Random and Rambling

Dear reader,


I'm supposed to be doing my typography assignment now, but I'm getting tired of it. So I decided to take a little detour from the Path of Being Responsible. The scenic route, if you will. This post will be extremely random and rambling--much like the scenery one finds along a rustic, country road--so I suggest you prepare yourself, dear reader.

You know, I was rifling the college library yesterday--dear Lord, was it only yesterday? And today I'm back in the library again. I really spend too much time at school...I have the whole week off, it's my midterm break now. I should be at home, working on my assignments. Note the s, dear reader. Plural. I have at least two assignments due. Actually, more like three. The typeface one for Design Studies, and two for Drawing and Illustration. I'll get them done. Eventually. Fret not, dear reader, I thrive on pressure and caffeine. Lots of caffeine.

Right. So anyway...where was I? Oh, yes. Rifling through the college library. I came across a book, 'Women Who Inspire' by Christina Thomas-Mamora. It's about, I quote, "the thoughts and aspirations of Sarawak women, expressing their passions and struggles, and sharing the fruits of their labour". Or at least that's what it says on the back. I haven't read it, but I probably will once I have more free time. The thing that struck my attention was the dedication:

To 

my mom Nora Linang, my sister Ann Thomas, my daughter Dewi Sorta 

and my friends Maria Corazon Cortez, Baizura Hj. Kamal and Novia Sim

Beauty lies within oneself

What an assortment of names, don't you think? Only in Sarawak. At a glance, I can see at least one name from a native tribe (Linang), possibly an Indonesian one (Dewi Sorta, her daughter. I think it's Indonesian because her husband's name is Toman Mamora, and her son's is Yohannes Wiranata...classic Indonesian-sounding names), a Filipino name (Cortez), a Malay one (Kamal) and a Chinese name (Sim).

Wait a gosh-darned minute, you admonish. Filipino? How would you know it's Filipino? an expression of scathing scepticism graces your features. It's equally likely to be Spanish, you insist, folding your arms in a you-think-you're-so-smart gesture.

Well, my smarty-pants reader, I was getting to that. The reason I'm mentioning this book in the first place is because it mentions Madam Maria Corazon Cortez: Filipino by descent, Sarawakian by choice. Also known as Aunty Cora. You see, I know her personally. She's one of the 'aunties' from church. I really shouldn't be so surprised; she's in publishing, and she's into Sarawak, so it's inevitable that at least one book concerning Sarawak will mention her. I hang out with her son, our families know each other, I say hi to her when we're in church. It's funny seeing her name in print. When it's a stranger, it's nothing but a name. Faceless, devoid of personality, just letters and words. But when you actually know the person, when you can put a face to the name, it's...an entirely different feeling altogether.

Anyway. Just thought I'd share that with you, dear reader. Moving on.

Oh! There's this picture I came across a while back, while surfing for God-knows-what. I forget my original intention for Google image trolling that day, or what weird and wacky trail of findings led me to unearth this particular photo, but I digress. It's a photo of Clara Bow. She was a silent movie star, back in the Roaring Twenties. She's got that 'Flapper Girl' look written all over her. I think I want to draw this one, for shading practice. We'll see.

After that, I couldn't help it. I had to go on a black and white photo hunting spree. I found another one of Miss Bow's photos:

I just love her lazy, sad-looking eyes, don't you? So irreverent, yet innocent at the same time. Another one, this time of (who else?) Audrey Hepburn:

I absolutely adore this movie. 'Funny Face', with Fred Astaire. Did you know she didn't originally plan on being an actress? She wanted to be a ballerina. I loved her in that dancing scene in the bar, with her black top and black slacks and flats. How she managed to still look so dignified and elegant while acting so silly is beyond me. And I'm very envious of her waist.

Ooh, how about this one? Guess who it is:

It's Grace Kelly, of course. The real life Princess. Have you ever noticed how Grace Kelly and Ingrid Bergman look alike? Here, I'll show you:

Hmm. You see? Definitely a bit of a likeness there. At a certain angle, I can't tell them apart.

Anyway. Lately I've been obsessing over this song by Train, 'Soul Sister'. I know, dear reader, how very hipster of me to like a song everyone else is currently fawning over. Whatever. I like what I like, regardless of trends. The lyrics are somewhere between witty and plain silly; between poetic and painfully literal, I can't decide. There should be more songs like this in the world: good music, great words. Enjoy.





That's a fantastic music video, in my opinion. I won't bother putting the lyrics in here, for obvious reasons. I wonder how much time it took to get everything animated and synced to the music and stuff. So anyway...all in all, a wicked cool song and music video from a wicked cool band.

I guess that just about wraps it up for today. I really should get back to work now. I'll see you when I see you, dear reader. Til then, I remain...





Yours,



Figgy...Just Figgy

My mother

Dear reader,






Are you aware that it's Mother's Day today? Or at least it will be for another...one hour.


I was eating French toast with peanut butter and apricot jam just now, while simultaneously surfing the net and trying not to drip anything onto my ludicrously expensive Fujitsu-baby. An advert came on TV--yes, I was watching TV as well...who says I can't multi-task? I think it was for Prudential or something. It was this mother talking in an extremely annoying tone to her kid; like, "I love you, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me, I'll protect you and always keep you safe." I don't know, the way she enunciates gets on my nerves.


My mother was there with me, and I told her I hated that advert. Then she asked me, "Well, how would you talk to your child? Do you ever think of yourself as a mother?" I replied by first snorting, then shaking my head emphatically. She said when she was younger, her older sister (my aunt) never thought she'd be a good mother. "But now look at me. Mothering is all I seem to be doing."


She has four real children, and a score of 'adopted' children, from former students to my sister's boyfriend. You know those adults who just seem to understand young people without needing to try too hard? Yeah, my mum is one of them. She said it's funny how she was such a dysfunctional kid growing up, but now is seen as the 'motherly' type by all the young people we know. And when she says dysfunctional, she's not exaggerating. Her childhood was seriously dysfunctional. We keep telling her to write a memoir or something. I'd definitely read it. There was this one incident involving her older brother, hippies, a nudist camp, and tea. Yup. Remind me to tell you the story sometime.


Anyway, I wasn't really planning on posting much here. Just the token Mother's Day post. Happy Mother's Day, everyone. 

Oh, and by the way, the word 'mother' isn't just defined by a biological link. A mother can be anyone who guides you when you don't know what to do, who manages to teach you things by just being herself, who's not afraid to scold and rebuke you when you cross the line, and who's always there when you need her. A mother is a phenomenal woman, who just happens to care about you enough to look after you and love you.


Phenomenal Woman
by Maya Angelou
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I adore Maya Angelou, don't you? So off you go, dear reader, and strive to become a phenomenal woman. Unless, of course, you are in fact male. In which case, I'm sorry to say, striving to become a phenomenal woman may not be the wisest course of action for you. Become a phenomenal man, then. I'm sure the world could use a lot more of those.

And so, with my token Mother's Day post done, I bid you adieu, dear reader. Til next time, I remain...


Yours,

Figgy the (Not At The Moment, But Future) Phenomenal Woman