From my comrade's blog.

一定要好好工作，
不管情绪怎么样，工作时间都要咬紧牙根撑过去。
能有一份工作算是非常幸运，不会去在乎薪金和人事问题.

I must work hard, no matter how I feel, I must endure it all.
I am very lucky to have a job.
I would not be bothered about salary and conflicts among colleagues
.

Taken entirely from MALAY MAIL .
One thing many will agree upon though, despite the hard news reporting, is the paper’s quirky sense of humour.

Through the years, many creative minds have contributed to the paper… lending it a unique personality that easily stands out from other publications in the country.

Even its in-house ads reflected the character of the paper as evident in two particular ads which came out circa 90s (go check them out in the other pages of this final edition of the newspaper in print!).

Unbeknown to many, the creative force that was behind those ads was none other than the late storyteller extraordinare, Yasmin Ahmad.

Yasmin would go on in the next decade to stamp her mark on Malaysia’s collective psyche; not just for her advertising artistry that included those tear-jerking Petronas ads Malaysians looked forward to every single major celebration, but also for her films that were deceptively simple but infinitely relatable.

From her debut in 2003 with Rabun to the breakthrough hit that was Sepet the following year, Yasmin amassed not just a following, before her final effort in her fifth full-length feature film in 2009’s Talentime, but also the respect of an entire industry.

From sitting down with Yasmin and dissecting Sepet to being stunned on the set of the controversial Muallaf in 2008 where lead actress Sharifah Amani shaved her head to Yasmin’s gentle shrug at the reaction of her established peers walking out of her Gubra premiere in 2006, I was fortunate to have been able to write about her work.

The final print edition of Malay Mail would be incomplete without featuring Yasmin and it was by sheer coincidence that the two ads featured in these pages were found.

The discovery came in the form of a chance discovery of a special collectible — a limited shoebox edition of Yasmin I Lup Chew.

Nine long years after her passing, Yasmin’s legacy is kept alive through reproductions of her raw works that ended up captivating the hearts, minds and imagination of Malaysia.

Launched in tandem with the book, Yasmin I Lup Chew, titled after the lovingly cheeky phrase she became known for, it is a must-have offered for sale only online.

An exploration of its contents reveals a treasure trove offering an insight into the eccentricities that made Yasmin Ahmad special.

Neatly packed in the shoebox is a painstakingly reproduced collection of her works a book could not house.

Handwritten poetry, ideas, miscellaneous jottings, scripts and photos, apart from the book itself are in reproductions of a notebook, the occasional doodle, a sketch, an old-fashioned photo album from the Nineties and a ‘newspaper’ with articles and press ads dreamt up by Yasmin herself.

And in the pages of the I Lup Chew Daily, sandwiched inside are these two rib-tickling funny full page ads about the Malay Mail.

While it is aesthetically awe-inspiring to see the attention to details in the recreations with the yellowed and aged pages, and little blotches of correction fluid (today’s generation will never fully appreciate the use of Liquid Paper), the magic here is the insight into Yasmin’s musings.

The box is akin to finding a little time capsule. Sister Datin Orked Ahmad would probably know best, as much of the material was sourced from an actual shoebox, that held most of the items.

“When I saw it, I cried. It was exactly as she left it,” she sighed.

“We kept it as a limited edition item, because we wanted to keep it special for those who appreciated, missed and treasured her.”

Through the beauty of technology, former colleagues and a new generation of creatives have managed to put together the package that is a work of art on its own.

One of those mainly responsible for the limited edition shoebox is Virgil, who worked with Yasmin as a copywriter from the late 80s at Ogilvy & Mather to her last agency Leo Burnett.

“Yasmin kept her handwritten notes and photos in various shoeboxes, just like how she depicted it in her movie Gubra (where Alan Yun shows Sharifah Amani his late brother’s shoebox hidden under his bed).

“In the Ogilvy & Mather office, whenever Yasmin noticed struggling fellow copywriters, she would show us her… shoebox. And tell us stories.

“She was never lokek or kedekut when it came to helping others improve. She never hoarded knowledge.

“Her library in the office was open to all. She would even insist we read her books on Zen koans, the Tao Te Ching, Rumi’s Sufi poems, even Wislawa Szymborska’s Polish poetry.”

At Leo Burnett, Yasmin organised classes every Friday night to teach whatever she knew, which by the third week, attendance had dwindled to Virgil alone.

“She didn’t give up teaching the one person who turned up.”

