Malaysian Artist, Rupa Shares Her Personal Art Journal in This Web Exhibition
"Afraid of being seen in my mess" headlines this collage, juxtaposing the phrase "sweet home". A woman in kebaya stands resolute, and a hand-drawn image of an 18th-century Indian pendant intertwine with each other. A pineapple, sits centrally, with the phrase "Aloha, let’s do this," against the stated opening hours.
I can feel the pain travelling through my body. Like someone had dug into my stomach and took my guts out.
A woman leans left, with her shoulder seemingly expanding into horizons of mountains.
A woman, less demure than previous depictions, is sprawled across a sofa, legs apart, clutching a pillow. Simple green pencil outlines a television, Wi-Fi device, small vases, and incense. Movement on the curtain shows light breeze. A bowl, plate, and cup rest on the coffee table. To the right, the text "Sita’s Place" is inscribed, inspired by Charis Loke's prompt for a place of care.
Andainya aku pergi dulu sebelummu
Janganlah kau bersedih hati
Andainya aku tiada lagi di sisimu
Janganlah kau memencil diri
Lyrics for “Andainya Aku Pergi Dulu” playing on the radio.
A Foggy Road Ahead
I might have walked a kilometre in towards the horizon. The pull to walk further in was strong. For the horizon to take me in. Water just up my ankles. It holds me back, reminds me I’m already amidst the mist. The water could rise, and I’d be out of my depth. The stars above me keep me accompanied. Besides a torchlight or two in a distance, I’m alone.
My mom told me that’s where I’d find her – among the stars – when I discovered death at the age of six and asked her, where’d she go after passing on. Whenever we went out, she would always give me a landmark to go too in case I got lost. So I had asked her, how to find her in the after-life. Without hesitation, she said she will wait for me at the gates of heaven.
The Orion constellation follows me everywhere. My father’s fascination with the outer space, the Milky Way, and the universe leaves its residue with me. He often said, in Tamizh, there are seven words to describe the universe. “English is limiting.” I wish I could name those words, but it is written in his notes… somewhere.
Unlike other kids who grew up reading Enid Blyton, my bedtime stories were pages from the Childcraft Encyclopaedia. So it is easy to recognize the perceived pattern of Orion’s hunter in tonight’s celestial sphere.
I must have been on this beach before. High chances of my parents driving me to the Sepang Goldcoast beach, though I remember Morib and Teluk Batik more fondly.
I saw a young family of three looking at seashells by the shore. They were laughing. Having fun. I must have shared this laughter too. I assume we had a good time.
Beautiful Views on Dusty Windows
In 2016, I was in a little town in an obscure part of Bahia, in Brazil. Took me 52 hours, like asking in Johor Bahru how to get to Kangar and they would tell you take a bus to Melaka, KL, then to Ipoh, and from there to Butterworth, Alor Setar and finally to Perlis. Imagine taking highways that are mere dirt roads, far worse than the jalan kampung where (almost) no one spoke English.
“Is Trancoso safe?” Safe enough for me to wander around the town by foot. Comel lah, no matter which turn I took, I return to the 17th century Igreja de São João Batista, the two-storey tall church, the largest building in the vicinity.
I arrive during the town’s annual festival, very much like the tragic character of Thomas Wilson in Lotus Eater, one of the short stories I studied during English Literature for SPM.
Boys and men both, hold their hands out to ask me for a dance, expertly leading me on the dance floor under the white canopy. I’m smitten by chivalry, dancing all night long with strangers, and eating too much brigadeiro (like melted Milo ladoo with condense milk). As sunrise falls, I’m by the beach with an Argentinian boy accompanied by less than little conversations between us.
That morning, I remember looking at my legs, how they’ve turned into a deep brownish red, with all the sun I have been taking in. No matter how much I brushed off the sand from my legs, stubborn pearly white grains stuck onto my skin. The contrast was fascinating. I saw my skin for what feels like the first time. They were dark, like the universe that held the atmosphere for stars to shine.
The euphoria of being half way across the world, yet being home in my body.
Like a bird who’s seen the world, I return to my golden cage. Instead of finding myself in the vastness of the ocean, I experience nature tucked away between buildings in the city.
Back home, days become weeks. Moving quickly. Morning turns to noon. Noon into night. My cat Salem, accompanies me through it all.
Notice Salem napping on the couch while I write? I don’t know why I don’t write about him as much.
Salem’s been to more islands here than some Malaysians. Langkawi twice, Penang, Perhentian, Pangkor – he’s my adventure boy. We’ve always gone camping together. He thrives in the local jungle, chasing butterflies, playing alongside baby monkeys and running at top speed amidst tall grass between high trees. Little black panther.
