"What's another word for depressed?" he'd asked me from across the room.
I looked up.
"What does melancholy mean?" I asked him, instead.
In that same instant, we both looked up the word.
mel·an·chol·y/ˈmelənˌkälē/
Adjective: Sad, gloomy, or depressed.Noun: A deep, pensive, and long-lasting sadness.
It was good to see you again in the moments before I wake.
In reality, being there with you would've been a nightmare.
But hearing your voice again after such a long time had a smile plastered on my face the entire day.
Wherever you may be right now, I just want you to know that I wish you well.
I was doing some Facebook stalking when I came across an apparent tweet or status update or whatever you call it, about Julia's death.
I was shocked, yes. For when I went to her page, I saw links to newspaper articles with her picture on it.
People don't usually have articles in the newspaper written about them upon death. And this, was a really unpleasant article.
It made me so, so uneasy to read it. I didn't like the things they said in the article.
The last I saw Julia was a number of years ago. And I remember, as a freshman in college, how flattered I was when she spoke to Emily and I, offered us a job.
Here she is, a senior, a model, beautiful. And there I was, an awkward skinny teenager, straight out from high school. Julia, talking to me.
I was awestruck, I have to say.
She was always nice to me, no airs about her.
And that was really all I remembered about Julia.
Then today, the news about her death.
Thank you, for the opportunity almost 10 years ago.
You will be missed, Julia Chuah Sheau Yen (1979-2010).
So a few days ago, my Daddy had a sudden urge to have dinner at this pork place we haven't been to in a long time. It's a small stall on the sidewalk in a very dusty part of the city. Tables were few and far between but if one could wait, the food will make every minute worthwhile.
It was a Thursday, I remember, and rush hour at that.
The thing is, we've never been particularly close. As a matter of fact, we had said some very harsh things to each other that we would never be able to take back. I am not his favorite child, and we had both made it very clear.
Nevertheless, I was secretly thrilled. Me and my Daddy going out to dinner. When was the last that happened?
Dinner was exceptionally good that night after being stuck in traffic for almost an hour. And he had even suggested that we take an after dinner stroll in Chinatown. It took almost all my self control not to burst into song and cartwheels.
What surprised me even more was when he took me through his secret routes, in alleys and backlanes that I would never have ventured down alone. Chinatown to me had always been a place for tourists.
But that Thursday night, for the first time in my entire life, Chinatown was the place I became Daddy's girl for those few hours.
Exactly a month ago, I was sitting on the sidewalk with Stella and she had one skinny arm around my own skinny shoulders.
She'd hugged me before she left and was crying in my neck. "Joy! I'll miss you," she had said to me.
No, Stella, it is I who will miss you.
Thank you for the opportunity to work with you. Yes, you are only 8 but your maturity surpasses that of many people I know. Your professionalism amazes me to no end. You're punctual almost to a fault. You have such good manners that I can't help wishing that every child I come across would be half of what you are. You greet me with a smile everyday without fail. And you've never failed to thank me whenever I do something for you.
I remember that day, when I fell at the jetty and into the boat. You asked me over and over again if I was alright. And you offered to hold my hand as we walked to the unit base. All the way, you tried telling me a story about how the exact same thing happened to you the day before. You struggled with the language, apologizing for not being able to tell the story properly. You said to me that you would tell me again in 2 weeks, when your English was better.
You made my entire month, Stella Kunkat, on the day you held my hand.
And now that you're back home in Germany, I can't help but wonder if you remember those months you had spent here.
I can't help but wonder if you missed me, the way I'm missing you now.
And it's one of the strangest things to feel like I don't belong here.
No hiking shoes, no ponytail, no watch, no insect repellant, no mosquito patch, no torch light, no jungle.
It wasn't like I didn't work in an office in the jungle. We had our own office with (somewhat) proper work spaces. We even had a good (not!) copier/printer that traveled all the way from KL. And yes, there was air conditioning.
Has it really been only 3 months that I was away?
It feels like it was a completely different life. Different from when I was here in the city.
And now that I am back in the city, it feels like I had lived this city life before, only it was too long ago to remember.
How did life in the city becomes so messy, so complicated?
Yes, I love the beers and going out and making the effort to look pretty.
But then comes all the issues of money, work and growing up.
Today, I sit at my desk at the production house in the city.
But all I really want to do is to take that 20 minute boat ride into the jungle and complain about the heat.
I'm stupid.
Like, really stupid.
I can't find it. I've turned the house upside down and inside out looking.
It's not there.
Perhaps this is God's funny way of telling me that I really, really am stupid.
Is home.
And somehow, home has felt less like home than before.
3 months away and it seems like so much has changed.
I'm about to get ready to go to the wrap party.
And when I get there, I'll eat, drink, be merry.
Then, I'll say goodbye to the people I spent the past 3 months with. The ones I like, the ones I saw everyday, the ones whose guts I hate, the ones I grew to like, and the ones I fell in love with.