Bringing the project to life was Fictionist Studio founder and creative director Joanne Chew, along with art director Jona Lim and intern Kimberly Yap.

“We were given quite a lot of disparate materials to work with, and the freedom to suggest how they could be showcased.”

The small team worked with paper sponsor Antalis as well as printers, Percetakan Image Vest, to ensure that all items were faithful reproductions of Yasmin’s stuff.

“I had received a call from Hyrul Anuar, a friend who was part of the team at Leo Burnett who was tasked to get the project off the ground. He asked if I was interested to take on the project.”

Despite budget restrictions and swamped with work, Chew however agreed.

While she knew of Yasmin, she never had the opportunity to meet her – and working on Yasmin I Lup Chew was an eye-opener.

“I think most of us Malaysians identify Yasmin as a creative genius. That was what I knew of her, and her witty sense of humour.

“But working on Yasmin I Lup Chew shed so much more light on what a kindred spirit she was, how quintessentially Malaysian she was, in the movies she made and her outlook on life. She loved her family and country so steadfastly, it was beyond inspiring. And not to mention her humility.”

And that was the creative direction from the get-go.

For Virgil it was years in the making, and for Chew, endless hours spanning five months.

“It was a labour of love and our way of paying tribute to her — by trying our best to design a damn bloody beautiful book which matches a damn bloody beautiful soul,” said Chew.

“Having received positive reactions has been very rewarding for us but more importantly, we hope that this project can inspire other Malaysians to be more compassionate, live life with a greater purpose and the realisation that something can always be made from nothing, just as how Yasmin did.”

Yasmin Ahmad never wanted to be idolised nor was she perfect, and that is one of the messages the team hopes to get across.

“Everyone, herself included, started from nowhere, and took years to improve as you can see from her notes, poetry and ideas.”

“What if I missed the chance to let him know the truth, forever?”

I met up with one of my best friends today.
As usual, we chatted about everything under the sun.
We don’t need to self-check when we are together.
We both have the unfortunate similar past which binds us closer than anyone else.

“Did I tell you about this guy?”
“No! Tell, tell !”
I was surprised that I had never mentioned this guy to her.
Did I ? Or did I not?
Or perhaps she forgot?
Bad memory is another unfortunate common trait that we share.

I had to tell her the story from the very beginning.
She was so excited that she kept interrupting me,
“Go for it ! Don’t care! Go!”
I felt oddly surprised that she has such different approach towards this matter.
I continued my narration of the story.

How special he made me feel. How attentive he was.
“ No matter what, I can’t deny how flattering all the attention was. Come on, at our age?” I confessed sheepishly.
“Go for it!” She was relentless.
I giggled at my friend’s enthusiasm. It’s indeed a delight to see her so unusually optimistic.

As my story was about to end, she asked, “What does he do?”
“It never occur to me to ask,”
 I was surprised at this truth. Why didn't I ask him? Oh ya... I had always avoided personal topics between us, to keep the boundaries safe. I couldn't risk misleading him.

“Is he handsome?” she asked.
 I smiled.
“Did I mention he’s Malay?” I suddenly realised I had forgotten to include this element of description.
My friend’s mouth was ajar. “He’s not Chinese?!”
I snorted. How presumptuous of her !
And with that, she seemed to have lost interest in anything I say about him.

I self-reflected a moment.
I never cared about the 3 things that she seemed very concern of.
She on the other hand, doesn’t even consider the worries I shared with her in my story as important as I do.
What an interesting difference between us to ponder on.

I wished that I have more about him to add into my narration.
But alas,now he has chosen to ignore me.
Why isn't he replying my messages? He sensed that I won't respond to him?
I regret that our communication ended hanging like that.
Now both he and I will never know.

I will never forget the fact that I was once cherished by this fine young man.
How he made me blushed.
He has given me a memory so sweet that it will definitely recall a smile in many years to come.
And I need him to know that.
I think of him each time I hear this song by Li Yu Gang 李玉剛; 剛好遇見你

因為我剛好遇見你
Because I just met you
留下足跡才美麗
Leaving the beautiful footsteps
風吹花落淚如雨
the wind blows the flowers and in compliance with the rain weep them
因為不想分離
Because of the unexpected separate

因為剛好遇見你
Because I just met you
留下十年的期許
Leaving behind the ten years expectations
如果再相遇
If we meet again
我想我會記得你
I think I will remember you

I've been more stable lately.
MTn AmK queried me.

"I think I finally got the right pieces of the puzzle together.

