More Final Thoughts

Completed my Henry Vaughan read-through yesterday. When I set out on the Penguin Collected Poems I expected it would take me around six months. If I'd known I'd be locked-in to the volume for a full year-and-a-half I suspect I might have given the project a pass. As it is, it felt a year too long. The classic poems that make it to the anthologies were excellent, but I knew them already. And there was a lot of stuff that felt distinctly routine. I don't mind a dose or two of Christian theology, but after a time I got to thinking that HV's view of the world was crushingly narrow.

So now I'm chary, to say the least, with regard to taking on another Collected. But at the same time I do feel that I should take on something meaty on the poetic front, just to enjoy soaking in something different. The solution looks to be a reading of The Prelude in the parallel texts version swinging between the 1805 and 1850 versions. That should keep me going whilst we're in Maison KL with the edition being handily on the shelves.

Final Thoughts

It's the ordinariness of the characters in The Makioka Sisters that made the novel engaging on a simple level for this reader. For example, the four sisters themselves, Tsuruko, Sachiko, Yukiko and Taeko. None of them especially impressive or special in any way. All decent enough individuals, and loving to each other, though prone to bouts of irritation given the usual points of difference likely within any family. Yukiko's passive-aggressive behaviour in the various elaborate attempts to secure a decent marriage for her as she moves into her thirties is mildly puzzling, I suppose, and it's not at all clear the extent to which the most obviously 'modern' of them, Taeko, has exploited her various boyfriends, especially the weak-minded, over-privileged Okubata. But the ladies seem likable enough such that the reader wants things to turn out well for them.

And the family's sense of the importance of following their socially-sanctioned but semi-private customs results in sequences that are easy to relate to, despite their particularity to Japanese culture: the viewing of the cherry blossoms; the capturing of the fireflies. The reader is happily drawn into the significance of it all.

But why does the writer so subtly undercut their sense of family importance? And why hint at terrible things happening at the borders of the family's reasonably comfortable lives - in China, in Germany? And why so feature so much physical illness, sometimes genuinely deeply painful, as in the case of Itakura losing his leg and, eventually, life to the gangrene that sets in as a result of a simple operation?

I just can't figure it out. But what I can say is that the blending of ordinary, everyday aches & pains & sadness & happiness is balanced against the gathering dark in a way I don't think I've come across in any other novel. Perhaps the uncertainty is the whole point?

The Big Finish

It's always slightly nerve-wracking when we arrive at the homestead here in KL as to the condition the place is in. I harbour less than fond memories of arriving here years back with various nieces in tow only to find that there was no power at all on the premises. We ended up spending the night in a hotel much to their delight. But, happily, we experienced no such trauma yesterday. Indeed, we even found ourselves with an ample supply of hot water which I'd not expected at all given what I assumed was the failure of our solar panels the last time we were here. When we departed in December last year we did so in the belief that we were lucky to have enough tepidly warm water left to allow us to shower without freezing and that we'd most likely struggle on returning until we could get the company who installed the panels to do some fixing. Mind you, the hot water we enjoyed yesterday wasn't exactly of the red-hot variety so it could be the panels have only partially failed. Or the days have been hot enough to heat whatever water is stagnant in the tank. We'll see.

But we were able to enjoy a reasonably seamless transition to these quarters, which meant I found myself with time enough to read the final pages of Junichiro Tanizaki's The Makioka Sisters. This was quite a relief, I can tell you, and not just because I was able to tick off Item 3 on yesterday's checklist. The relief stemmed from now being able to set aside a novel that paradoxically I very much enjoyed yet somehow became something of a trial for me.

When I last posted here about it at the end of April it was with some enthusiasm for a great read and I can remember thinking then that I'd probably finish the tome towards the end of a busy May by reading a few pages every evening as a way of winding down. That was not to be, and it wasn't the fault of the novel. Being impossibly busy meant not reading anything at all of literary note other than what was required for work. Which meant that I was only able to pick up the book again in late May having forgotten ninety percent of the detail I needed to remember of an extremely detailed text.

So getting going again was difficult and, unfortunately, I was still busy. And I also realised it wouldn't be wise to spread my reading over the June break since at some deep level I was fed-up with the book despite its rewards. The possibility of abandoning my reading faintly occurred to me, but I felt that would be to let Mr Tanizaki and his engaging characters down. So I got down to some deliberate, forced, I will-concentrate-and-get-through-this reading and that worked, I suppose. 

Since I've been able to close the book I've found myself considering with quite a degree of puzzlement just what kind of novel it is. At one simple easy-going level, a soap-opera-ish tale of a typical Japanese family doing what families do in a way that means the reader feels you come to know them almost as friends and want the best for them. But then there's so much to contradict that way of seeing the text, not least the implication that there's something deeply wrong with these people and they're wilfully, witlessly, walking through the years into a kind of disaster. How many stories end with a key character about to be married (finally!) yet suffering from persistent diarrhoea?

On The List

I'm continuing to operate on a checklist each day, despite now being well into holiday territory. Partly this is out of habit; but mainly it's because if I didn't it's likely that nothing would get done.

Today's list comprises three items. The first, accomplished this morning, involved completing my examiner's report for IB, rounding off my work for them in this session. It's not exactly an onerous task as I try and reduce it to statements that might be genuinely useful for all, but trying to ensure the generalisations involved have some real weight and are not just fueled by temporary irritations takes some thought. This time round I needed to ask myself was my perception that there was a distinct quantitative deterioration in the quality of handwriting real, especially since I'm well aware that I've been moaning about the challenges of reading poorly written scripts for several years. My answer to myself was, yes, it has. And I said so.

The second item, now ticked off the list, was attendance at Friday Prayers - in this case, walking down the road to the masjid at Sungai Petai. It was raining as I set out, and I expected to be a bit damp after the ten minute walk, but the rain eased and I enjoyed a refreshingly dry session.

The third task involves completing the novel I'm reading at some point in and around making our way to Maison KL. More on this tomorrow, since we're now packing up our bits & pieces here ahead of the move north. (I didn't include the big move on the checklist for some reason. Which just goes to show the limitations on lists and plans and such like, even for a semi-addicted lister like myself.) 

At Ease

16.07

We're notably in no rush to set off for Melaka today. Noi decided this morning it was better that she supplied an order of her famous curry puffs today for Kak Kia, which she's now preparing, so we'll be travelling in the evening. All very fine by me. After a month spent rushing it's time to ease up as much as possible.

Mind you, if we end up in a jam later on we might regret this display of insouciance.

23.30

As it turned out, no regrets at all. Now safely ensconced at Mak’s house, munching pizza (me) & mee goreng (Noi.) Easy journey - for a change.

Almost There

Just three scripts left to mark and I'll have cleared my allocation for this May. But I'm not rushing these since I'm still within the deadline, something I didn't really expect when I set out, given the number I needed to deal with, the tightness of the deadline, and the concern that my team of examiners might need lots of help along the way. Happily I've rarely had to deal with issues arising, which helps to account for the fact I've managed my load with a reasonable amount of sweat rather than the bucketfuls I was nervously expecting to shed.

And I've just completed the digital arrival card the immigration authorities will be checking on tomorrow as we make our way north yet again. I'm hoping to grab some degree of R&R in the next couple of weeks. But I'm not counting on smooth-sailing all the way. Too old & wise (sort of) for that.

Simplicity

Just drank a glass of deliciously cold water. A kind of perfection. Sometimes that's all you need.