We will exchange hugs and kisses along with promises to see each other again.
At the end of the night, when we part ways, everyone will know at the back of their minds that there is a big possibility that we might never see each other again.
Goodbye, Jungle Children.
I love that we have faster internet than we did in Kuala Tahan.
I love that my bed is soft and comfortable and makes the fall asleep the instant my head touches the pillow.
I love that the housekeeping staff here is a lot more efficient.
I love that I have a car to get around.
I love that finally, the Germans and PNGs and us, we're all finally under the same roof.
I love that the variety of food here makes me not want o skip meals.
I love that my new roommate and I can have long talks.
I love that everyone's considerably more relaxed and open as compared to when we just met.
What I don't love, is that Jungle Child is coming to an end.
So I'm leaving Taman Negara. For good.
The place that has been my home away from home the past 2.5 months.
Today is the absolute last day that I will be here.
The boatmen and guides all seem to know my face. "Hello, Joy!" they greet me in the morning. And at the back of my mind, I made a mental note to ask Razak just exactly who that person is.
I am one of maybe 5 Chinese girls in the entire Kuala Tahan.
There was a day when one of the boatmen, Deli, referred to me as Amoi over the walkie talkie. And it was on the same channel that I told him off, that my name is Joy, not Amoi, as he knows.
Needless to say, he never once called me Amoi again.
Every morning, when it's still dark, I take Jamal's boat from Liana Jetty to cross over to Mutiara. Sometimes, Jamal would still be sleeping and I'll have to wake him up. To cross the river each way costs everyone RM1. In the first couple of weeks, I paid Jamal RM1 per trip. I could take up to 12 trips in a day if need be.
After that, I never paid Jamal anymore simply because we both can't be bothered with the receipts. And he'd always give me a weekly bill that includes everyone else that crosses the river on his boat.
Seeing Jamal kinda makes my day. He's not an old man, really. Maybe in his 40s, touching 50. But he has an old face and very few teeth. The best thing about Jamal is his laugh. It's almost like a girl's. Always cracks me up.
I'm usually back on the other side of the river by about 10am or 11am latest. There'll always be breakfast waiting for me at the jetty restaurant, simply because they boatmen knew I'd be hungry by then and had ordered something for me to eat.
Over breakfast, Ameer and I would sometimes have empty conversations with the local people. It's amazing, the sort of stuff you find out from the locals when you sit with them over a cup of tea. Or in my case, a can of Kickapoo.
Some days, when I go to the set, it's always with Lan's Boat 4. That is our VIP boat out of the 11 we used which has all the new life jackets and the best looking boatman in the entire Kuala Tahan. Lan has a very good temperament, and always waits for my go ahead before leaving Mutiara jetty. He's probably the only boatman besides Jamal whom I can say I work closely with.
Being in Kuala Tahan has given me many new experiences that I never in my life thought I would go through.
True, there was a lot of heartache and sleepless nights and extreme fatigue. The problems we had with our health and the drama that came with the published article about us shooting a porn flick in the jungle. We had boars making their great escape and dismissal of team members.
On the other hand, I looked forward to the catching up sessions over dinner with people who return from the set every night. I had even taken a liking to Guinness and developed a habit of having one after dinner. It is perhaps during this time that we had all begun to bond and grow closer as a team and a family.
All these people, some whom I'd never met until I came to Kuala Tahan, they were my support system. They were there with me through the hardest of times and they were there when I was happy.
There is something about taking the last boat back to the jetty blanketed by the stars and untainted night sky. So peaceful, save for the hum of the engine from the back. Everyone lost in their thoughts and relishing in the thought of another hard day gone by. There is something about being in the backseat of a 4x4 and bouncing up and down with every bump and corner as we made our way back to the resort with the logging road. There is something about being caught in a storm and having no choice but to wait it out while you sat in the boat that rocked violently and wonder if you'd make it back safely. There is something about wearing those cheap plastic raincoats with your newfound friends and listening to it rustle with your every move. There is something about holding the tiny Annita Kayango that makes me indescribably happy. There is something about the way Markham or Ben or Robin or Ruthie or anyone of the PNG actors when they greet me with so much gusto at 5am. There is something about the mundane weekend routine of putting my laundry basket in the cue and letting the person behind me know that it's his turn.
When people ask me how life in the jungle is like, I know I can't even begin to describe it.
Goodbye, Taman Negara.
I will miss you, so, so much.
I'm not a person who suffers from homesickness.
In general, that is.
But of course, one could always refer to my stint in China and prove otherwise. For that, I have to agree, because it is a case like no other.
Today, I'm thinking of home.
Of the youngest brother who's busy climbing the corporate ladder and hardly home.
Of the parents who always look so much older whenever I'm done with my shoots.
Ever since we sent the maid home to Jakarta to see her dying husband (and she never took the returning flight back here), my parents seemed to have aged quite a bit.
