Fantasy

Clouds : Undefinable Moments

My car stereo has been broken since the accident a while ago.
For some ridiculous reasons, I' ve always believed that I could fix it without going to the mechanic.
I used to fix things at my grandparents' house. I was pretty handy.
well..., there're some cases where things became worse and got into unusable state, but these were very rare. (at least I believe so!)
With such a great confidence, I've been waiting for the perfect day to do it, but that perfect day hasn't arrived yet..
why? .....??? just because that's me...
.
.
.
it seems nothing to do with clouds...
but, in my case, it does...
since there's no music when I drive, I tend to look at the sky, especially at those clouds..
like music before, clouds become my companionship throughout the trips.
They accompany with me, follow my endless thoughts and go along with my different states of mind..
they are so fragile, forming irregular shapes..
is it all about the wind? or the environment? or their moods?
I can't guess how they will become everytime I observe them althought we've become so bonded over the course of our association.
they are mysterious.. unsolvable puzzles...
where do they come from? where are they going? where will they end up?
...I can't tell... I can't predict....I can't be certain...
.
.
.
a couple of times, I painted clouds..
they were always changing their form on the canvas.. they wanted to escape..they wanted to be free, but they couldn't find a way, because I put them in boundaries.. I tied them up...
they couldn't get away..
and I hated those paintings..these are still in the garage..
I believe those clouds are still longing to run away from me..
how can I capture some clouds of my own?
how can I make them stay with me forever without so much aggressiveness?

yes, clouds are very fragile, but also.. extremely aggressive..

akin to clouds, my mind is always wandering ... as if there's no place to take refuge...
I ponder and ponder..
I wonder and wonder..
I reverie and reverie..
when will all these end?
how will all these end?
where will all these end?
... is there really an ending?...
.
.
.
last night, when I drove back home, there was no glimpse of clouds.. it was such a dark night..
but I knew clouds were somewhere...invisible, but existing..
I was so sure they were watching over and escorting me till I felt asleep...
.
.
.
that night, I didn't dream at all..




...

Robert Rauschenberg

William Eggleston

Train

One train passed by me, and then another..
the station was packed.. the huge crowd was waiting for the train which would carry them to their destinations ...
everyone had their own destination..

I had my own.. the smart-dressed business man had his own.. a group of giggly junior high school girls had theirs .. the teenager in trendy outfit playing with his mobile phone had his.. the middle-aged ladies each holding a bag with department store logo on it had their own...

I got on a “Limited Express” train along with the collapsing crowd.
The automatic door closed just behind me and the station seemed too far away now.

------------

.....It was dark in the room..I could see the light from the corridor of my apartment..
and there came a train blowing its whistle…
long, nostalgic whistle...

I looked at the ceiling fan quietly turning..
It seemed everywhere I went, there’s always train ..
I’ve learned to like the melancholy sound of a train at night and it normally brought back a lot of memories…

-------------

…the twinkling lights were here and there as we were approaching residential area…

I was only 10, holding my backpack and eating plums from a bag that my mother bought for me..
Under my feet was a lunch box .. that morning, my mother got up even before dawn to prepare it for me.
I was on my way back to Rangoon on a train after the summer vacation spent with my parents..
Alone…. Yes…. Alone by myself..

It was okay for me to travel alone.. I was not extra brave nor were my parents incautious.
It was okay then on condition that they knew the person who was sitting next to me..

Looking into the starless sky and darkness of the night, I immediately knew that the lights were from small huts or houses of the village ..
I felt very peaceful … the calmest moment, the happiest moment, the unflustered moment..

------------

Whenever I closed my eyes now, I could go back to that moment, remembering the night without stars, but the lights from the small village…
It felt like home..
…a lot like home…
The only thing was that I could never be 10 again…

------------

Excerpt: If you miss the train I'm on, You will know that I am gone. You can hear the whistle blow a hundred miles, A hundred miles, two hundred miles, three hundred miles, four hundred miles, You can hear the whistle blow five hundred miles.

(from "Five Hundred Miles")

..

Pastel Drawings

"...there it was, all around him, funny and lonely—the world of his life. The strange, weed-infested, junky, wonderful, senseless yet beautiful world…”
(Human Comedy, William Saroyan)

I live in the world of broken realities, the society of rapid transformations, the culture of self-entrapment, and the civilization of constant movements.

..I want to go back to the world in which I thought everyday was so long and so full of life, everywhere was such a wonderful playground and all my friends believed in heaven.

...thus far, I still want to believe that it is the same world….

