Aloneness Summons

Whenever your aloneness summons, glorious afternoons abide by you wherever you are. After a quiet walk, roti kaya, carrot and wolfberry juice, I turn on the telly. Live on CNN, the New York Philharmonic Orchestra performs at the North Korean capital, Pyongyang.

They opened with the national anthems. Each musical note, for a moment, silenced the nuclear propaganda and blurred the ideological differences. These differences makes such violent waves. This music silences it with this glorious sonic boom of notes.

I remember having seen the New York Philharmonic perform live. It must have been too hot in CCP’s cockpit because save for the conductor, the entire orchestra had their penguin jackets off. A penguin-jacketless New York Philharmonic is the closest was the closest I got to New York.

This afternoon in Kuala Lumpur, it was different. It’s all happening now. Somewhere in North Korea, the Americans brought their largest cultural group to a communist state and played their music. For the first time.

Act III of Wagner’s “Lohengrin.” Dvorak’s “New World” Symphony. 9, then, Gershwin’s "American in Paris." By Americans in Pyonyang.

They focus on an Asian member of the orchestra who does the clarinet solo. They zoom in on the US and NK flags standing together on a stage.

When they played Arirang, a beloved Korean folk song, the audience’ applause thundered in a very long standing ovation. And the applause and the standing ovation kept on.

I was alone, weeping unembarrassed at this little peace.

Postcards from KL (3)

"Silently and with deliberation, the watchmaker practices his gentle craft and tames the tyrant of the modern era. "

J.K.,

Look at how this anonymous man work at the beautiful paradox of swimming the tide of times by setting the time right.

J.

Postcards from KL (2)

I present to you – the keys to the city! Haha.

Cheers from KL and here’s to people who hasn’t sold out – to the packaged and perfunctory ways of corporate slavery.

Just look at this man cut the keys precisely, deliberately, doing his job while taming the tyrants of the era. All that with an audience and with his legs crossed. Not a bad way of paying the rent.

See you all soon.

J.

Postcards from KL (1)

My D.,

One of the profoundest experiences I’ve had in KL was to sew a button to a shirt. I spent a full hour poking a needle to that poor, innocent button. Poor innocent button.

It was somehow relieving to discover that (according to this postcard) tailoring is a noble trade, and has been a practice carried on from generation to generation.

I think I even looked like the anonymous tailor in this postcard when I was sewing – glasses on, shirtless, (and butter cookies within easy reach?). Haha.

So much for the things I did without you. May we never be apart for so long again.

xxx Your J. xxx

Postcards from KL (4)

Ma and Pa,

KL’s wonderful! I’ve been having a lot of Curry, Nasi Lemak, Bihon Goreng and Roti Chanai. But I’m also keeping fit since there’s a pool and a gym in the serviced apartment where we stay.

KL, Out of the Office

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
(A week after we booked our wedding date)

On the way out of the office, the first thing you notice is the overpowering presence of the majestic Petronas Towers in its glittering steel, imposing itself in the KL skyline. On the ground, at 8 in the morning, a veiled Muslim woman skips out of a motorcycle being driven by someone who I assume is her husband. Every part of her body, except for her face and hands, is covered with her clothing. Islam is a fascinating religion. Seeing it up close in people immerses you in the context of the magnanimous self-discipline it requires. A wife shows absolute loyalty to her husband, with her flesh never to be seen by anyone else. While some may not see it as liberated, it is but absolutely sacred. Perhaps I am caught in the web of my cultural ineptitude. All I know for sure is that what I saw seemed like loving with unquestionable loyalty.

Before I digress, I go back to the morning I saw the veiled lady unmount from the motorcycle driven by her husband. She fixes the folds of her clothes. As she stands, with all her flesh covered, you notice the purity so bold in her eyes. She takes the hand of her husband and kisses it. She moves her head toward her husband and kisses his left cheek, then kisses his right cheek. Finally, she kisses his forehead.

Seeing all that, my own face went warm with the rogue of their love. I looked away, holding off the scarlet blushing its way out of me.

And then I ached with longing, now that emotions are unfeigned.

The woman I love was so far away.