Real Weakness

Now back into my regular routine at the gym after the hiatus resulting from my cranky back (left side of). On a hot & sweaty day it was all predictably hot & sweaty and I didn't enjoy it one bit, except for being able to stop. But I managed the full hour on the trainer at full resistance without real strain.

Unfortunately I can't say the same for my routine on the weights. Whatever upper body strength I manage to build up over a few weeks rapidly dissipates as soon as I stop working out. It's pretty depressing to be confronted by one's weakness, I can tell you. But all part of keeping it real, I suppose.

Ah No, The Years

It's a bit of a thing for me to read John Donne's masterful poem The Anniversary  on this date, and this end of May was no exception. It's a reminder of the sheer joy of discovering JD back when I was a callow sixteen-year-old. So many years have gone by since then, but the genius of the great poet has not dimmed in any way.

And many years of anniversaries have now gone by for me in the happiest of bonds, a lot more than the second of Donne's reign. He looked forward to Years and years unto years with his beloved, whomever she might have been, if she were real at all. I'm neither hoping for nor expecting quite as long as that with my very real and present beloved, but I'm definitely settle for the slightly shorter passage of Years and years, thank you,

Not Really Necessary

Threw out a lot of expired medicines this morning and was deeply glad to do so. I was given a clean bill of health after my back doc checked me out, which was a bit of a relief considering just how cranky my left side has been of late, and I thought I'd better check on the status of the various un-popped pills to deal with back pain in my possession. These dated back to appointments in 2022, but I hadn't realised the expiry dates appeared on the tabs. The doc checked them through and declared only a few to be still efficacious. So I left with a new supply of the key tablet - which I am perfectly happy not to end up taking.

Funny really, happily paying for something I'm determined to avoid taking, if at all possible. But at my age you can't take a lack of medication for granted. Better to see it as a kind of gift.

On Target

May has proved to be my cruelest month, predictably so. And as it lurches to a conclusion I remain in thrall to stiff targets for marking, but now these concern solely work for IBO. So some small relief there.

The funny thing about these targets is that I never feel any sense of achievement in reaching them. Just an empty relief that the key nagging pressure of the day has been released and I can feel free for an hour or so, until tomorrow arrives. Which is where I am now. And where I'm hoping to be this time tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. (And tomorrow and tomorrow.)

Relentless

For once the YouTube algorithm got it right. I chanced upon the outtake Did We Make The Album from the sessions for Crimso's Thrak a few weeks back and I've been going back to it frequently. There's just so much going on over Tony Levin's bass groove that each hearing manages to surprise.

The only constant is that relentless bass line. It sounds like something I could play (on a good day), yet its absoluteness rightness in the moment speaks to a deep unselfish musicianship that only those at the very top of their game can aspire to.

As far as I understand these things, most folks wouldn't regard this as proper music. Which shows I don't really understand these things at all. I just enjoy them, and intensely so.

Pausing For Breath

Eid al-Adha 1447

We prayed at Masjid Darussalam this morning, going for the second shift of prayers for Raya. The mosque is very much in the middle of being renovated, and I found myself joining a small group in a tiny room on the second level, but all was well.

And all was equally well when the family popped round to share some grub with us that The Missus magically cooked up after we'd got back from prayers.

Better than working. (Though I did manage a fair amount of marking in the gaps.)

Feeling The Strain

18.30

Just came round from an afternoon nap and rather wish I hadn't. To say that my head is pounding would be an understatement. A timely reminder that fasting isn't easy. Especially on the first day. Must say, I'm glad there are no more days to follow.

21.17

My head now seems to be back on straight. But still feeling fragile, despite the bellyful of good things (teh tarik, mushroom puffs, dates) I've taken on board. Mildly astonished at achieving my marking targets for the day, which suggests I wasn't entirely wiped out by the fast. (Though that's the way it feels.)

20.18

Have been winding down for the last half an hour or so to bits & pieces from Maestro Ennio Morricone. A wise course of action to pursue. Recommended for all with ears & hearts. Almost fully restored.

Further Ahead

It's pretty late and I still have work-related stuff that needs to be cleared before bedtime. And, yet again, I'm trying not to moan about this, but moaning all the same. But I'm also attempting to see far enough ahead to a time when I won't feel like I have the weight of the world on my aging shoulders.

That time isn't close, I'm afraid. But neither is it so far off as to be invisible. The day is marked in my diary. And on it I will dance. But don't worry, it will be a very private dance. I have no intention of traumatising the innocent. (Or even the guilty, for that matter.)

Ahead

I remain mightily weighed down with marking & other bits & pieces. No point in complaining. There isn't time. In fact, just trying to look ahead is a tricky proposition considering the demands on attention in the present moment.

But we have scanned the horizon and Noi ensured the twinkling lights are back in action, from yesterday, in happy expectation of Hari Raya Haji coming soon. It's also oddly relaxing to look forward to a day of fasting ahead of Wednesday as a way of stepping out of time, even as time relentlessly requires things undone (still quite a number) to be done.

Right, that's it. Back to work.

Meeting Demands

A demanding day of marking, marking and more marking. Brain now fried. Left side & back fiercely aching. And a feeling of being reduced, narrowed, confined.

But the scripts are done, the twinkling lights are back on and I'm full of what Noi terms a 'simple' mee goreng.

The demands met for another day. The bills paid. 

What's In A Word?

I must have been a fish in a past life. - Not a sentence one ever expects to hear, but the source of some little joy when a colleague muttered it this morning.

And a lot better, I'm sure you'll agree, than USB device not recognised, which keeps popping up on the screen of this laptop every time I plug in my trusty mouse, which is, sadly, trusty no longer.

Reality Check

I haven't been impressed with myself lately. That's a good place to be. There are a few things that I know I'm good at. It's important to be reminded of the many, many aspects of life I'm entirely hopeless in. Ouch.

In Two Minds

If I'd heard the Stones' latest single back in 1972 I'd have thought it brilliant - a stone-cold classic, if a little overly produced. I think much the same today, except the idea of a single as a 'classic' no longer applies, does it? And it sounds a bit too much like the 1970s Rolling Stones. I sort of want them to sound their age, even whilst admiring the fact they've still got plenty of fuel left in the engine.

But watching the video just takes me to another level of confusion. I vaguely admire the edginess of it all, but can't help think they're taking it a bit too far. And the AI generated aspects of it are just doing my head in - as young people used to say. I'm all for not going gently into that good night, but this doesn't seem a terribly dignified way to be raging against the dying of the light.

Out Of Time

It seems a lot's been happening of late regarding the sale of some Swatch watches. This on an international scale, in case you didn't know. This involving people in very long queues sometimes behaving badly. 

Let me tell you, I have no understanding of the phenomenon whatsoever. I'm told it involves someone or something named Audemars Piguet and I'm not proposing to find out who or what that is. Or isn't, for that matter.

A Bad Habit

I make it a habit to catch up on what is happening in the world by checking the headlines pretty much as soon as I wake up. And at weekends there's usually time to read a few stories before the day gets into gear.

But given the downbeat nature of every single item from this morning's news I think it might be time to wean myself away from any desire to find out what's going on and pretend none of it is really happening.

I don't recall things being quite this bad in the earlier decades of my life. But they probably were.  

Out Of Balance

Got to the gym just now for the first time in more than a week and a half. It isn't that I've felt reluctant to go. There simply hasn't been time, and that's not by way of a weak excuse. It reflects the unbending reality of the situation. Which strongly suggests that something's out of wack.

The session itself was uneventful. It started out tough, and stayed so, but I did the necessary. So the hiatus in my attendance hasn't been that much of a set-back. But at my time of life sustaining some basic level of fitness has to be a top priority, and it wasn't for a time. Which isn't good at all.

