Torches for the afterlife

Dear reader,



Tattoos fascinate me. The symbolism, tradition, story behind them. It's curious, how almost every tribe in the world practices some form of placing marks upon their skin. Whether it's cutting, tattooing or even henna. It's a symptom of the universal human tendency to make their stories known, of commemorating their experiences and sharing them with each other.

In Borneo, tattooing is a major deal. It isn't that uncommon to see little old ladies at the Sunday market, stooped backs, hair in buns or braids, with tattoos adorning their arms. Recently, tourism has taken over and figuratively blown the lid wide open on the tattooing industry. For the locals, it used to be a point of shame, a mistake of their youth, some primitive custom that society had outgrown. But nowadays, the interest foreigners have shown concerning tattoos have made them acceptable again; encouraged, exotic even. It's funny, how the appreciation of outsiders managed to bring about the acceptance of the locals.

In my tribe, (the Kayan tribe) besides being a talisman against evil spirits and bad luck, tattoos were also regarded as a sort of merit and reward system. The same way a girl scout would receive a badge for successfully lighting a fire, or for tying a specific knot, Kayan girls would receive tattoos based on their achievements. The more tattoos, the more useful and talented or highbred the girl was, hence the better wife she would make. One interesting thing about Kayan tattoo culture is that all tattoo artists were women. Kayan men didn't give tattoos, but they did receive tattoos, usually for protection and luck. My grandfather had no tattoos that I am aware of, which, I suppose, is unusual.

The Iban tribe, however, were much more poetic concerning their tattoo culture. The bunga terung tattoo (inaccurately translated as the 'Borneo Rose' for the tourists) is the most iconic Borneo tattoo. It is, literally, the traveler's tattoo. Its correct translation is 'eggplant flower'. It signifies the journey a boy must take to become a man. The spiral motif in the middle is the winding road to manhood, the petals surrounding it symbolize the obstacles he overcame along the way. The 'eggplant flower' was typically tattooed in pairs, on both shoulders just below the collar bone. They were placed where the straps of a pack would rest, to strengthen the wearer on their path to adulthood.

Like the Kayan people, Iban people used tattoos to describe their experiences, as a journal of sorts. Their experiences were a bit more adventurous than weaving and cooking, however. Neck and hand tattoos were the rarest. The former because it was extremely painful, the latter because you had to have killed a man. It showed your skill as a warrior, headhunter, or protector of your village.

Most Iban tattoos are solid and organic, depicting stylized animals or plants. Kayan tattoos, on the other hand, were more geometric and symmetric. Kayan society was aristocratic, ruled by the royal family and divided into different castes. The Iban people were more like socialists, and they didn't have a single tattoo artist. They simply took turns tattooing each other. Perhaps that's what caused the differences in tattoo designs.

Examples of Iban tattoo motifs

Examples of Kayan women's arm and hand tattoos

The poetry comes in when you find out the reason behind Iban tattoos. They believed that, when a person dies, their tattoos become torches, or beacons to guide the way in the afterlife. The more tattoos a person has, the brighter they shine, and the clearer the path becomes. Basically, their past experiences and triumphs eventually become their guide, their roadmap to navigating their way to paradise. Beautiful, isn't it?

Well. Enough anthropology for one day. I wonder if I'll ever get a second tattoo, a traditional one this time. Time will tell, I suppose. That's all from me, dear reader. Til next time, I remain



Yours,

Figgy.

One Trick Pony

Dear reader,



One truth has become more apparent as I grow older. The more I learn about a certain thing, the less I know about it. Typography, life, love, design, people. I feel like I'm actually growing backwards. Like Benjamin Button, only on the inside. I must have the knowledge of an average 10-year-old by now.

Oh well. "Just keep swimming", as a wise fish once said. Actually, as a wise fish's scriptwriter once said. But there were probably a few writers, and of course, the director played a part. And the fish couldn't have said anything if the animators hadn't made her mouth move. So, it's more like: as a fish's director, animators, scriptwriters, and voice actor once said. Sigh.