Funny yet lonely… junky yet wonderful….generous yet narcissistic …strange yet fanciful...sickening yet beautiful
…that’s right, sickening yet beautiful…

My heart is the only place I call home..

..

..

And

..

I am homeless now..

..

..

----

What is Religion? What is the Absolute Truth?

Is religion based on psychological or philosophical fundamentals?
Religion is the man-made institution.
Religion is in the society or in oneself.

I’ve been searching for myself and the Absolute Truth. There come the religious beliefs. There come the metaphysical ideas.

When my grandmother became ill, climbing stairs to go to the second floor of our flat had turned into a difficult mission. That time, I was 16. She asked me to help her fulfill one of her daily tasks— to offer food, flower and water to Buddha every morning at 6 o’clock at second floor. My grandmother was a religious person. She had a strong faith in Buddhism, cultural traditions such as Nats, or spirits and indigenous belief that God was everywhere in every realm of the Universe.


Being brought up by her, whenever I had doubt about such things as religious beliefs, I would search out her judgment on the issues, and she’d always had justifications and explanations. It didn't matter whether I got satisfied with her answers or not, she would always be contented with her belief in any case.


My grandmother passed away peacefully on one moonless night. I don’t know where to look for her when I have questions to ask now. And I don’t have to fulfill her task anymore.
But I am still looking for her.
And I still continue with the offering.

Religion is a composite of societal, cultural, traditional, and personal conviction.
Does it yield the Absolute Truth or is it far from it?
Does it make a person more confident, secured and calm?
Does it create wars between different belief systems?
Are we all created by one force, the God?
How do we break free from the cycle?

I think.
It’s all within me.
It’s all within me.
It’s all within me.

..

"I am..."

I have

No God
No religion
No civility
No faith in the systematic order of the society

I am
a boiling pot
extremely blazing inside out


not a polite one
not a well-behaved one
not a shrewd one
not a decent one

but
I've been one
a human
all filled with egotism


Hey... Carnegie
I've never read "How to Win Friends and Influence People"
I abandoned it
when Mother bought me one

I have no exciting secrets
but lots of enemies within...

I have no talent to brag about
but loud frivolous talks are surrounded by

I have inextinguishable internal and external dissensions
hearing only my derisive laughs..

In fact
I am..
just a human
See me as a human
no more than that
no less than that..

Television and I

Last night, for the first time, I stared at the TV in my room, thinking about the switch from analog to digital broadcasting at midnight on February 17, 2009.

It’s a silver, 21-inch Magnavox television.

It was just quietly sitting on the stand.
When did I get it? I couldn't think of exactly when, but I got it from a moving sale for less than $ 50.

It’s been with me for about 5 years, moving with me from one place to another, sometimes staying in the living room, sometimes, in the bedroom.
I stared at it again, not knowing whether to get rid of it or buy a converter box.

The truth is, watching TV is my least favorite recreation, if I put it in that category. I watch news and some shows, but apart from that, I’ve used my TV only for watching DVDs and VHS (the latter might sound unfamiliar to some of you!).

But it wasn't always like that.

Even though commercially available since 1930s, a television set didn’t arrive to our household until 80s. Of course, I was in Burma then and we were middle-class family.
During those days, a TV was a wonder box for me, which took over the fascination of the old and rusty radio. I used to think that little people were singing and dancing in that sound box of a radio. See? I wasn’t a very smart kid, either.

We used to have only one TV channel back in those days and I would stay up until the end of the program and go to bed. I loved TV that much! In addition to listening to the sound, I could now watch all my favorite programs, shows and movies. What more could I ask for?

When I grew older, I heard a story about a distant relative, who had never seen either a TV set or an automobile in her whole life. That time, I was so amazed by that. How could that be? How could she find fun without TV? I wondered.

Nowadays, I can afford to have my own TV. Although I don’t buy cable, I can press the remote control to choose from at least 20 channels. Having been exposed to different media in this world of technology, I know there are other options than watching TV. TV has become less and less fascinating to me. Perhaps it's a human nature. Perhaps, the world is changing so rapidly. Or perhaps, it's just me.

I don’t know how technology will advance in 10 years, but I just see that it has become a daily norm in my life--I can't go out without my cell phone, I listen to my i-pod and surf the net everyday.

Does technology make my life better? I don’t know.

But surely, I can tell that I was more contended and happy when there was only one 14-inch TV set in the living room and my whole family was watching it together—my grandma, my brother, my sister, my cousins and our cat. TV was surrounded by laughter, tears, hugs and kisses.

-----------------------

I stared at my TV again, this time, I felt grateful that it’s been with me for 5 long years.