In the past, I've been forcing the wrong pieces together and the picture just didn't make sense.
I got lost.
Confused.
Depressed.

Now, the pieces slide nicely with each other.
The puzzle pieces fit.
The picture is ugly.
But ugly truth is better than a misleading illusion.

No matter how painful and ugly,
I sense peace in facing the truth.
My truth.

I've been sending out flowers to my friends.

Such joy to spread the love.

I love the promotional campaign slogan the florist is using.

#justbecause

We don't need a reason to send flowers .

We should just do.

 

update June,2020

 Aidil Adha.

 "Aren't you afraid? Standing so close to the sacrificial slaughtering site?"
"No way!"
After the deed was done, he sheepishly wiped his eyes with his right arm.
"You crying?"
He gave a firm nod, without turning around. 

I wrote this on the group's comment page.

My dear friends , I’ve had this nagging desire to drop a note here for the longest time. But each time I was prompted, I’ve always felt that I was unworthy, that I wasn’t good enough to execute my intention. Oh, the song posted by Tze N really made me teary.

I felt it was a confirmation from God that I must fulfil the deed.

My dear dear Church friends. Oh how often I’ve thought of you each one of you.

Simple daily things that I see, hear, feel, or do can easily bring back those Church memories.

For example, just random thoughts….

How Tracy stood outside my old place in Jelutong with bags of pasar groceries waiting for me. It was a cooking / eating day for us. Due to fault of mine, she had to wait outside in the hot humid weather for me.

Tracy, I have not forgotten your cooking tips! And how I love your “Abudden” jokes. And how you had taught me your family secret of frying an egg.

And Jessie ’s clear enunciating voice that can put many radio presenters to shame. How she would laugh at herself.

Tze; her facial expression when she is in deep thought, and how she elegantly finger-swipes her Ipad when she is sharing or preaching.

Samantha N how she claps her hand to brush off the stain while cooking. And the many cute candid stories which she shared in BS. Samantha, I will never forget that during my darkest hour, you had very nonchalantly open up those encouraging videos for me to watch. It was really kind of you. You were so sensitive. You didn’t ask me anything. You purposely kept the conversation light.

I will think of Pastor Lean S each time I’m in those wholesale snack shops ( which is very often). I will never forget her sharing in the Cameron Highlands, about ‘planting seeds’. The discussion was serious, but you didn’t want to give too much pressure to the sharing group, you said, “.. . something for you to think about, …” how you had gestured by dropping the metaphorical seed. Lol how your hand gestures will fly up when you need to make a point.

I will always remember Shirly G sharing about her students, how she persevered with the ex- Principal, how she will allow her students to see her sunburns and suffering or else her students xin li bu ping heng… so funny

I’d remember the nice free bakeries we enjoyed from Edinlyn. Yvonne Por’s comical “Jinjia you?”- Korean.

Pei’s love and concern for me during our private chats and her husband’s pandan jelly ! lol. and when Sam drew a mole on his 'ugly' picture during the game of  pictionary and Ps Steven was offended. He laughed till he teared up... lol ah.. Who can forget all those great games we played

So so many memories… 

Thank you for all your love and acceptance of me. Forgive me for not keeping in close touch. My heart is true.

On my first outing with friends since my depression- hibernation.
She hugged me and whispered, "So good to see you alright."
My body shivered.
My eyes glistened.

I was very close to the borderline.

Have changed my blog intro.
Decided to save old one here.
Clarity is a rare luxury in my life. My very own mind betrays me.
It sends me self-destructive information,causing me to be lost in the ruins of my actions.
I have more appointments with the psychiatrists than with friends.
This blog helps me remember who I am and the dangers that lurk inside of me.
I thank you for your readership.Your presence here makes me feel less alone.
I now live my life imitating the words of Tom Hanks in Castaway-
“I know what I have to do.I have to keep breathing.
And tomorrow the sun will rise, who knows what the tide will bring in.”

I was given a written test.

My best friend.

My best friend? I chuckled inwardly.

Who to write?

Here goes.

I met up with ShW.
She is facing some problems with her work situation.
Her boss gave her the 2nd written warning letter due to poor work appraisal.
She was also not eligible to receive this year's bonus.
Fortunately, she has found a new workplace.

Still, she felt bad.
I tried very hard to let her know how much I admire her.
"You went to work EVERYDAY, despite having the Darkness pulling you down.
It's no simple feat. I can imagine the effort to overcome the difficulty.
I really look up to you."

She just gave a weary thin smile.