When one receives a design problem, there are two possible outcomes.

Outcome Number 1: an epiphany from heaven. It basically goes down like this. You receive the brief, read the parameters and are subsequently struck down with sudden inspiration. In a glorious moment of clarity, surrounded by the fluttering of a myriad of angels' wings and cherub-trumpeting, you know exactly what to do. You do it. And all is well with the world.

Unfortunately, Outcome Number 1 is exceedingly rare. You can never plan an epiphany, after all. Which leads us to Outcome Number 2: the creative process. People usually forget that creativity is not simply a talent. It is a muscle. It grows stronger with exercise and continued application. Brainstorming, mind maps, sketching. All techniques used to get your stupid creative muscle to churn out a solution that's actually worth putting on paper. A few days of this, and then you're down to the execution. You do it. You finish. And all is well with the world.

Until the next assignment comes along.

Lately, I find that I'm more comfortable with human-generated design. You know, hand drawn typography, illustrations, drawings, paper cut-outs, etc. The computer has been more of a hindrance than a help these days. Is it a phase? Or have I finally found a niche for myself? Whatever it is, I hope I don't turn into the one trick pony of design.

On an unrelated note, M.I.A. once described herself as the "retarded cousin of rap". At the risk of offending anyone out there in the void, I think that makes me the "retarded cousin of design".




Well. I suppose that's it from me. Goodbye, all.




Yours,

Figgy
the Retarded Cousin of the One Trick Pony of Design

smother their hunger and their hatred

Dear reader,


Have you been on Facebook recently? There are so many people out there. Even if you only count the ones here in my little Equatorial city, which isn't exactly a bustling metropolis. I mean, there are billions of people on this planet, all going around doing their own thing. This awes me. It humbles me. To think that I am just a speck in the vast, ever-expanding Universe is just...mind-boggling.

This seems to be a recurring theme for me, dear reader. I live most of my life in a bubble, concentrating on me, my friends, my family, my work, what to wear, what movie to watch. But every once in while, I rediscover this infinitely awe-inspiring truth: we are not alone. No matter how cut off from the world we sometimes feel, there are about 6 billion others just like us, with their own hopes, dreams, yearnings and sorrows. And there is this unyielding connection that binds us to each other, as human beings, as citizens of this earth. A rapport, a loyalty. A respect one immortal soul shows for another. That's what's missing from this world, I think. People have stopped being people. They are numbers, statistics. Soulless and empty. There's just so many of us that we sometimes forget other people are people, too. It might even be some sort of defense mechanism. To think that all of these individuals have lives and jobs and original, creative thoughts is overwhelming and terrifying.

You start entertaining thoughts like, "If everyone on the planet is unique and capable of creativity and innovation, then what do I have going for me? What makes me, me? In the grand scheme of things, do I even  matter?"

I've been there. And I have decided to try and not care. Recognition, fame, genius. I'm slowly coming to terms with the fact that I have none of these, and probably never will. And I'm okay with that. What I really want, I've come to realize, is to be able to touch people's lives, to make a difference for mankind. As corny and cliche as it may sound, I want to help other people. Certain kinds of statistics that are often overlooked or glossed over are the negative ones. The ones that first-world citizens would rather not think about. The starving people in Somalia, genocide in Cambodia, girls forced into child marriages in India, natural disasters, refugees, poverty, sickness. I want to do something about this. I just don't know how. I feel that I am destined for something bigger, better, more profound than what I am currently doing. I want to stretch myself over everything, to envelop the world's needs, to smother their hunger and their hatred.

Did you know, dear reader, that in 1989, UNICEF publicized a statistic stating that less than half of the world's economy would be enough to eradicate the worst problems of poverty and meet basic human needs for the next 10 years? That was more than a decade ago. Why hasn't anything been done? Less than 0.5 % of the world's total economy. That's all it would have taken.

In other words, there is no deficit of human resources--the deficit is in human will.

