With arduous journey's end comes Confucius' Lord of the Rings.

If Cary Tennis started giving sermons I would join his cult because every word he says makes me go AYEEE YESS OH THAT’S EXACTLY IT! GOSPEL OH THE GOSPEL!!

I've never seen a sight that didn't look better looking back.

i have some vague plans for 2010.




learn japanese. practise chinese more.

if i'm going to japan someday, i'd like some ammo. perhaps, one day, i can become good enough to do translations. =freelance opportunities, savvy?



fill notebooks.

scamps, sketches, stories, articles, lists, rants, business ideas, dumb ideas, journals, stickers - whatever. fill 'em up, make something of them.



travel.

maybe the whole month of january, spend it wandering thailand. i have a return ticket to bangkok, but who's to say i should come back right away? i can take a sleeper train to railay, show tik and non my hair progress, climb with tik for a week or so, then start backpacking around after getting my bearings.

i'm thinking of going it alone.

i liked my kaki langs in KYN and railay pretty okay. but. i want to test myself, throw myself out there. i guess my definition of throwing myself out there went from joining another cut-throat MNC agency to getting lost on dusty backroads of south east asia. sweet.

plus, i'd love to be able to just turn right at the next junction just because, and not squat for a 15 min discussion. i miss spontaneity.

a friend's headed to laos for january, maybe i'd join him later over there, maybe not.

don't get me wrong, my heart's going badda-bing badda-boom at the thought of going solo like that.

which reminds me, funny story about a cave in railay.

we were climbing through it, and i was scared. my 45L backpack was packed with a 50m rope, gear and runners too, i think. i wasn't used to the weight, my 35baht slippers had no grip on the dusty floor and hell, they don't even stay on my feet. it was dark, i kept slipping and catching myself before falling approximately to my death each time. i joked shakily to my friend raf, that he should climb behind me so i'd take him down with me when i fall.

we were about to abseil off a cave mouth down some 15 metres.

I remember two other girls being there with our group. tik asked who wanted to go first, and I said ‘me!’ very quickly because I was kinda scared I’d chicken out if I waited. it looked like a long way down! but it was also the only way down, so chickening out wasn’t an option.

So I quickly clipped myself in and swung out (!!!) into thin air with my scary-heavy bag pack. this photo was taken. then i heard one of those girls say, “ooooooh man, she’s so brave”, and I snorted so hard in disbelief, I nearly dropped the wrong hand on the rope. the one stopping me from going splat 15m down.

the point here:
i have to deal with life the only way i know works for sure.

i scare myself,
i manage not to crap my pants,
i dust pants off laughing,
i walk away alive and stronger.
wash, rinse, repeat so i don't degenerate into a shivering pile of nerves.

until i find a better way, can't seem to grow much. shaky hurrays.



rethink advertising.

i'm exhausted.

s.little asked me about my plans, after we talked about his great new opportunities. he saw me hesitate. be wary of the loud ones, some of them have mad instincts for people insights.

he said, you should stay in copywriting. see through the potential.

i think, are these hollow days worth this vague potential thing they keep baiting me along with? is it worth it, working toward a day when i can kick my rubbish bin across the office with my fancy Balanciaga boots, and shriek at a regional account director, "you're not here to BUY my work, you little miserable shit, you're here to SELL it!"?

s.little tells me starry tales of being a CD.

Branded bags every month, drinks on the company, expense accounts that go unquestioned and on forever, trips to morroco, japan, vietnam for a photoshoot, being treated like royalty on set, hushed whispers of legendary you, with grand prix, one show, clio, cannes lions and the virginity of a dozen junior account execs under your belt.

he's waiting for the ooooooh's and ahhhh's and whoaaaaa's, but i'm smiling and nodding politely, waiting for him to get to the part that matters. i'm watching his dark eye circles, G's trembling hands, Z's very, very discreet dalliances and thinking of Tik. And Chok, and Ee and Dut. and yes, even Non. thailand folks who probably earn in a year, less than what S.little here spends in a month or two. i know who's more content, centred and delighted with their day's work.