On The Outside

Sitting drinking a cup of tea in a very brief break from pressing concerns earlier today I suddenly thought of the writer Colin Wilson. As a young teenager I had a real 'thing' going with regard to his works, basically as a result of buying his big book on The Occult. I had an unhealthy interest, indeed fascination, with the subject matter, which I only really grew out of once I left school. Then it all began to seem more than a bit silly - which is somewhat reductive of me, but there it is. But back in 1971 I thought Wilson's chunky tome was wonderful and, looking back, I think I learned a lot from it in a slant-wise manner. And I certain broadened my very limited horizons with his more mainstream stuff after getting hold of a second hand copy of The Outsider.

But what struck me this morning was how true one of Wilson's key ideas is, his notion of Faculty X. It's a bit of a silly name for something that, it seems to me now, lies a bit too deep for words. And as I thought of this notion I was reminded of seeing Wilson on some tv programme of quite a popular nature, I think in the early 1980s, and realising as he presented that he wasn't in the slightest bit bothered about not being a respected 'academic' thinker but was genuinely interested in just being himself and communicating what he thought he knew to others.

And that's what his writing felt like: uncontrived, immediate, curious about the strangeness of it all. And not afraid to look foolish. A mindset worth aspiring to, I thought this morning. And still do at the end of the day.

Not Serious At All

There's always a place for mindless enthusiasm in the great scheme of things. Shouting loudly and pointlessly refreshes the spirit. As long as you don't take what you are enthusing over or enraged by too seriously.

Anyone who's ever been triggered by a bad (or good) VAR decision understands this essential truth.

A Positive Note

Present circumstances are such that it's dangerously easy to moan about my line of work. And moan at considerable length. But I don't think that really helps anyone, least of all me. Venting can be a way of letting off steam, but often it turns into a way of generating even more of the over-heated stuff. 

So I'm now deliberately thinking happy thoughts. And here's one. And it's surprisingly true.

It's very hard to think of someone I teach that I actively dislike, even mildly so, or find difficult to like. Pretty much all the students I come into contact with are pleasantly likable in an unforced way. Even the most irritating - and some do meet that description - make up for it by being funny and goofily good-natured. And endearingly fragile somehow.

All My Trials

All you bardolators out there already know that Will loved a pun on travail (a trouble) and travel (as in a journey.) The words would have had the same pronunciation back around 1600, I'm told, and I'm sure the lousily muddy roads between Stratford and the capital played some part in the conjoining of the terms in the great dramatist's (and sonneteer's) mind (there's a lot of this particular pun in the poems, I seem to recall.)

But this is just to say that had he been alive today and experienced the journey, as we did yesterday, from Alor Gajah, down the North-South highway, through the border crossing at Woodlands to this Far Place, he would have thought the same way. It was a travail and a half, I can tell you. And that's all I will say. For now. 

Togetherness

I was a tad reluctant to set off on our weekend jaunt to Melaka, to be honest. This had nothing to do with the nature of the event or the company it would involve, both of which were pull factors. Rather it concerned the sheer non-negotiable amount of work I'm dealing with at present and the lack of any reasonably 'free' time during the week, indeed, weeks ahead to get that done.

Now I'm here, I'm very glad I am. And I've managed to cope, just about, with what demanded to be done. Indeed, past experience suggests this is something of a pattern in my life, and a useful one to recall in moments of reluctance to participate in the flow of real, meaningful, rewarding, life.

Real Achievement

I'd been harbouring an uneasy feeling about Carol Rumens's excellent Poem of the Week feature since her regular posting of poems suddenly dried up in late February. So I wasn't entirely surprised when the news of her death and subsequent tributes were posted in the column this week. Astonishing to think how long she maintained what became my favourite regular feature from any online source. And, just think, it could be accessed for free.

It's an odd consolation in what is often a dark world that Ms Rumens achieved this on top of her own work as a writer. But sad that such an engaging and generous presence (even if mediated on-line) is with us no longer.

Warning Sign

On the way up the hill to Masjid Tentera just now for Friday Prayers I was enjoying the climb in what felt a restful break from the struggles of the day. And then came the sign, hanging off one of the guard-rails adjacent to the steep steps. In stark black capitals on a white background it read: BEWARE OF THE SPITTING COBRA. It woke me from my reverie, I can tell you, as I glanced around the neatly manicured grass on the hillside in case the creature was putting in a mid-day appearance.

It wasn't. Which, oddly enough, provoked disappointment rather than relief. On this, Sir David Attenborough's 100th birthday, it would have felt so appropriate to make first hand contact with the world of the really untamed and dangerous.

Tricky Business

Just filled in a digital arrival card for a journey we're intending to Alor Gajah over the coming weekend. I've completed this one a few times, so you'd think I'd be used to it. But I still manage to find it a fidgety thing to do. I can remember the promises years ago that the advance of IT services would make life easier. 

Can't help but wonder: What happened?

The Wheel Of Fortune

Heard some very bad news today from a friend and colleague regarding a medical problem they are currently dealing with. Life is unfair in what it so often throws at us, without warning. Something worth remembering whenever we reflect on personal good fortune.

But that doesn't mean we shouldn't celebrate good fortune, good times, good health, I think. In fact, I think there's something of a moral imperative to do so. A way of pointing to the balance at the deep heart of things. The thing to remember, for me at least, is that whatever good fortune I experience it doesn't really belong to me.

As a very wise man once sung: You know what they say about being nice to the right people on the way up / Sooner or later, you gonna meet them coming down.

A Little Learning

Spent part of the day conducting lessons on line. Was struck by the fact that such a thing was pretty much unthinkable when I started teaching. Not sure it's particularly efficacious in terms of the learning that takes place. But I'm not sure that questions of genuine learning have ever been front and central in my job in the half century that I've been involved in it.

Low Expectations

There's been a big fat debate on issues regarding cholesterol levels & prescribing statins & the like for as long as I can remember. (Which isn't all that long ago these days, to be honest.) None of this matters to me at the moment since I got the numbers in on my cholesterol levels from last week's health screening and, let me tell you, they look good. Let's face it, when one sees the word optimal on a report regarding one's tired old body, one feels like dancing, doesn't one? Well, this one does.

On The Everyday

Have almost finished rereading Declan Kiberd's excellent Ulysses and Us: The Art of Everyday Living. Found it slipped down a little more easily this time round, though I still found the final chapters went a bit over my not terribly elevated head. Still I enjoyed the flights of fancy on Joyce's relations to Homer, Dante, the New Testament and Shakespeare, though preferring the generally more earthbound stuff as DK makes his way through the great modernist epic on a chapter-by-chapter basis. 

What I'm sure the critic gets right is the novelist's deep understanding of the importance of the everyday, especially in developing our understanding of what it might mean to live decently. It doesn't sound like much of a theme, I suppose, but Joyce is the most surprising of writers. (And my appetite has been well and truly whetted for another go at the greatest novel of the 20C.)

Days

Received a pithily expressive card from John & Jeanette the other day reading: May we live in less interesting times. I endeavoured to live out that sentiment today, recording a Saturday on which nothing of note happened in my life. And that's more than fine by me since it was a perfectly happy day.

Holiday Fun

15.33

Now getting into a distinct holiday mood for the long weekend as we're looking forward to an evening at the theatre watching Roald Dahl's The BFG, in the version put together by the RSC. We're taking along Hakim and the girls on the grounds that this is a treat for the littlun. But it's really for me, as you might have guessed.