------------------------

Rangoon

Blood-stained city
drifting souls on its streets...

doors are shut
eyes are shut
ears are shut
mouths are shut

Muted lights from the candles
a touch here.. a tad there..

Devils everywhere all over...
shadowing, watching, following, scrutinizing

its children... children.... children...
every heart is howling
every soul in ruins
every psyche depleted
....families into pieces....

where is tomorrow...?
where is brightness...?
where is hope....?


Where is Rangoon now...?

Earthquake in California

I was taking Mitch's photographs when the earthquake hit.

At first, I wasn't sure it was an earthquake, since I was in standing position, I felt the floor shaking and thought it was only a hallucination.

As we came out of the building, we saw a girl shaking and crying as her friend's trying to console her. There were some people running and screaming at each other, most of them on the cell phone.

Loud volume of live news on the radio in the office.. Panic on the faces of people... all of them trying to reach their loved ones...

"are you okay?" .."there's no signal on my cell phone!"... "should we evacuate ourselves now since there might be one more coming?"... "oh my god! it was strong!" ...

Everyone's mind was on the subject; every conversation surrounded it. This made me think of how vulnerable we would become at the time of life-threatening situation.
We easily forget about how uncertain life is and take it for granted for many things in regular daily life.


---- ------- ------

Now, the crowd became calmer and everyone went back to their regularity, attending their businesses..
Once the chaos is gone, we all laugh, leave it behind and carry on with our own lives....
5.4 earthquake? it seems just like a dream now.

My heart pained when I remembered the recent Nargis victims in Burma.

Where is justice when we need it the most?

---

Bicycling

Preface
Inhaling the smell of the orange trees in the field, I look into the sky. Blue is just pure blue; the white mass is floating. I try to sense the freedom of the kid on the bike, riding along the foot of the hill in a curving and twisting way. The kid is looking up into the sky from his bike, breathing in the orange field scents. This view in the frame offers strong contemplation of different aspects of nature.
As I look at the kid and the surrounding in the painting, I long for a bicycle.



(1)

There was a bicycle outside.

Even though it carried the characteristics of being old, the blue bike had quickly become the favorite of all the children from this house.

Nobody knew how to ride a bike amongst them.
In everyone’s mind, being able to ride a bike was the most important thing in the world. There was enthusiasm in the air around the little bike. Altogether, there were four kids. I was one of them, examining the bike with a great excitement.
“Tonight, we’re going to learn how to ride it, right?
Little Brother said with the gleaming eyes. Everybody nodded their heads all at once.

The evening came so slowly.

However, the evening finally had come. Looking with great expectations at the uncle who was going to teach us how to ride the bike, the kids were so nervous.

First, Big Sister climbed onto the bike. The uncle followed the bike, pushing the back of the seat. The bike disappeared from our view and then reappeared. It disappeared one more time and reappeared again.

Big Sister came down from the bike merrily, and then Little Brother and Little Sister were also disappearing and reappearing with the bicycle over and over.

Finally, it was my turn.

The bike moved each time it was being peddled. The little wheels seemed smooth and rolling. Being like that, the bike and I were moving in the sight of the observers.

Every evening was so beautiful with a bicycle.


(2)


Except the main highway, all the streets and roads in this town were of sand, stones, pebbles and dust. Mother seriously forbade riding on the highway.
Now, all the children had learned to ride the bicycle.
Everybody had their own bikes.

For us just having learned to ride the bike, riding the bicycle all day long was not even enough. Although the town was small and narrow, riding the bike repeatedly through these streets and places seemed not running out of them.
In our daily conversations, “riding-the-market routine”, in which we would ride around the small marketplace at the heart of the town for one appointed cycle, became significant. We spent the summer vacation, by riding down the slanted hill, racing with each other, completing the riding-the-marketplace routine, and the riding-the-town routine.


One morning, as usual, there was a riding routine. At one street corner, I saw the farmer’s cow wagon coming, but could not control the speed; my bicycle swayed and both the bike and I fell down hard on the ground.
The huge cut on my knee recovered only after two weeks. Did riding a bicycle consist of learning through cuts and wounds and injuries?
Every time we saw these small and big wounds and scars, the memories of riding our bikes around the town at sunset, and riding in group on the highway which Mother forbade over and over again would come back to us.




(3)

How long was the lifespan of a bicycle?

The bikes from our childhood days became old and mother gave them away.

With beautiful tassels and the basket on the handle bar, the colorful bicycle had become the companion of a teenager. We no longer raced our bikes and fought for ownership of the bikes; there was also no more habit of riding the bike in the backyard even before cleaning up and brushing our teeth as soon as we got out of the bed in the morning.
All of us had grown up with the bikes, hadn’t we?