i'm thinking of first cold dinners, and then only the occasional dinners waiting for me at home now. i'm thinking of friends who've been let go of. i'm thinking of a dusty sewing machine and other DIY tools i haven't touched in a year. i'm thinking Spotlight vouchers, wasted on me. i'm thinking of how, i once forgot to switch off workmiho before meeting a friend. i'm thinking of choices i've made against the ballast of work. i'm thinking of how i'm the moon to the earth of my work, and how wide the universe is outside of me, work and the sunny places i'd rather be. i'm thinking of places, faces, traces i've missed while dashing by. i'm thinking of workplace dignity. i'm thinking of living with authenticity. i'm thinking of reclaiming the lucidity of my heart.

i'm thinking, well of course these Creative Directors are smug and sound positive about advertising, they're not fighting for grubs on the floor anymore. and then that where they're at doesn't sound so thrilling to my sensibilities either. i mean, given a choice i'd pick another night laying with head pillowed on that log on the far end of Railay East beach, shooting the breeze and counting shooting stars, than hobnobbing at any champagne party. or screaming at a pitiful account director at 11pm after we've both worked 13 hours straight on yet another fucked up, settled backstage pitch.

drawn but it doesn't ever fire.

sometimes i look at people older than me and how naive they are and i wonder cruel things about them and myself.

it's just another panic monday.

"At what age is it best to crush a child’s dreams so that they have an easier time stepping in to the status quo?"

You fool. You do not do such things to children. A child is like a poison missile you aim at the Future. You encourage, fund and resource their dreams to the fullest extent of your capability, knowing that your reward will be the pain and misery of generations yet unborn.

WARREN ELLIS

what you do not know who WARREN ELLIS is? only the award-winning creator of graphic novels i haven't read yet. Hah. Underground classics too, apparently. Which library has the best collection of comics, any one have any ideaaaaaaas? I'm looking for FELL, MINISTRY OF SPACE, PLANETARY, and TRANSMETROPOLITAN, and CROOKED LITTLE VEIN. And the Sandman Vol 1.

Or i could put it on my christmas list for my colleague-comrades to buy for me. Wheee: 9 guaranteed Xmas presents. Oh crap: 9 Xmas presents to buy. Shoot me.



Funny stories galore from zoukout.

i should start writing them down before the smaller ones start falling through the cracks of my farty mind again, like with KYN and Railay.

Some notes: broken hammock, stealing cigs and saving girls, my HAIIRRRRRR :((((((, bouncing away from persistent boys, trying to set K and CGA up to dance awaaaaay from me, dong who? ooooh dong you, sleep-texting (i was NOT drunk.), using hot girlfriends to steal bathroom time, kop Heinekens, cut queues AND giggle through crowds. making partnership deals with CGA (it's ok Cee, you still my secret friend. NEXT YEAR WE WILL CONQUER ZO.), taking too long to figure out that it's Kelly, not Kali, new friends: not as wild or overwhelmingly girly as they appeared at first,

also also also, steering a staggering ruby-faced ang moh into another hammock, him almost aiming his almightly butt wrong, swinging him wildly and running away laughing like nymphs on crack. Free drinks all night, kicking off my slippers almost immediately, dancing in the sand, grrreat music by i-was-too-sleepy-to-care-who, swearing never to climb for 5 hours straight before an all-night dance fest, what was i thinking?

m: "CGA, OVER HEEREE!"
cga, squints at me: "err, i think you have the wrong guy."
m: "well, remember this?! (finger.)"
cga: "OOOOH, MIHO. what's with that hair... and DRESS!"

sleeping in CGA's car while they (allegedly) chatted. if they made out while i was snoring in the backseat, i will throw up a week's worth of meals, i swear. rock-climbing horror stories, "i got fat, and now i have a butt to fill this bikini", a succession of light sticks from guys kelly smiled at, "meet at the nokia balloooooon" times 42, guys flitting to aud's and sam's sequins like dummy moths, aud's moooooves, aud flashing her bikini whenever she got bored,

"what do you do?"
"i write"
"for who?"
"advertising"
"who?"
"not you."
"oh, ok."

dancing so hard I woke up with all the tension in my shoulders and neck and back goooone, bruises, scratches on my mobile and my specs from dropping it in the sand - boo, that's 51 bucks to fix, and exfoliated feet from prancing in the same sand with bare soles - yayy, save 46 bucks i'd never have forked out on pedicures. losing my slippers 2 zoukouts running, CGA going back to save my slippers this time. this boy is too nice. and the sun rising over a clear sky that looked a little like railay's for a goggy few minutes.