More anon.

23.55

Gosh, what a great show! It gets everything right. A kind of compendium of the magic of theatre, with a number of tricks, beautifully carried off, that I recognised, and some new ones, generally of a technological nature, that I didn't. The lighting alone was worth the price of admission.

But the deepest magic of all involved in the show is that it entirely captures the magic of Dahl's fictional world for children: unrelenting energy, glorious vulgarity, unabashed sentimentality and unrestrainedly cheerful anarchy.

Hooked (In A Fashion)

Back in early April, when things were getting going again after the happy hiatus of the Fasting Month, I predicted to myself that I would relish reading The Makioka Sisters. I was right. It's a blast. Which is utterly the wrong word to use of a text that is wonderfully ordinary and subtle in that ordinariness. But the word will serve as a placeholder for now. And a placeholder is what I need since almost a month has gone by and I've still not reached the halfway point in what is a reasonably lengthy, but certainly not overlong novel.

This is not the fault of the estimable Mr Tanizaki. It's down to my grievous lack of oomph in getting on with a great read due to being weighed down by the toad, Work. I really should be doing better than this at my age.

Losing It

I signed up for a free medical check-up the other day and discovered I am now 171 cm tall. Since I was regularly measured at 174 cm up to 5 years ago I'd like to know why I seem to be gradually disappearing. I could once console myself that I am at least taller than the mighty Paul Scholes (usually measured at 170, I hear.) But I reckon that that's likely to be in doubt this time next year if the shrinking continues.

On the other hand, I was pleased to discover that my metabolic age is 44. Sounds good. Wish I knew what 'metabolic age' actually means, though.

Rising Damp

Today has been one of the most humid I've experienced here in almost 40 years residence within these shores. The palpable stickiness of the humidity became apparent as early as 7.40 am when I was standing outside for flag-raising. For the first time in some years I felt fidgety during the proceedings, but managed to control the impulse to seek some respite from just standing and looking vaguely attentive.

And things were worse at 4.00 pm when I arrived at our outside basketball courts. It took less than 15 minutes for my dark blue shirt to become several sweaty shades darker. Fortunately our basketball guys proved a good deal hardier than myself, working with genuine momentum and intensity for a good three hours. I suppose in the long-ago days of my youth I might have managed to do the same, but then again English summers were never exactly humid.

I suppose it's good to face the occasional challenge. Just hope it's very, very occasional, that's all.

Another Of Those Days

Very much a day of celebrations. And very glad am I to have the inestimable privilege of being around to enjoy the unlikely good fortune of being here to enjoy it. See a bit of the evidence below:

And here's further evidence of the pre-birthday walk in the park, just to affirm the supreme joy of the public parks in this Far Place (and of wearing silly hats therein):

A Walk In The Park

Noi suggested that we get out for a walk on Sunday earlier in the week and, nothing loath as they say, or used to say once upon a time, I agreed. I'm glad I did back then because by early this morning, at the time for the Dawn Prayer, I felt pretty loath indeed and probably would have resisted going had I not so enthusiastically agreed days earlier. Apart from feeling tired I was facing a day of grading orals for IB examinations and wasn't sure I could afford the time.

But we went ahead and I'm very glad we did so. I could afford the time, as things worked out, getting a bit of work done before we finally set out. And we had a fine old time at East Coast Park, topped by teh tarik and prata at a jolly little eatery at what is now known as East Cove. It was Noi's first extended outing for a while and she struggled a little bit with leg-pain, but coped with what just be the start of a new regime.

The park was lively indeed, filled with folks of all shapes & sizes, and dogs similarly - I've never seen quite so many of our canine chums there previously - and trees similarly and pretty gloriously if you ask me. Lots of other signs of life too, all of it with its Sunday face on, looking relaxed and like itself as it should be.

The Way Ahead

I've arrived at that time of year when it's necessary to lock into survival mode. This entails seeking to get through each day without looking too far ahead, but far enough to avoid on-coming traffic and potential crashes. The great thing is that at some point in June I'll be able to spread myself again, and that time isn't too far off. And that month will also see the World Cup getting underway.

Now considering if I'll need to lay out some of the green stuff to ensure adequate coverage. Time was when it all came for free. A lost paradise. (And the football was glorious. Was there ever a better time for the Beautiful Game than the World Cup in 1970. Pele's Brazil, eh!?!)

At Ease

Now feeling at ease having reached the end of the working week. I can't honestly say there's any real sense of achievement or fulfilment involved. I'm not sure there ever is. But it's more than enough to avoid disappointment and frustration. A sort of truce with the world. Luckier than most, I suspect.

Still Mildly Ranting

The mild rant apropos the iniquities of IT in Education in which I indulged back in January and expanded upon, rather more intemperately, a few days later never really went away. It never does. Every time I hit a hitch with a screen that doesn't function, a cable that doesn't connect, a connection that suddenly goes slow for no reason I can fathom, a bureaucratic webpage that I have to fill in which doesn't allow me access, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, I get hot under the old collar.

But this is not out of blind stupidity. I don't expect the world to run smoothly for me; in fact, I'm mildly surprised when it does.

No, the thing is that when these silly hitches occur in the classroom I recall the earliest very difficult months of my job, when I was learning painfully - but eventually successfully - how to do it. And that involved figuring out the basics. Like how to get a class of extremely non-compliant kids to get on with what needed to be gotten on with and do some real learning. And that involved ensuring every step of a lesson, especially the tricky stuff at the start, flowed. Which meant that each step needed to work, had to work, non-negotiably. 

And now, when I'm dealing with yet another unpredictable malfunction as a lesson begins, I feel for the long-ago younger version of me who would not have been able to guarantee what was necessary to guarantee to function competently. And eventually excel. And I wonder about all the 'beginning' teachers I encounter, especially those faced with kids of the non-compliant variety, of which there are more than a few even in this sunny Far Place, and how often they have to deal with problems created solely by the stuff that everyone was told would somehow make teaching easier, more efficient, more 'fun', yadda, yadda, yadda.

Kids' Stuff

An excellent 'listing article' (not sure if there's a proper word for the genre) ('listicle'? no, don't think so) published earlier in the month in the Graun has stuck in my mind. 25 books to read before you turn 25 isn't exactly a memorable title, but the list itself is. And has reminded this reader how much he misses books aimed at kids. 

Must say, I think seven is a bit too early for the classic Tom's Midnight Garden, but that's the title that most triggered my longing. Just brilliant. Wish I could teach it again. And again.

Putting It Into Words

I mentioned to a class today that sometimes when I'm struggling with a piece of writing that I can't quite 'get' - especially a tricky poem - I read it out loud and surprisingly often something clicks. I didn't expand further on this, but it occurs to me that I experience something similar if someone asks me to explain something I'm not quite sure of. When I try to articulate my understanding I frequently find myself clarifying what it is I think I understand and, again, ''getting it' in a way I don't think I really did before I started talking. It's all a bit odd.

And here's a further thought. Putting all this in writing can help precipitate what seems an even deeper, or possibly more confident, undertanding.

Of course, there's always the possibility of being wrong and just not knowing it. But that's all part of the fun, I suppose.