Mother was preparing outfits for Big Sister to attend the university. I looked fondly at the blue outfit made with the same fabric for both top and longyi.

Everyone in the family was blissful.
Big Sister looked stunning with the air of becoming a university student. Little Sister and I went in and out of her room again and again. Near the piles of luggage in the living room, Father and Little Brother were playing chess like any other days.

The next day, when Big Sister left home to stay at the dormitory in Rangoon, we were all waving at her, left behind.

The moment when Father’s car left to send her off, the bicycle of Big Sister, leaning against the wall at the front yard, was staring at her.

I was not sure whether the bicycle was also waving to her or not.


All the eyes were moist.



(4)

One year, during summer, our family moved to Rangoon. Packing many of household items and furniture, we forgot about the bicycles.

That summer was a hot summer.

Afternoons were not only fiery, but also brought harsh wayward wind. The sun was so intense that it felt as if it were dangled on the roof.

In the afternoon, Little Brother was riding his bike along the street back and forth under the height of hot season. When the bicycle tire became deflated, he came into the house, looking for the air pump.

“Little Brother, what are you looking for?”

Mother asked Little Brother who was bending his back and searching for it in the garage.

“Where is the air pump for the bicycle, Mother?”

Mother had already given the air pump away to someone. The truth was—she had already arranged to give away his bicycle and all of ours.

“You don’t need the bike in Rangoon, my dear.”

Until the day we moved to Rangoon, Little Brother was riding his bike all the time. When our car crammed full with all kinds of things was leaving, one of the kids from the neighborhood happily rode away the Little Brother’s bicycle which Mother had given to him.



(5)

Mother was right. We didn’t need bicycles in Rangoon.

The apartments in downtown did not have enough space to keep the bicycles.
Little Brother was no longer obsessed with his bicycle like before as well.

We went to school in our car most of the times. Sometimes, we would walk to school.

Now, I had become a high school senior.

Almost nobody went to school by bike. Our school which was located in downtown Rangoon was lined with Indian Medlar trees. Little Sister and I would sometimes pick up the star-flowers fell off from the trees on the ground. We told each other that it would be great to have a bicycle of our own.

Some mornings, an elderly man delivering newspaper on the bike would be seen. Watching those papers which were tossed into the apartment windows flying round and round slowly, we heard the rickety and squeaky sound from his old bike.

With the whirl of breezes, leaves and star-flowers were falling one by one, floating, and the air was infused with the scent of both old and fresh flowers.




(6)

I, who had always wanted to become a university student and have a university life, was offered another chance when I was betwixt and between being one.

Mother had signed up for me to sit for an examination. I had to attend many classes unceasingly and come down from one sets of stairs and climb up the other. Our house was being more alive with a teeming crowd. Did the preparation of a trip start even before that trip not yet became visibly?

During that period, everyday was spent with a hope and anticipation that whether to see a new journey.

At silent nights, I had many dreams.

The marketplace from the small town where I used to ride my bike over and over again in my childhood became alive and fresh in the dream. I was riding my bike twisting and turning among the bazaar sellers and customers, drifting continuously among shouts and bawls. The streets became narrower and some of them wider. Figures in the surrounding and atmosphere were floating in all kinds of color. Just the once, I didn’t hear any sound and rode my bike forcibly.

The highway had never been that beautiful.
The bicycle in the dream become farther and farther gradually.




(7)


The airplane was ready to set off and the passengers were settling in with their seats and luggage.

I passed the exam.

For that reason, I was going to a country across the sea to pursue my education.

I was just concentrating my eyes on the roof of the airport where my family was sending me off—the bright-colored umbrella of Mother and the fluttering scarf of Big Sister were among the crowd. The first thing that I remembered when the plane took off was the evening when I tried to learn riding the bike on the blue bicycle.

The orangey sunshine and warm and soft clouds from that evening were hanging next to my plane window. The warmth and gentleness of the sun rays had created one exciting evening after another.
The red tassels that Mother knitted for my bike was now old and tattered and left behind.

I tried to close my eyes.

Flying through thick clouds, the plane flied over the sea in a vibrating and trembling movements at times.




(8)

There were only a few populations in the big city located in the west of the world where I was now. Since the school was quite far from the house, I had to commute by bus. People who biked for health would be seen in the mornings and evenings. People wearing sporting gears rode their bicycles on the lane designated for bikers. At times, there were some who carried their bikes and attached them to the bus while riding the bus.


One day, my classmate invited me to go to the beach.