"MIHO, are you wearing a bikini under your dress tooo?!"
"er, i'm wearing shorts under here."
"..."



ok. better mood now. going back to face my monday. i'm dead meat, the senior writer took a week & a half off and i'm the only halfling-writer in the agency.

yeah, freaking out now.

moments so dear.

hi again.

it's been a while. some stuff has happened since we last chatted, you and i. nothing i couldn't handle without too much mess though, afterall, here i am, 56 war wounds not withstanding. (my buddy only counted 55 actually, that one night when we decided there was a ridiculous amount of bruises from the naturally harsh Railay walls, mosquito & other unidentifiable insect bites and scratches on my legs, and they needed to be counted. number 56 & more were incoming.)

i went to Railay, came back different. i talked to folks and changed. saw things so beautiful i teared from staring at them gape-mouthed. said wow more in 9 days than i've done in the whole, harsh year. and yes, my hair's changed. dreadlocks - who would have thought? my mom didn't even really blink, aside from the first outcry which hurt, a little. she's used to me. two weeks before i left for Koh Yao Noi & Railay, i'd had my colleagues draw on two full sleeves of neo-tribal tattoos and a back piece too, for halloween. it was striking & scary-looking, but she still didn't refuse to give me a hug. she's not telling me that she's upset i'd ruined my hair, which she loved. but that's okay, hair grows, and i'd be normal again before she knows it. and so she knows, like the ink that washed off eventually, this too shall pass.

does the hair on top of the head reflect the thoughts between the ears of it? i don't know that i've planned it, but there's a huge change churning in my headspace now, and i'm waiting to see what i'd see when the waves settle down.

my artboys tell me i've changed. hiao, was the word they used, but in a kinda flattering tone. one, veteran of 4 years, told me matter-of-factly, that he thinks now there's a chance i'd make it to CD level. a huge gush of pride and glee later, i'm not so sure that's what i want. but we'd deal with it when it becomes a real possibility lah. until then, frolicking with the artboys is a nice way to spend the time between the screaming fits from above and the workworkwork drone.



it may be awhile until i check in again, stay well and out of trouble, internet strangers.





---


(fictitious, but borrowed from life for realism.)

Jo White. Lighting Designer.
she's the girl who would paint her nails black when she's in a good mood.

she'd lift her alabaster-white hand to the light to squint critically at her work, split a banana-shaming smile, and paint on little flares wherever the light hits on the glossy finish of her dollar-store nail polish. in her spare time, she churns horror stories in her head for her friend who dare not laugh anymore for fear of cracking his healing, broken ribs. no more comedies for him. ah well, they have to find something to do while hanging out still. she dances in the changing rooms and have sworn off boys as more trouble than they are worth. she maintains though, that that's through no major fault of their own. they are just the allah-blessed lightning rods onto which girls and all their dramas hurl themselves toward. she's still more than willing to stand by the poor girl-worshiping fellows, blinking the glare away and chatting about the sunny weather, but they aren't allowed to rebound to her, ever.

on the topic of depression

Then there is this: in some way, the quiet terror of severe depression never entirely passes once you’ve experienced it. It hovers behind the scenes, placated temporarily by medication and renewed energy, waiting to slither back in, unnoticed by others. It sits in the space behind your eyes, making its presence felt even in those moments when other, lighter matters are at the forefront of your mind. It tugs at you, keeping you from ever being fully at ease. Worst of all, it honours no season and respects no calendar; it arrives precisely when it feels like it.

Daphne Merkin on her forty year battle with depression | Life and style | The Observer

record for posterity

a compliment means so much more when it comes from someone i believe is good.
all he said was,

i like her determination. good.

no hyperbole, no gushing, no agenda.


it becomes a mantra to pull out on grey days, and huddle over like a warm flame. it burns resolve into my body so that the centre of gravity finally rocks back and my chin lifts again.

even when shit hits the often-splattered fan; when i don't know how i'm going to pull it off; when i feel more twelve than twenty-one... well.

someone with a thoroughbred heart believes i'm a decent kid.
he thinks i can see things through to the end.

and so i have to. and somehow, i just can.