The Best Bits

As I hope I made clear yesterday, Randai Macbeth was all good in this spectator's eyes, but I'll have a go at specifying the best bits by way of a clumsy review: 

The bits where the musicians came in suddenly (musically, I mean, and usually loudly) at the completion of a scene/act/segment, ensuring a rapid pace forward; the bits where the super-athletic chorus moved in snappily, crisply, synchronised fashion, creating their own sound effects with clapping & cries; the bit where King Duncan's corpse was carried out, but it wasn't a body, it was just a cleverly folded piece of white cloth that shrouded the unseen late king; the bit where drops/streaks of red stuff streamed repetitively across a screen above the stage action during the aforementioned murder; the bit where Lady M smiled knowingly in melodramatically hypocritical style towards the audience (getting a few laughs, and rightly so) having feigned innocence after the murder as suspicions mount; the bit with the beautifully choregraphed killing of Macbeth by his nemesis Macduff, suggesting something like a genuine slaughter; the bits featuring the manically over-the-top witches, fairly glowing with unsettling intensity; the bit where Banquo's ghost came, looking down the tunnel of the chorus at the king, in a nicely underplayed sequence, wisely eschewing the manifold melodramatic possibilities for once; the bit where the actor playing Macduff performed the set-piece introductory speech, with details of the theatrical traditions involved, and suitable apologies for any short-comings on the part of the performers (at which point I decided I wouldn't mind being cast as Macduff myself & getting the speech); the bit with Macbeth sprawled very dead at the end (but keeping his head) in a neat, unshowy, but striking little tableau.

Need to stop there. Take it from me, it was top rate stuff. I loved every minute. (And I just completely forgot to reference the great songs interspersing the action!!) 

An Afternoon To Remember

It was Noi who noticed that, as part of the Pesta Raya season celebrated in and around the Esplanade, a play entitled Randai Macbeth was to be performed over this weekend. She sort of half-shyly asked if we might go along some three weeks back, and I'm very glad indeed she did. We caught today's matinee (and sadly final performance) this afternoon and I have to tell you, it ranks up there as one of the best things I've ever had the pleasure of seeing in any theatre anywhere.

Put simply - in fact, overly simply - it's a Malay version of the Scottish Play. So when it was first broached that we might attend I did have a reservation - but this was not that we'd be watching something performed in Bahasa Melayu. To be honest, this was something of a pull factor as I knew immediately that the novelty of the language would help me off-set the weariness I feel whenever viewing the play is suggested. I think I said it before in this very Far Place: I've taught the play so often that I'm suffering from such a degree of the fatigue of familiarity that it's the one Shakespeare play I'd refuse to teach again. As it is, I had to force myself to watch the brilliant movie version starring (I use the word advisedly) the mighty Mr Denzel Washington. The fact that I watched it twice is sort of mitigated by my having to break up both viewings into smaller, highly appreciated, chunks.

Anyway this is drifting from the central point about today's experience. The show was fabulous in almost every respect, and I feel the need to tell the world this. But there were so many good things about it that I'm a bit overwhelmed at the moment - and looking forward to my dinner, which is a bit of a distraction from writing too much about the show now. So here's my solution: inspired by my overuse of the word bit in the previous sentence I intend to recall all the best bits, of which there were an abundance, ahead of tomorrow's post and list as many as possible when I put pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard, or whatever.

Digging Deep

Left the gym just now nursing a deep & abiding thirst, a sign I'd been pushing it a bit, effort wise. Except I hadn't really, it was just that my body had been heavy & out of sorts prior to setting out and it's been a heavily hot day and I'm just that little bit frazzled on account of a week of work that stretched these elderly sinews. And now, with several glasses of chilled water down my gullet and time to recover I still feel like I could down a gallon of juice and nod off for three and a half days without stirring.

All signs I must be doing something right, I suppose.

Concluding

Approaching the end of Syawal, so only one night left for the twinkling lights to serve their tour of duty. And we've been concluding visiting family & friends by having a good time this evening at Nahar & Yati's. A wide range of comestibles (of course) have left us happily thinking of spending tomorrow at home with a simple sandwich to round off the month. It's all highly satisfactory, I must say with a happy, if irritating, complacency.

In A Great Moment

I'm all for living in the moment, zen-mindfulness style, but lousy at actually doing so. Easily distracted, as they say, or used to say, in school reports. Not sure if anyone in teaching is allowed to be that honest now. But generally I try, if given the space, to launch a quick review of great moments of the day. It's sometimes quite surprising how many one can salvage even from a pretty rotten span of hours.

So today involved a fair amount of running about like a maniac. But more than the usual number of distinctly bright spots. And here's the winner, by a short head:

I chanced upon a sensational five and a half minutes of the latest incarnation of Cardiacs live in Manchester of all places. And promptly lost myself, having a minor out-of-body experience in SAC (also, of all places.) If someone had told me they could play Fiery Gun Hand note perfect on stage - making it look effortless - I would have questioned their sanity. But no longer.

And it doesn't stop there. Just after I finished (ready to buzz off to a lesson) I realised that the entire concert!!!!!! is up there on YouTube waiting for me to blow my mind to. Well, that's my entertainment for the weekend fixed!

Re-charging

Another long one! (Day, that is.) But quite a bit of fun here & there.

And now run-down. Like my phone, which is plugged in and re-charging in what looks like a passively, easy, relaxed kind of way. I, in contrast, need to eat & drink the various bits & pieces cunningly provided by The Missus. 

I think I know who gets the better deal between me and my phone. And it's not the phone! Hah!

Long Day's Journey

Gosh it's been a long day. And I still need roughly four extra hours to get done all that needs to be done. Oh dear.

Clarity Of Thought

In troubled times it's comforting to be able to read material of such clarity of thought and expression that it offers hope for our benighted species. For some time now I've found that especially true of my favourite right-wing, conservatively Catholic philosopher Ed Feser, whose political views, on paper, might to be some degree be seen as diametrically opposed to my own. So it's no surprise that he's taken a typically principled position on the notion of a just war.

And a more recent post outlining his ideas on the nature of various addictions struck me as being one of the most insightful things I've ever read on a particularly difficult topic. Funnily enough it draws on the ideas of another philosopher that in terms of political affiliations I really should have no time for at all, and yet invariably read with gratitude for what he has helped me understand. The two passages Prof Feser quotes from Scruton's excellent little book on Beauty struck me as very interesting when I first read them back at the end of last year (if memory serves me well.) Rereading them makes me realise just how deeply insightful they are.

All this reminds me that I need to consciously read outside what I'm comfortable with socially & politically at least 20% of the time - advice I freely offer to all.

In Preparation

Had a brief but jolly time at the Tekka Centre at Serangoon in the early afternoon hunting down the right kind of bones for Noi's patented Sup Tulang Special. She's now doing wonderful things to said bones ahead of a bit of a do scheduled at Fafa's place on the morrow. I for one intend to grab more than my fair share of the pickings.

After purchasing the bones and chicken pieces and potatoes and carrots and spices and whatnot we proceeded to enjoy a cuppa and appropriate comestibles - samosas for myself and prata for The Missus. Pretty much the perfect outing, I reckon, and I have the evidence to prove it:

In Denial

I contrived to be impressively forgetful over the last 24 hours. My attendance is required for an 'event' at work which will eat up most of tomorrow morning. It involves a not particularly onerous duty, so that isn't a problem. But it means there will be no Saturday morning lie-in and no possibility of an uninterrupted 3 hours or so to get with with some urgent marking. But somehow, despite being entirely aware of said event for at least a couple of months, late yesterday I'd entirely forgotten that the morning had been wiped out, until I suddenly remembered on going to bed.

And then the duty again dropped entirely out of sight for me this morning, until I glanced at my appointments diary over a cuppa. And, finally, by the early afternoon I was considering what music to play on my 'free' morning when the painful reality once more intruded into my day-dreaming. 