They stopped having regular meals, just because they don't feel like it. And I've noticed that it happens only when it's only the two of them at home.
Now with the eldest moved out, me in the jungle, and the youngest hardly home, I wonder if they are eating at all.
Things are crazy, oh, they are!
I wonder if I'm ever gonna survive this sleep-deprived, emotionally-draining, sanity-reducing challenge.
As much as I love my job, this entire situation sure is helluva crazy.
Counting down.
Only about a week before we start rolling.
I spent the day in a cloud of confusion, dodging in and out of rows and rows garments in all shapes, sizes and colors.
I thought of my Daddy on the day of his 58th, one foot on the retirement path, the other one planted on a lifetime of work.
I remember the weeks before when he was so poorly in health, wheezing like a kitten with every slight breath he took. Coughing, hacking, barely getting any sleep. Blue in the face and barely able to speak.
Yes, that was my Daddy in the weeks before his 58th. And those were probably the most obvious signs in recent times that my Daddy was aging, whether I was ready to accept it or not.
And so on the day of my Daddy's 58th, I spent a good 30 minutes on the floor of one of those aisles, where I was partially hidden by the numerous garments in the warehouse.
I wondered why I was there on that particular day. I wondered why I chose to be away today. I wondered why I had firmly walked down this same path for the past 6 years.
I wondered if my Daddy had known all along that this day would come.
I saw him walk by a few times, looking for me, perhaps to offer a few words of comfort.
And yet, I sat still, barely breathing for the longest time, just wanting to hide. I didn't want to be found.
In the 6 years that I had stubbornly soldiered on, today I wanted to disappear.
I have no use for cruel words or fake smiles. No use for insincere apologies and unspoken grief.
And here, on the dusty floor of the warehouse, on my Daddy's 58th birthday, I remember the words he spoke to me the night before my first day in college; that it is my choice and mine alone.
I will see through it.
Here's to a new year and a new decade.
Here's to the start of my late 20s (sigh).
Here's to a (hopefully) fruitful year that will bring lots of work and more traveling.
Here's to being happy and healthy.
After all, 人生有几多个十年？
Happy 2010, everyone.
I was awakened by a call for help.
No matter, Joy is here.
And then now, I sit in bed, like I do every single year, thinking about the year that had been.
All I can say to 2009 is that I'm glad you're almost history.
Six days to go and I can bid adieu to you.
Out of the 349 days this year, I may have spent 300 of them being unhappy.
Not just pout-and-sulk unhappy. But really unhappy.
It gives me an unsettling feeling. Of disappointments in gargantuan proportion, of nights spent in bed forgetting to breathe.
I'm still trying to figure out how I got here. In a not-messy situation, but so unhappy.
I wonder, if I am the only person in the world who still lived on broken promises. Still.
Still desperately naive, still believing that all good things come to those who wait. Still.
I wonder, if God helps those who are too exhausted to help themselves.
I wonder, if liking myself is enough for anyone else but me.
I have been patient. But at the same time, what am I really waiting for? Perhaps, it is for that one answer that will never come.
In the past 300 days of being unhappy, I have learned that the one thing that you have counted heavily on, will be that one thing that will fail you.
In that same 300 days, I have learned it is never enough when I know what I want and how to get it. Because you don't.
I have learned that no matter how much I put myself first, this self has grown to be dependant on you.
I have learned that people will not treat me the same way I treat them. No, never.
And so, I have learned that I should not have expectations of people.
In these 300 days, I feel like I have exhausted myself. I'm spent. There is nothing left of me to give.
Everything that I have, I have given it my 150%. And you continue to take from me.
I wonder when it will be enough.
I said to you that I'm giving myself this entire year to think about everything.
I think I need time.
I don't ever want to feel guilty for wanting something good for myself. For wanting to be good to myself.
I've stood still here for so long. And it surprises me, for being so un-me. I need to move forward. I need to. I need to know what happens next. I need to take a plunge.
I need to be 26, doing all the things girls do when they're 26.
Going shopping, dressed up dinner dates, house hunting, talking about the future. Leaning on their other halves, knowing the way home when things get rough.
I need normalcy.
Because for the very first time in my entire life, in my 26 years, I wanted out.
Enough.
Enough of your broken promises.
Enough of disappointments.
Enough of talking. I'm all talked out. I've said all that I wanted, but you don't listen.
You never do.
Just once, I want to be selfish. I want it to be about me. I want you to know this is who I am and this is what I want. I want you to give it to me without having to ask. I want you to know even before I know it myself.
Just once, I want to be a self indulgent bitch without having to feel guilty or worrying about the consequences.
So Santa, it's been a shitty year. All I want for Christmas is to be happy.
I'm tired of trying, I'm tired of looking up.
I'm welcoming the new year with open arms.
I was packing to leave for a month-long stint in Shanghai.
Today, I'm reeling from post-shoot jetlag.
Things haven't changed.
*HUGS* TOTAL!
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