HAIDEE
Behind this smile….there is a void...something missing...I remember those 50km away from city centre...walking in the sand...dirtying my feet...the tiny scratches on my skin…
Behind this smile….there is a void...something missing...I remember those 50km away from city centre...walking in the sand...dirtying my feet...the tiny scratches on my skin…
When speaking of borders, I get expressive...emotional...melancholic....I think of distance..what will happen to physical connection..that of my community..my family..they are rocks of my life where I am the sea….this is supposed to be a celebration but even so, how far I go, I know where I actually belong…Still, within me, there is acceptance of the spaces of where I am at …
I am here...there is always hope in all places you arrive at..
Personally, I feel there is no border...it’s never about you...we just go with the flow….be like the river..free...there is current everywhere...you cannot avoid waves...so be gentle...just be what you want to be…
Personally, I feel there is no border...it’s never about you...we just go with the flow….be like the river..free...there is current everywhere...you cannot avoid waves...so be gentle...just be what you want to be…
PRANAY
All these questions on borders and belongings point to the same thing represented in different forms and appearances. I like that question,”How far is far?”….it leads me to more questions...lingering across my mind...moving towards perfecting a new form and place…
To find a balance between a new worldview and keeping the old one alive…
I feel a friction...to hold onto roots yet to move ahead...it is all about choosing distance...like a library book on the shelf. You grow from the unfamiliar into thoughts of the familiar in that search of home…
And the location of home? Where the community is...in its constant resettling...unsettling...never fully home, are we? Is it where there are echoes of a festival...a celebration...a site of reflection....like a mirror....a load of longing.....?
Water is shapeless..formless...yet it is full of life...there is a wholeness...a completeness...away from the human layers and flaws...so I say, water, stay as you are...stay as faithful…
SARI
When I write about belonging, I wish the words show up…come on, show up...There is a heaviness as I speak with confusion and sadness…all this new environment, people, culture...but is this not growth?
I enjoy this discovery, I enjoy being myself with a sense of direction..with the river as part of life...it directs me back to childhood innocence...where the water is like a hometown..
I have been through a lot to be here today with the ups and downs.... The pasang surut..it comes and goes... ombak...so I stand here with a sense of gratitude...to never be afraid...while my fingers comb the water. There are so many lessons waiting to be learnt...so I carry them within my arms until it becomes numb...numb...these arms...numb until I dance again…
YULIA
When I draw a border, there are both lines of hope and melancholy…..of me remembering the old places...of me adjusting to the language of the present...of me being foreign in the familiar....I tell myself, it happens to everyone...the rite of learning...the act of survival...that rush to adapting…
I remember, in the middle, between two villages lay a river...I will cross that river at home and here, I look for something that makes me feel the same…. feel at home again...but am I not a tourist now at home?
I remember, but remembering is violent....it leaves you cold...so I stare into all that is soothing...like staring into the clouds...I fall into the emptiness where I am able to imagine everything..and I keep moving..I keep offering hope...I give and give and give but I remind myself to keep something for my own self..not to give it all away.
Remember, don’t empty yourself out...you can’t pour from an empty cup...don’t vanish..you still need to be..
DANUSHKA
When I think of home, I remember the rivers...waterfalls....mountains...Here, I think of the care and future of nature….no use of the natural when not preserved... better the artificial ones that are protected.
Yes, here we are alone, we don’t know the people, culture, language, yet we change… I don’t see spoken language as a border...as there is always body language...that eye contact... There are always things to learn with losing...there are new parts, things, ideas birthing.
Water takes the form of a vessel...like water filling a water bottle...it takes up the shape...same like humans within land..we take up volume and space….we change...we transform...with positive and negative ideas both...there comes focus in choices.
These shoulders..they carry burdens...so I use my vision and that eye contact to see the faraway distance….where I cannot be at physically…but I can be there with imagination...
ELLEN
When I think of borders, I think of freedom, lost...of something taken away..that struggle to accept...coming from a place where freedom is not exercised to be oneself freely….it is confusing when I yearn to honour the gender when there is a border within the body.
For me, your motherland will always be your motherland....I live far from the water..I have to cross a border to get to a river...I recall the atmosphere...the lake being dormant..serene...all sorts of meditative…
But then at times, the state is numb so I learn that there may be time it needs to pause...to have blockages...obstacles are necessary to find a way towards acceptance. You need to know when to let go...My wish to you, dear water, if possible, stay still...
But then at times, the state is numb so I learn that there may be time it needs to pause...to have blockages...obstacles are necessary to find a way towards acceptance. You need to know when to let go...My wish to you, dear water, if possible, stay still...
JUWEL
When I draw the border of water, I start thinking of dreams... where there are reflections ...stories of sadness...I think deeply of missing communication...especially during this pandemic...all the stories of disconnection…If you ask me, border is needed now, border protects...here where we are high on security...border works with law and order.
Now with order, I can dream again...of my grandmother's house by the waterfall...all the nature where now, here, spaces are limited. How do I dream? So I rest my mind, telling myself the river is ever changing...it always joins the sea...and I tell myself am I not the river?...where in the morning i am small...at night time i am vast like the sky...even the colours change...I, the Man, is the same...full of sorrow and joy....am I not the river? Or am I the fish? Or the eyes that see?
And if the river dies...the fish dies...what more Man...and his energy...and when both his eyes die, that he can't see and do, can he still dream…?