Of course, all this might just be a sign of aging, and I'm okay with that. But part of me suspects the truth is that some part of what passes for my mind these days decided denial was the appropriate strategy in ensuring I wouldn't get overly irritated by thoughts of going into work on a weekend. And, I must say, I commend that part for a job well done.

Not Mincing Her Words

Difficult to take in the idea that Mum left us on this date a full fourteen years ago. For some reason I was thinking earlier today of one of her epic anti-Thatcher rants when it occurred to me it's a good job she didn't live to witness the ascent of the current POTUS. Difficult to imagine the kind of outpouring he might have triggered, except for the fact it would have been very long. And very unprintable.

Shouldering The Burden

In those far-off days (circa 1971 - 77) of labouring in factories and industrial cleaning (when not goofing off at school and university) I would never have believed that office work (as performed by the middle-classes) involved any kind of physical strain. And now I know a lot more about it I know it doesn't really. Well, not teaching anyway. Except for niggling little pains and physical irritations.

Like shoulders aching from holding them too tightly, as my shoulders are now doing. It's not exactly painful but it hurts, if you see what I mean.

Generally aching shoulders aren't a problem for me at all, in the ordinary run of things. But when I unconsciously hunch up over the old laptop the folly of doing so can leave its mark. Over time I've come to realise that I need to consciously relax when throwing myself into that kind of work - like getting entangled in e-mails, so generally I avoid the problem. But I've come to realise over the last few days of examining for the oral component of my subject that when I'm engaged with my students in their one-on-one recorded presentations I get extremely tense physically, but not mentally, as if in sympathetic response to the pressures some of them feel.

Much as I've generally enjoyed listening to what they have to say I'll be happy when it's over for them. And even more so for me, just to be more than a bit selfish.

Grooving

Felt a bit flat just now, still on duty after a longish sort of day. Goofed off for 5 minutes or so listening to a great cover of Prince's Kiss, and the world was well, in truth very well indeed, all over again.

Big similarity between Prince & Dylan, aside from the fact they are obvious bona fide geniuses. They invariably provoke great cover versions as well. (The bass on the Phat Hat version is to die for and, of course, there's famously, brilliantly, no such thing on Prince's classic original.) (Oh, and the Phat Hat horns are none too shabby, especially in the final chorus.)

On The Record

As I recorded back in early February I needed considerable help from Dr Shivangi (my current brain doc) and Ms Jessica Koh (the only human representative of the Medical Records Dept at NUH who could be tracked down) to triumph over the hospital's digital bureaucracy and obtain - late last week, finally - the report I needed from the Neurology people to submit to my prospective insurers in Malaysia. It made interesting reading, I must say, for me at least, and shed a little more light on the events of late August & September 2022 with regard to yours truly.

Of course, I struggled with the plentiful technical jargon involved, but it was good to see the word mild featured frequently. At least, this was the case after the reports on the initial scans which featured some pretty heavy evidence of severe brain seizures. Must say, my experience of The Delirium itself didn't feel in the slightest bit mild, but I suppose there's a good chance that some of the various drugs fed into my system to bring me back to sanity might have helped keep me in the strange mental world I inhabited for some three and a half weeks. But it looks as if all I need to worry about now going forward is some (mild) degree of white matter damage in the old brainbox which is pretty common in lots of folk my age. There's no treatment for this - which is why the docs are happy not to see me and I remain happily unmedicated - but the usual stuff about checking for high blood pressure, a decent diet, plenty of exercise, good sleep, etc., etc., applies. Which is very fine indeed by me.

The mystery remains as to why I suddenly lost all touch with reality back in 2022, and almost as suddenly came back again. (Not to mention why my lungs, heart, liver, etc. decided to severely misbehave.) But for me the most pressing puzzle is how I came to sustain what would seem on the surface a kind of double consciousness in the first few days of the breakdown (roughly five or six, I reckon.) Noi and others who were around to try and help are quite clear as to what I got up to on the general ward and it's all highly embarrassing. In fact, just a month or so ago Noi played a bit of a recording she has of me indulging in a spectacular rant and it sounded colourful, to say the least. (Unprintable in polite society, I'm sad to say.)

But all the time I was entertaining, perplexing and generally irritating the world around me in NUH I was in a world elsewhere caught up in a series of interlinked narratives, a place and events I remember extremely vividly. And there is almost zero overlap in terms of the obsessions I manifested in the two entirely separate versions of me. 

Now I can grasp the notion of the Divided Self as made familiar by our chums Dickens & Dostoevsky. But the entirely Divided Consciousness, fascinating as it is, is a step too far. To use a handy colloquialism: I just can't wrap my head around it.

Getting Going

The resumption of 'ordinary' post-Ramadhan reading has proved slower and less steady this year than usual. Probably a sign of aging - a general slowing down. Fortunately I have got going largely as intended (these days I plan my reading ahead, strange as that may sound), so it hasn't been a complete disaster. However, I now find myself still engaging with material I thought I'd have put aside once Syawal arrived - most specifically, the reading of some of the later, shorter surahs from The Holy Qur'an in the translation provided in The Study Qur'an supplemented by another commentary. Actually I find the slow pace of this reading extremely conducive and have half-decided that I might make this activity (confined to an hour or so in the mornings at weekends and holidays) a permanent feature of life in general. We'll see.

The 'big' work of fiction now claiming my attention is Junichiro Tanizaki's The Makioka Sisters. The colleague who provided me with the translation said she thought there were shades of Jane Austen involved in the writing - always a good thing - and after a halting start I'm starting to feel that. Plenty of pages ahead, by the way, and I've a feeling I'm going to relish them. I started the novel after Raya, but I've been rereading Declan Kiberd's commentary on Joyce's great epic Ulysses and Us: The Art of Everyday Living since the last week of Fasting Month. Not sure why. A feeling that I needed to get connected with Joyce again, which has certainly worked for me. Lots of wisdom from Messers Kiberd and Joyce which somehow tied in with key ideas in my mind as Ramadan reached its conclusion and remain pressing in their way as life moves on.

And then there's (still) Finnegans Wake. More than 100 pages on and gloriously, comically, baffled by it all. Plus the great Henry Vaughan read-through wobbles on. Now dealing with various (late?) translations and (gasp!) love poems by the Welsh Wizard and, for the most part, thoroughly enjoying doing so, even if this kind of verse doesn't exactly set my world on fire.

That's all for now, I think. (Believe it or not, I have a list of what I'm supposed to be reading somewhere, but I can't be bothered to check.) Oh, am also rereading and rewatching Pinter's The Birthday Party, but that's not exactly reading, is it? Or is it??

Mixing Around

Paid our first real post-Raya family visit just now. Good to have a public holiday to make visiting seem just that bit more relaxed. I can recall years in the past when getting out and about seemed quite an exertion, even if a necessary one. Perhaps I've mellowed with age: these days I quite look forward to the free munching involved.

Moonmadness

Completely, foolishly, forgot to celebrate yesterday's Great Day of Fools. So as a poor second best today I'm attaching two photos of yesterday's fabulous moon. Hope all who are invested in their folly can happily meet me on the dark side of the moon whence a rather famous bass-playing madman once invited us all.

(Apologies to all for failing to do justice to our lunar chum in my amateurish fashion, but nothing in a mere two dimensions could come close to doing so. Do look up, everyone!)

It's Only Words

I know the Brothers Gibb had a point when they warbled It's only words so tunefully, but words have an odd heft & weight beyond their mere utterance. Today I got to thinking of two words that, through no fault of their own, really get my goat*. 

The first is flourishing (which I even have problems spelling.) And the second is alignment.