- Audrey Hepburn, UNICEF Goodwill Ambassador, Statement to the Members of the United Nations Staff for the 1 Percent for Development Fund, 1989

I just think the entire world could use a wake up call. Not to sound preachy or pessimistic, but we need a different perspective. We need to see that who we are, or what we look like, doesn't really matter. We will be remembered by our actions and our convictions. Question is, what sort of legacy will we be leaving our children? Selfish and shallow, or generous and profound?






Yours,


Figgy.

Figgy's not-so-jolly Christmas post

Dear reader,


I don't understand why all those atheists out there who are so dead-set against Christianity and religion find it permissable to perpetuate the lie that is Santa Claus. I know I've made a similar statement before, but it just boggles my mind. I mean, their whole argument against religion is that it's a backward and illogical fantasy, a fairy tale that was concocted by some poor ignorant people as an explanation for things they didn't fully understand. And yet they don't mind letting the stupid "Santa Claus lives in the North Pole and delivers presents to every well-behaved child" myth to continue.

And when they meet people who actually believe in God, they either get riled up or annoyingly condescending. They teach their children that there is no such thing as God, but find it too heartless to say that Santa doesn't exist. It's just another substitute for religion. You've got this mysterious immortal, bearded being who lives in a distant, seemingly unattainable location, and who possesses supernatural abilities to reward all the good, obedient children around the world, and gives the bad children exactly what they deserve. Sound familiar?

I wonder if they know how inconsistent they're being. They substitute God with science, and religion with evolution. They cling to their Big Bang theory, pushing aside all other contradictory arguments in favour of their own, in the exact same way they accuse Christians of doing.

Perhaps I am being harsh, perhaps I am over-generalizing. Surely not everyone who doesn't believe in God are as narrow-minded as I make them out to be. I'm just frustrated with being called a liar or a fool for believing in a perfectly legitimate explanation for the creation of the Universe. I make it a point to never argue with anyone about religion. You can't--and shouldn't, in fact--try to change a person's convictions to suit your own. I mean, they've made up their minds. Nothing you say to them can change that. People are funny. They sneer and ridicule others for having a different lifestyle than theirs, or for not doing things the way they're supposed to. Everyone has a right to their own opinion, even if you don't agree with it.

Well. Enough of that, dear reader. That's the end of my rampage of a post. Happy holidays.




Yours,

Figgy the Believer

Beautifully Unconventional

Dear reader,



Have you ever noticed how singers and celebrities and models nowadays look like they were created and assembled in the same factory? I wonder what happened to society's standards of beauty. Today's ideal of beauty is about having the perfect figure, perfect hair, perfect teeth. It's all about the symmetry these days, it seems. Quirkiness is no longer appreciated. Or rather, only a certain degree of quirkiness is tolerated. Cross that line and you are no longer beautiful, just weird.

Gone are the years of tailored dresses, individuality, and original thought. This is the age of 'standard' clothing sizes (because all women are built in exactly the same proportions, am I right?), the age of conformity. Come on, people. We used to celebrate individuality. Being different was considered awesome and enviable. I mean, look at Mama Cass, or Aretha Franklin. They were unconventional beauties. They had talent, oodles of it, and that made them beautiful.

These days you hardly see any famous people who look like they're actually allowed to have a decent meal. Women like Queen Latifah. When she comes on screen, you just get this sense of calmness radiating off of her. Kate Winslet, also, is absolutely beautiful. She reminds me of those women in Renaissance paintings, with their gracefully provocative poses, and their fearless curviness.

So. The reason for this rant on society's shallow standards of beauty is a certain video on YouTube. Well, not so much the video itself than the comments posted on it. I'm sure you've heard of the singer Adele. And if you haven't, dear reader, then you should check her out immediately. After you read this post, though. Adele is one of the very few modern singers who can actually sing. She sounds better live than she does on her album, which is exactly how it should be. Anyway, all of her videos had some sort of derogatory comment about her weight, some critique on her appearance. All of them. Which is really unfair and, actually, totally irrelevant. Why so shallow, people? She makes music for ears, not for eyes. Anyway, as far as looks go, I think she's beautiful.