Dead Slow Ahead
At home, I travel virtually. He doesn’t. Like this regional meeting across folks from Taiwan, Thailand, Philippines, Indonesia.. and this group knows him well.
I had to slowly get used to attending physical events again. This time to network with like-minded peers in the creative industry, organized by Uthaya Sankar SB’s BACA event in Anak Baba, Brickfields. I used to speak confidently in much bigger crowds, but this time I was shaking.
I ditch the car at home and navigating the city more using public transportation. I’m relieved over the stricter execution of “Ladies Only” sections.
Courageously, I go out for dates again. I drew this in the 15 minutes this 49-year-old Swiss man I met on online dating app was late. He didn’t apologize. He liked the sound of his voice and I had too many opinions. I never heard from him, despite him asking me several times “When can we meet again?”
This date, this guy was looking at his phone the whole time while I was talking. So I started drawing instead. I don’t remember anything about him, not his name nor his face.
A better use of my time, is to keep up with the industry by attending workshops. This particular event was on writing grants for non-profit organizations.
This meeting with fellow activists wanting to take action towards collective liberation was a start of a friendship I didn’t expect. Over time, I got fond over the journalist who invited me and the organizer who barely speaks much but has a lot to say.
Sempat turun protest for LAWAN lagi. Probably the peak of my anxiety during the days of lock-down, attending this on my own. I’ll never forget the eerie silence of downtown Kuala Lumpur – singing Negaraku to drown out the cops – and the helicopter surveillance intimidating us from above.
I’m glad to return to more calming endeavours but I didn’t expect to be met with animosity by one of the fellow trainers. She never acknowledged me, despite the several days we would be working with each other.
Jalan-jalan cari makan with Alex, and his family in Melaka. The best rum & raisin cake I’ve had in my life! Mabuk with love. My first trip after what feels like forever being stuck at home.
Of course, Cendol is a Malaysian sport that deserves its own dedicated time on one’s list of things to achieve in life.
Will the Light Ever Turn Green?
The both of us are like lost lovers casually getting up at the same time. Regaining our physical reality. Drowsy in sleepiness, stumbling around the house.
I watch Salem through the curtain, a moment I wish to capture. His eyes are closed, yet he's awake, inhaling the stillness around him. Outside, the world hums with activity: the buzzing of the grass cutter, the distant honk of cars, and the whistling wind.
Each leaf has its own flow. Like a dancer. While I have learnt to look at shapes, and learnt to draw the outlines, I like the process of drawing each blade on the left. I had to be observant of each shape in order to create its mood.
There’s no need to go anywhere. To do anything. My vision is cloudy. I feel chocked up. I wonder if I’m always going to be in this dampened state.
When the fire that burn brightly as passion starts burning me down, how do I save myself?
Where I find decay, I dig up signs for where life once was. All I can afford now to is to search for shapes, shade the shadow and sketch some lines. I have my art, and I’m saved by it.
The fire that once ignited my passion is now swallowing me whole, burning me out.
For I can do is to sit and attend to these big feelings when they arrive.
When my friend, Allie Hill sent me a note Jo Kukathas published about her missing cat – I refused to read it. Maybe I always knew this day was coming, but nothing prepared me for it. Coming home to a house without Salem was beyond horrible. That five kilograms of fur ball took up the space of a six-foot-tall man.
I saw him (hopefully not for the last time) in Ranting Resort, Cherating. We didn’t get to say goodbye.
The compounding effect of loss, is now pacified with rituals and prayers. While participating in traditional forms of prayer in temples offers a form of solace, for a more cathartic surrender, I find myself singing to the sea in Santubong, “If I’m not taken, let me live”.
I want to tell my mother now, it’s been so long – don’t wait for me by the gates of heaven where we promised to meet.
Re-connecting to my little cousins’ remind me I’m connected to more than just my pain in this lifetime.
Learning about Yemenje, the Mother of water spirit from the Yoruba religion eventually led me to wanting to find out more about mermaid folk tales in Sri Lanka - specifically Karainagar where my maternal lineage is from.
How do I explain to my student, I’m like the butterfly who may not see beauty but it embodies it everywhere she goes?
Where Do We Arrive?
Not merely staying alive anymore from here forth, but I want to flutter through the gray places that was taken away from my kind. In this fast, concrete, dusty highway, I’d rather be a fragile out of place butterfly many lifetimes over. Right now, I have nothing left to give but like that butterfly I saw flying across the highway in Batu Caves so randomly, maybe all I’m meant to do is to grace my presence where I’m not meant to be.
“The mischievous nature of pixies supply courage to play with art, to create a world just for you.”
Original photo by Vaneesha Krish, photo manipulation by Catherhea Potjanaporn. Year 2022.