To balance things up I'm really rather keen on plurality. And divergence hits the sweet spot.

Not sure what all this says about me, Gentle Reader, but if you happen to figure it out don't feel obliged to share your insight. So often Things are better left unsaid (a phrase which I just goggled to see if anyone has used in a song lyric. It seems that some lass going by the unlikely name Ariane Grande has informed her listeners of such in one of her songs. And good for her, I say!)

*Manchester talk = bother me.

Performance Art

A former colleague from my previous school once told me he couldn't understand how I managed to look so calm and unflustered when talking to a largish audience of parents about the school's programme for its first year students. I'd sort of been selected as the spokesperson for the school in my third and final year there since it was generally agreed that I looked calm in pretty much every public situation, almost as if I was enjoying myself and this would go down well with what nowadays gets termed 'stakeholders'. My answer seemed to take the questioner by surprise, and took me a moment or two to figure out myself since I'd not really ever asked that question of myself at the time in question.

I'm just pretending to be calm. I'm a pretty good actor and it seems to work. (Not sure that that's exactly what I said, but it's close.)

What I didn't get into is the weirdness of acting and the way you (well, me, anyway) start to feel exactly what you are pretending to feel. To this day my pulse races - I think - before speaking in public (except in front of a class) so the nervousness, the being flustered, is real. But it disappears once the act begins.

I sometimes wonder if physical fear might disappear if one pretends to be brave. But I'm too much of a coward to try that one out.

A Matter Of Disagreement

The desire of my colleagues to avoid any real disagreement over various aspects of teaching strikes me as very odd. There's so much to heartily disagree on that it seems a wasted opportunity not to explore necessary and helpful differences of practice and opinion. To tell the truth, I'm not too sure I've ever really agreed with myself on some fundamentals of the trade.

Over the weekend I experienced a distinct shift in opinion with regard to the brave new world of AI, and I'm still not sure I'm comfortable with what I now think I think. It would be nice to feel certain over these matters, I suppose, but not terribly exciting.

The Old Normal

It seems a long time since Fasting Month concluded. The tiny miracle of eating & drinking at any time of day is now taken for granted. And we've done particularly well for ourselves this weekend with a lunch at Ismail's place yesterday and baked potatoes with tuna & corn & salad just now, resulting in my feeling distinctly full. (I resisted the temptation of embracing a second helping on the grounds that I can no longer deal with being bloated in the manner my younger self could just about cope with.)

So there we have it - one of the unexpected benefits of the fast: it becomes difficult to take the simple joys of the everyday for granted. Thus intensifying those joys.

Not a bad pay-off in its way.

Extreme Gratitude

I think that keeping a Gratitude Journal is a jolly good idea. I don't do so myself - not exactly sure why not, probably lack of time rather than lack of gratitude - but if I did today's entry would read: I feel profoundly grateful for the accident of living my life at broadly the same time as that of Sir Paul McCartney.

This thought came upon me (and I suspect lots of other folks) yesterday when the lyric video for Days We Left Behind made it to YouTube. Ironically the line No one needs to cry made me do precisely the opposite to what it enjoins.

Thinking It Out

Not sure that this thought from yesterday was in any way original for me, but it felt newly minted. And here it comes: Joyce represents three entirely distinct modes of consciousness for the key characters in Ulysses, yet they are all versions of himself - Poldy, Stephen and Molly. (Yes, I know Molly is Nora, but Jim inhabits his long-suffering Wife & Muse.)

How did he do it? Genius, yes, but a kind of absolute honesty about the nature of the self helped.

I can't aspire to that. But I can offer a rapidly written list of modes of thought - knocked off in ten minutes - that seem to me so individual as to hardly overlap. And here it comes: relaxed day dreaming of the wish fulfilment variety; sexual fantasizing; figuring out a schedule when impossibly busy; reading fiction and responding; reading non-fiction and responding; listening to poetry that works; listening to poetry that doesn't work; remembering stuff that happened in childhood; listening to a friend; listening to criticism of oneself; listening to something you're not listening to.

In Thought

Managed to find some time today to think about thinking. Was basically playing around with thoughts I've experienced many times before when it occurred to me that the thoughts were not exactly mine but thoughts I'd somehow picked up from others and, in some surreptitious way, made my own. Except I had no sense that they in any way belonged to me. In fact, I was distantly aware that I was just a vehicle for the thoughts and belonged to them.

Now, there's a thought.

Getting Back To Business

Quite a taxing first day of term at work, made slightly more challenging due to the fact that we reached our usual Far Place quite late in the day yesterday and I felt as if I would have benefitted from a couple of hours more sleep than I managed. The highway home was typically dense with traffic, which Noi negotiated with some aplomb to ensure we arrived in one piece, even if later than expected. No, that's not really true. We knew ahead of the weekend that we would be lucky to be afforded any easy journey over the Raya weekend, so were lucky that the drive up to Melaka was reasonably smooth. Basically we expected delays on Monday and got them more than amply.

One variation on our usual practice worked well for us, though. We came back via the crossing at Woodlands rather than by Tuas and getting through immigration on both sides was easy enough. Something to be thankful for, even if I'm moaning a wee bit here.

Talking It Out

We weren't sure that Hamzah & family would come over to Mak's house yesterday, with the loss of Sharifah so fresh, but happily they were able to do so. This added even more significance to the prayers read, and I think helped with the process of grieving for all the family. I felt some relief myself being able to talk at length to Hamzah about pretty much everything, our conversation going on to the early hours. They set off back to Shah Alam in the late morning, I hope feeling a tiny bit better for the warmth & support of all around them.

And we ourselves will be departing yet again in a couple of hours. There's always more to get on with, part of the gift of being alive.

Presence And Absence

We've driven up to Melaka for the second day of Raya. The family will be reading Surah Ya-Sin in the evening for Sharifah. Much cheerful noise just now for the distribution of packets and taking of photos. A way of compensating for the silence.

A Sort Of Beginning

Hari Raya Puasa, Eid ul-Fitr; 1 Syawal, 1447

07.43

About to enjoy a large mug of coffee at a time that feels wrong but is right again. Now adjusting to the loose demands of the usual routine on a happily special day.

10.06

Well, that was a more exciting morning than expected. We arrived at Masjid Darussalam at what we thought was a decent time for the second shift of prayers for Raya only to discover they'd already started. Fortunately the helpful attendants outside re-directed us to a void deck just across the road where it turned out that the overspill from the crowded mosque (still under renovations) was being accommodated and we got there with five minutes to spare. Now gently recovering at home, though Noi is a bit behind in her preparations as a result of her unforeseen trip to KL the other day. She just said it doesn't really feel like Raya with the house still mildly unready, but with prayers performed it does to me. Must say, I like praying at a void deck in something close to the open air, especially on a happily sunny morning. Sort of au naturel in its way.

21.05

A loud and cheerful afternoon has turned into a quiet and fairly restful evening following the departure of our guests. It's good to celebrate. And good to cogitate afterwards.

And better still to wish to all who held fast: Eid Mubarak!

Making An Ending

30 Ramadhan, 1447

15.31

I've been on the go with stuff for work, shopping for Raya, tidying up and attending Friday Prayers since the early morning. Noi arrived back from Malaysia at 5.10 am and I opted to stay up and get the day in motion rather than going back to bed after sahur and doing the dawn prayer. Now I'm feeling the effects and also feeling oddly impatient to finish the fast. I say 'oddly' since I haven't felt this way since Day 3.

19.04

Close to buka, and still impatient. You'd think after all these years I'd have learnt something about waiting. And I have. But not enough.