I came across this movie while browsing online.

NY Times Movie Review

Glória Pires stars as Dr. Nise da Silveira (1905-1999), who as the film opens is taking up a post at a psychiatric hospital near Rio de Janeiro in 1944. She settles into a seat in a lecture hall where the benefits of lobotomies via thin spike are being extolled, then witnesses a cruel demonstration of another favorite technique, electroshock therapy.

“I don’t believe in healing through violence,” she tells colleagues, but, especially since she is a woman, they are dismissive. They assign her to what they think is busywork.

She transforms the insult into opportunity, creating a unit in which patients who had been written off are given a chance to express themselves through painting and other art forms. The results are startling.
The movie, full of characters behaving erratically, could easily have taken on the aura of a freak show, but the director, Roberto Berliner, somehow stays respectful of the subject matter even while depicting extreme psychiatric conditions. It’s a study of courageous innovation against an entrenched medical orthodoxy.

“Our job is to cure patients, not comfort them,” one colleague chastises.

“My instrument is a brush,” Dr. Silveira replies curtly. “Yours is an ice pick.”

By Neil Genzlinger

Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade's suicide has caused a lot of buzz.
Below is one sharing which resonates with me.
By Pete Teo 

Lots of people suffer from depression. I used to suffer from it. Although it last descended on me decades ago, I still feel it in the back of my head, seeping out in the shadows of my work. It’s not an easy thing to understand, but I can try to tell you a little more...
The overriding mental condition of someone in a severe depressed state is one of utter futility. Nothing is worth it. Nothing has meaning. There is no point in anything. You may escape for a moment, but the dark mist is all around. Until it decides to lift, nothing matters.
It isn’t the same as sadness. It isn’t being fearful. It’s the darkest, loneliest nothing. When it’s especially bad, there is no hope. That’s when you think of ending it. Everyone who’s been in that place has thought of suicide. Everyone. Some take action. Most pull back.
I got it when I was a child. It came regularly till my late 20’s. It affected my studies, social life, and worldview. I studied nothing but religion for a few years thinking it might help. Not for me. Writing did help. So did reading, or watching films. But not always.
I soon learned how to use it in my art. I tried to make beauty out of it. Later, I took it on stage as a performing singer songwriter. A seasoned pro saw me play live and said “You go to that empty place when onstage. Let me save your life. Please don’t. Learn to act when you play.”
He did save my life. Touring is a series of stage, audience, and hotel rooms - repeat. If you did what I did, which was to play personal songs honestly and left nothing behind, it’s dangerous. The audience might find communion, you might even feel connected for a while, but you eventually returned to the hotel room alone. It’s dangerous.
You see, as an artist you feel duty-bound to give it all. But having emptied out you are left with that same hole in your heart. Who will fill it? The audience? It’s not easy to admit this, but even the most adoring fans are just strangers in the crowd. That’s the truth.
So now you know why many artists kill themselves. It’s not about material success. When amplified by celebrity, that futility and loneliness at the core of all depressives becomes magnified. Then one night the mist descends. You might feel even the best in you is futile. That’s when you kick the stool.
It is human to feel the loss of an icon. #AnthonyBourdain stood for so much good in this world. Yet don’t forget that depression afflicts more people than you think. It is literally all around you. Do listen to them too. Just listen. Don’t judge. Ordinary stories are worth just as much.
I have a notion that people who suffer from depression recognise each other instinctively. I find them in a line of another’s tweet, a song being played, or a look in the eyes. The night people. They are some of the most interesting people I know. Certainly some of the best.
And should you be one of the night people, know that there are many like you. Just as I found solace in creativity, you can too, even if in just talking to a friend. There is help all around. The world is filled with good people too. It is not all meaningless.

Keep walking.
By Pete Teo

Taken entirely from www.bbc.com/news/

Kayley Olsson, a 20-year-old student hairdresser in Waterloo, Iowa, posted on Facebook on Tuesday about a girl who came into her salon with densely matted and tangled hair.

"Today I had one of the hardest experiences - I had a 16-year-girl come in who has been dealing with severe depression for a few years now," Kayley wrote in the post, which has been shared over 55,000 times.

The teen had explained to Kayley she "felt so down and so worthless she couldn't even brush her hair, she only got up to use the restroom."

The teenager had a school photograph scheduled and she asked the salon to cut off all her hair because she couldn't face the pain of combing out the matted knots and tangles.

But Kayley and her colleague Mariah Wenger, who are both beauty therapy students, refused to shear the teen's waist-length hair.

