which he has never ever done in his life and my mummy radar knew that it was because he was nervous or scared about something. true enough, when we sat down with him as he opened his folder to show us his school work i immediately knew that he was nervous about what we would think of him and instantaneously i wanted to grab him tight, put him on my lap and kiss him and tell him that we could never be prouder of him. my heart broke. my fist-sized pumping blob shattered.

and it was only 8am.

my eldest daughter. the elder one of the twins has a problem with getting told off. she is a people pleaser and without approval and validation she crumbles into pieces and she reacts to this in the most obstinate manner i have ever seen in anyone including myself. she is only four. she knows how to push all of our buttons and is fully aware and capable of bursting capillaries in our brains. i have pictured smashing her against a wall more times than i can remember. but of course i have not.

after i came back from delhi i made a promise to myself to be more patient with my daughter. her stubborness after all comes from me, my husband, my mother, my father, his mother, his father, so i will try to be patient with her. hear her out, give her the time she needs to process her feelings, be available. you know...be an american mom. *rolls eyes*

well, fuck that.

today, my indian passive aggressive mother came out in full force and i ain't giving in. she has been under the dining table for close to two hours now. she hasn't had dinner. not that i offered her any to begin with.

it's 7pm and i am exhausted as fuck.

in two days i head back to kl to a haven't-been-cleaned-in-3-months apartment and as you can imagine, i am less than thrilled.

i could blame my hormones and call this pms but i am not going to do that.

i am tired as fuck.

tired as fucking fuckity fuck.