21.05

Neither Noi nor myself have any great appetite after breaking the fast. This evening we're just finishing off bits & pieces left over the last few days along with a few boiled sweet potatoes we picked up in the morning's shopping. All very easy and highly satisfactory. A fitting low-key climax to all the effort of the last thirty days.

Lighting Up

29 Ramadhan, 1447

It's time to try and find some kind of light in the darkness.

Loss

28 Ramadhan, 1447

A day darkly coloured by deeply sad family news. We'd been worried by recent developments in Sharifah's illness throughout the month and these culminated in what felt like the sudden news of her death as Maghrib arrived today. She'd been in isolation in hospital since early in the month and been struggling with a lung infection. Things appeared to have taken a turn for the better recently, though, and she was actually back on an ordinary ward yesterday. But her oxygen levels suddenly dropped today and she was rushed to ICU. It seems the damage caused to her lungs by the infection was irreparable. 

Noi & Rozita are now working out how they are going to get to KL for the funeral, which is likely to take place tomorrow morning. Unfortunately I'm stuck here meeting deadlines and will be sticking to our original plan of travelling north over the Raya weekend. At least, it looks that way at the moment but things are understandably in flux.

But regardless of any planning the sense of loss is powerful. Hamza and the children have had time to prepare, but that's never really enough to help cope with the passing of someone so dearly loved & regarded.

Changing Times

27 Ramadhan, 1447

We found ourselves in Geylang in the late afternoon. We were there essentially to pay zakat, a mission we accomplished at Darul Arqam without too much fuss. The building, by the way, has undergone some kind of renovation which has meant changes to the interior decor. I'm afraid that none of this appealed at all to Noi and myself, custodians of the way things used to be as we are.

Something similar applied to the general ambiance of this year's bazaar at Geylang. It felt distinctly low-key having been considerably reduced in scope. Now there are hardly any stalls at all on the side of the road where Darul Arqam is positioned. This made it easy to walk there, just as it had been easy to find a place to park, but we missed the cheerful inconvenience of previous years.

Mind you, we were wandering around before the festive lights were to be switched on and the whole thing may have proved more happening later. Noi was talking about going again in the evening in the days that remain, but not with any great keenness. I suppose we miss the days of yore. Just hope that for those who are newly making memories the sense of genuine celebration of the Holy Month remains.

Across The Miles

26 Ramadhan, 1447

Just concluded a long distance chat between ourselves and John & Jeanette. Both ends of the chat moaning about the state of the world.  Both ends finding some relief in venting their feelings about certain individuals they held largely responsible for such. Both ends naming the same names. 

I think both couples felt that little bit better for that aspect of the discussion. But better still was just the chatting about friends & family and feeling warmer & richer and that little bit more normal in the process. 

Losing Count

25 Ramadhan, 1447

Just five days to observe the fast left after today. And since we're now enjoying the start of the one week March vacation it would appear that the deepest challenges are now over. But you never know.

Just like I never really know my real step count for the day. The app thingy on my phone frequently ends the day telling me I've managed more than 10,000 steps, only for the number to mysteriously decline by the time the next day begins. Not sure why and how the rounding down takes place because I don't care about the count in any real sense.

Numbers seem real, but are deceiving. They can only point in broad directions no matter how precise they seem. (Except when you're building a house. Then you seriously need to get them right. There are limits to philosophising, you know.)

A Matter Of Routine

24 Ramadhan, 1447

Got to the gym ahead of breaking the fast yet again. It's now something of a routine and no longer feels that little bit strange, that tiny bit daring, as it did initially. Even The Missus no longer expresses any particular concern as I make my way down to do my thing.

As the month began I set a broad target of ten visits to the gym over the course of Ramadhan and today I recorded the ninth. Which makes me complacently pleased with myself - until I recall just how much I've struggled  to keep going for the full hour on the elliptical trainer, even when I've lowered the resistance. Today it was at full resistance and the muscles in my legs are sort of remembering that even as I sit and relax. 

Hoping to avoid the ambush of a sudden burst of cramp as I lie sleeping later. But will treat it as a reasonable price to pay if I have to suffer such.

Dreaming

23 Ramadhan, 1447

18.40

Off to The Esplanade for a bit of dance this evening. The Dream of Red Mansions, performed by the National Ballet of China. Tired but up for this. More anon.

21.18

It’s intermission time. A break from the ridiculously gorgeous beauty of the evening. Looking forward to further luxuriating.

11.55

Part 1 of the ballet was wonderful and, remarkably, Part 2 was even better, with its darker hues and distinct sense of melancholy. A number of unforgettable images. Kept wanting to capture the moving canvas of the stage and couldn't - which is the whole point, I suppose, of this kind of transient beauty.

Something Found

22 Ramadhan, 1447

Still no time to luxuriate in sweet sounds. But managed a few minutes with The Modfather in top form essaying a blistering live version of Eton Rifles. I'm not claiming it made my day, but it went some way to ensuring that things didn't fall apart on me, providing an injection of energy at just the right time.

Something Missing

21 Ramadhan, 1447

So far it's been a week without music. And, sadly, that looks set to continue. I'm starting to feel the withdrawal symptoms. 

I'll put this right, probably quite loudly, over the weekend. Good to have something to look forward to, eh?

More Than Enough

20 Ramadhan, 1447

The busiest day of the Fasting Month so far. Which meant that it passed exceptionally quickly yet very slowly. Each hour seemed intense, leaving little time to think except for dealing with that which cried out to be dealt with.

Fortunately the busy stuff came to a sharp conclusion once I'd got back to break the fast (delayed, oh dear!) and caught up with all the prayers. Now it's time to look back and ask whether I remained true to the fast. Put simply, did I display grace under pressure, as the fast relentlessly demands?

Well, it wasn't a disaster, so I can enjoy this reflective moment, at least to some small degree. But the final report, as usual, reads, Could do better.

Enough

19 Ramadhan, 1447

Sometimes it's enough just to get to the end of the day. But mine isn't really finished yet.

So Many Voices

18 Ramadhan, 1447

The dire situation in the Middle East keeps pulling us away from personal concerns, as I'm sure it does for lots of folk around the globe. But the problem is getting real knowledge & understanding of what exactly is taking place. Of course, this is true of our grasp of any 'current event', but once the fog of war descends the feeling of disorientation can be intense.

So far the single most convincingly coherent commentary I've heard comes from a recent podcast from Chris Hedges. I'll be interested to play this again a year hence and see how accurate the analysis from Messers Hedges & Crooke proves in hindsight.

Can't help but wonder about the kind of Ramadhan being experienced by people in Tehran, Beirut, etc. 

Out & About

17 Ramadhan, 1447

One of the patterns of Ramadhan for me, established over decades, has been a tendency to keep things inward for the first half of the month, and then move more obviously into the outer world. It looks as if something similar is starting to take place.

This evening, for the first time, Noi and I went out to do a bit of shopping at the market adjacent to Clementi Mall and in the mall itself. No big deal, of course, but there was a freshness about our unhurried strolling at the market that felt appropriate for this stage of the month. It reminded me of just how much I enjoy evenings in this part of the world, especially when there's a bit of breeze to disturb the warm, thick stillness in the air.

We've just feasted on the bundle we brought home from the KFC at the mall. Noi has always been a bit of a fan of the franchise and, over the years, I've acquired something of a taste for their output, as long as we don't sample it too often. This evening's munching felt appropriate. Just enough, as The Missus rightly announced as we happily concluded.

All very optimal.