See what I mean? She reminds me of Audrey Hepburn. The way she moves, the way she dresses. Her casual, effortless elegance. Also, I like that she seems honest, and she has a sense of humour. People who can't laugh at themselves are so unapproachable and boring.

Oh, and on a completely unrelated note...if Sir Anthony Hopkins had a blog, I'd totally read it. I'd read it like nobody's business. He's an amazing, intelligent, interesting human being. He has Character. He's like a nihilistic, grouchy, zen monk.

So, I guess this is where I say goodbye. Just had something on my chest that I wanted to send out into the void. Til next time, I remain...






Yours,

Figgy

I stand open

Dear reader,






Sometimes I lose hope in the world and its capability of producing good music. I mean, there's the Click Five, the Jonas Brothers, Ke$ha, Lady Gaga, etc...but then, I stumble upon some real music, and my faith in humanity is restored once again.

Fan-made video, ngeh. Song is awesome though. And I love the Avett Brothers' sense of humour, it shines through their songs.

This song is what real music sounds like. This is what all musicians should aspire to be. I'm not exaggerating. Go and listen to this guy's songs, they will blow your mind.

Last but definitely not least. Such a soothing, meaningful song. This is one of those songs you can listen to whatever mood you're in. Because it's so honest and real...it can be happy, sad, or inspiring depending on what emotions you're feeling at that particular moment.

So. I suppose that's it, dear reader. Goodbye, and until next time.

Yours,

Figgy.

"Love all, serve all, create no sorrow."
      
          - Trevor Hall, 'Unity'

beautiful coincidences

i was his from the moment we first met

say what you say or just sail away

your lipstick stains

let me sail, let me sail

elope with me, miss private, and we’ll sail around the world

you're so good to me baby, baby

i'm through with standing in line

all who are weak, all who are weary

the beat goes on, the beat goes on

wake up, bloodshot eyes

i wanna be the minority

a heart that's full up like a landfill

i've been meaning to tell you

she took away all my money

baptised with a perfect name

let's start at the very beginning

jesus, jesus, jesus

while everybody else is getting out of bed

so if you're lonely

i can tell, i can tell how much you hate this

tell me how i'm supposed to breathe with no air

beautiful girls

remember all the things we wanted?

the night will come

So. What do you think, dear reader? Have I finally gone insane?


Do you know what ready-made art is? It is an "everyday object selected and designated as art; the name was coined by the French artist Marcel Duchamp." The term is also used to describe "art created from the undisguised, but often modified, use of objects that are not normally considered art, often because they already have a non-art function." 


What's that, dear reader? You don't care? Ah, but you should care. You see, the pathetic attempt at poetry you see above is my slightly skewed version of ready-made art. Out of sheer boredom and my inevitable tendencies towards procrastination, I decided to experiment. Here's what I did (look, it's a list!)...






The 'How to Procrastinate Like a Professional' List:

1. Have an assignment due, the sooner the better. Preferably within a two-day time period. You could try three days, but it wouldn't have the same impact.
2. Waste time on Internet. 
3. First attempt at getting some work done.
4. Waste some more time on Internet.
5. Give up on trying to get work done.
6. Go to Music folder.
7. Select all.
8. Press play. Shuffle.
9. Write first line of each song.
10. Compile into meaningless, beautiful nonsense.
11. Compose blog post focused entirely on said meaningless, beautiful nonsense.
12. Proofread til satisfied.

There you go. Figgy's patented procrastination formula. My favourite nonsense-poems are the 'standing in line' one and the last one. And what's with the sailing theme in the first and second stanzas? I didn't skip or rearrange any songs, I swear. I just wrote them down in the same order that they came up. Creepy. But in a good way. It's awesome when seemingly random and unrelated things come together to form something so perfect. Beautiful coincidences. Or ordinary miracles.

So, dear reader. Can you guess the songs these first verses belong to? I bet you can't. Well, some are more obvious than others. I enjoyed this little experiment. Expect more nonsense poetry in the future. Til then, I remain...










Yours,






Figgy.