"Cutting her hair was absolutely not a option for me.

"I knew right then and there that we had to keep as much hair as possible," Kayley told the BBC.

"Shaving was a last resort and something none of us going in wanted to do," Mariah added.

"It took a lot of encouraging words, reassurance, and just plain conversation to take her mind off of the pain involved in removing the matting and to boost her self esteem and confidence.

"I was able to very closely relate to her mental health problems and the daily struggle that comes with them, due to my struggles with postpartum depression and anxiety," explained Mariah, who has two children.

"I understood how it felt to feel worthless - a child should never feel like that.

"I knew I had to help her, just like people helped me. We all deserve to feel beautiful," Kayley said.

After detangling it as far as shoulder height, Kayley and Mariah cut and shaped the teenager's hair.

"Let's just say we both let out tears of joy!

"Her last words to me were, 'I will actually smile for my schools pictures today, you made me feel like me again,'" Kayley explained.The post has received nearly 60,000 comments (at time of writing), including women relating their own experiences of mental health problems.

"It's happened to me - I suffer with bipolar and had an episode and didn't brush my hair or take care of myself - just remember beautiful girl you're not on your own," wrote Sarah-Lee on Facebook.

"I work with mental health and good for you. I see this daily it's sad but so true," said Renay St Amand.

"I've been in this position and I can't tell you how comforting and important it is for a hairdresser to be kind and understanding. I wasn't judged either and got my hair back to being beautiful," wrote Claire McDonald.

"I have been struggling with my depression and suicidal thoughts. It's hard to even get out of bed but I try to fight everything negative. Plus you are beautiful and you are worth something I promise," another woman posted.

"I'm so glad there are people out there who understand mental illness... So a big thank you to you for putting your whole heart into this lil lady," wrote Angelbear Read.

Others described how beauty and grooming can be important to people experiencing depression.

"You are awesome to recognize this as a mental issue and also for giving her back her dignity by fixing her hair issues," wrote Patricia Barron-Gondeiro.

By BBC UGC Hub & Social news

About two weeks ago, after months of self-imposed home imprisonment; I went out.
I went window shopping in a big bookstore.
I heard a man speaking very loudly.
"You know how many people in Malaysia uses a dictionary?"
When the other sentences seemed incoherent, I turned to look for the source of this noise.

It was a tall Asian man in his 40s.
He was talking to himself.
No one was with him.

My heart ached.
Oh no.
Another one.
Another one of us.
He looked quite well physically, handsome even.
If not for his behaviour, and his odd choice of clothes; he'd passed as just another ordinary dude next door.

I dare not look at him.
I was scared.

It could have been me.
It still could...
It really could.

My shame twisted my heart as I stole another glance of him.
Will he be ok?
Will I be ok?
Will we be ok?

I watched The Avengers : Infinity War
Twice.
It was really good.

I gush each time Ironman transforms.
Each time.

The movie was so good that I'm backtracking to the previously screened Marvel movies, eg, Black Panther, Dr Strange, Winter Soldier etc.

Perhaps I could make movie-watching as personal rewards? Little goals in life, something to look forward to?

I can't believe that after all these years, after all that has happened,
I'm back in the same dark hole.
Same.
Dark.
Hole.

"A place so bad where I thought I must have completed that "quota" in life and I won't have to go through it again.
A very dark place where it was a miracle that I have survived/escaped before.
Now that I'm back in that place.... everything in me is either breaking down, giving up or self-destructing...I'm just so tired....
Just so tired of this same misery"

I tried so hard to paddle myself out of this but now find myself back at the very same place.
Only older.
I am aging and much of my youth was spent on paddling in aimless circles.

One good thing about being deep in my dark corner, my sanity is somewhat more stable.
This is when the full blast of reality hits me.
All the things that have happened.
All the things that I have said and done.
A personality that isn't really me and yet it was me.

How I cower in shame.
And this cycle will happen again.
In the still dark night, the icy reality pierces through my shivering thoughts,
" I am unwell. I will be unstable again.
I can't even depend on myself, my own mind.
I am crazy.                     C.R.A.Z.Y.
I am that person whom others stay away from ."

I.
Can't.

The news of Dolores O'Riordan's death saddens me deeply.
First Chester Benington and now her?
The two singers whose voice resonated with me since I was in my teens.

I'm listening to The Cranberries now.
I'm transported back to the time when I was just 15 and was listening to these songs over and again in my walkman.

D@mn.