The beach was twenty miles away. There weren’t many visitors because it was still spring. The air carried coldness and the water in the sea was freezing.
The loose sand was hard and white. The mellow music from the person who was singing a country song was dancing and bouncing with the guitar sound.

When reaching the front of a bike shop, we rented bikes for each of us.
The bike lane along the beach was about an-hour ride. There were joggers, runners… and skaters.

The wind was blowing noisily and furiously on the old and long pier. The faint shade of the moon could be seen in the sky.

Gazing beyond the sea and far, I inquired the moon and clouds to go back home through this wide deep ocean. All the way through the sea, the waves and the broad sky, I believed I could reach to my front door riding the bike.

A soul going back home, riding on a bicycle, in the company of the wind from the seaside would be spotted over this ocean.

I remembered little E.T. who wanted to go home by bike from the movie “E.T.”

Once we completed the bike route along the shoreline, we returned the bicycles to the shop. Now, I longed for the “riding-the-town-routine” with my siblings.

Was the bike I just rode expecting for a new customer to take it?




(9)

Seasons sometimes seemed so slow but at times they just shifted on the blink of an eye.

A letter arrived with the news of Big Sister getting married. She wrote the letter in a cheerful and stable tone.
The image of Big Sister on the bike disappearing and reappearing from my sight on the first day of riding the bike became alive in my mind.
Just then, we were waiting anxiously for our turns, weren't we?

The launch of the journey of a bicycle had to go through either smooth high way or roads of pebbles, sand, dust and rocks.

(10)


Listening to the phone ringing, I waited for the answer from the other side.
After the little voice with a pleasing lisp greeting "Hello?” there followed the voice of Big Sister saying, "Honey, who's that?"
She sounded so happy over the phone. In the lovability of the little voice, my heart itself became gentle as well.
"Hey, Big Sister, your son's become so smart now, huh?"
The laughter with contentment and enjoyment of hers came through the phone line and echoed in all levels of air.
"Now my son asks for a bike and I need to buy him one!"

At the end of her voice, I felt my whole heart became aged and ripened and the old became fresh instantly. My mind became closer and closer to the old sights and images from the past and at the same time it tried to grasp the new images heartily.

"Please buy a blue bike for him, Big Sister, okay?"

Epilogue

Bicycling is an art for the human souls.

Self-Portrait

Sudoku

Sudoku.... "the single numbers"
While the relationship between the numbers is irrelevant and there're no means of arithmetical solution, Sudoku has captured many of modern minds.

I have read in a news report that they found jurors playing Sudoku during trials in Australia and that incident costed the court and of course the tax payers thousands of dollars. First, they didn't know, but the jurors were taking notes vertically and they became suspicious about it.

....Sudoku is great... Sudoku is fun... Sudoku yields concentration... (is that right?)

I found Sudoku more than two years ago from a Takatsuki's weekend paper in Osaka. As usual, I was browsing the weekly ads and the numbers in grids intrigued me.

Personally, in the time of having mood swings, which I believe I have often, I need Sudoku the most. Althought I don't aim at finishing the puzzle as soon as I can, I'd try to fill the empty blocks without making mistakes.


...I love being in my own space and own pace, that's how Sudoku satisfies me..
Perhaps, I am a loner...

who am I to blame? Nikoli?

coffee

My love for coffee began on a night of much anxiety, stress and nervous tension in a small room in Singapore nine years ago . It wasn't a smooth encounter, though. I did have hallucination throughout the night and my heart almost exploded.
The love affair didn't blossom until I came to the office of people constantly drinking coffee the whole day. Let's just say it was peer pressure.
Nowadays, coffee has become one of the survivor's kit in my life. I am totally a "coffeeholic".
Why do I need coffee? sometimes, I wonder.
Surely, it's not because of the taste alone.
Perhaps, it's just simply love. Who can one predict, alter and control affection? Obviously, I can't.

"I don't know how to quit you"

A Childhood Lost

A Childhood Lost, 2008
Cyanotype and oil pastels on canvas

Women Painters West, Lynne Babior Award, 2008

On countless occasions, memories from childhood in Burma come to me. Some of them are so vague, some very vivid. When I look back, I see myself as the same kid who used to run around the neighborhood of narrow streets with my siblings. I haven’t changed. Have I?
I received a box full of photographs from my mother. They are family portraits taken at different occasions when I was a child. They represent the childhood once I have had, also the childhood that I have lost.
By making this art piece using the old photographs and kid drawings, I try to relive the moments of childhood that I have long lost, hoping to ensure myself that I have had them at one time.