'Balik' with Nurin Raihana Ramlee
We sat in a circle on the cement floor, together with her peers. While waiting for Hayati to bring my black with no sugar coffee, we talked. Then I began my 'sembang' with this sweet girl, Nurin.
Ya, can call it a circle of trust where one can hopefully open oneself honestly and safely. Of course, there were layers upon layers of cognitive or mental veils to be unveiled. I tried to keep the vibe chill. I was hoping that she speaks from her hearts, instead of just pretending to be clever. I carried this legacy or more likely a 'sumpahan' before, where final year students were scared of me during assessment. More so when they tried to pretend to be clever instead of being themselves. I was even nicknamed 'sang algojo' before. I hated that legacy. It sucked, and made me sick. Im not sang algojo coming to Sri Iskandar to execute students.
I looked at her. Nurin, 23, from Kuala Kangsar. Shy, yet courteous and warmly polite. I could sense her nervousness, trying her best to present herself well. I appreciated that. Had to make her feel safe.
"Ok Nurin, share with me about your works. Relax. Be youself, speak from your heart."
Then she shared her statement about her works. She studied 'rumah tradisi Melaka'. She was inspired by houses at Kampung Mortem, Melaka that she visited during a holiday with her parents. Then she went to study the house of one Demang Abdul Ghani in Merlimau, Melaka. Melaka traditional house is known for its eclectic fusion of Malay, Chinese, Javanese and perhaps Postugese cross-cultural influences.
Her verbal description bears typical 'maindai-maindai' phrasing. This is common amongst students trying to articulate their study in an academic language. Yet, I listened attentively. Good verbal flair. Softly uttered, clear, well-structured. Prepared. Time for me to throw a curved ball.
I asked her "why rumah Melaka? You are from Kuala Kangsar, Perak. You chose rumah Melaka instead of rumah Perak." She answered in a predictable phrase, "because I found it interesting".
I asked again, "ya, but what makes it interesting for you?". Then she went on to explain the formal aspects of the Melaka house, and its cross-cultural influences. I thought it was reasonable fair. She was trained to observe the world that way. Perhaps I could persuade her to look at her own inner self. Another curved ball, to throw her off from the academic rubric that she used to consciously justify her creative decisions. The made up justificitation may veil her subconscious mind and suppressed emotion.
"Ok good, thats how you see the house. Maybe you have mixed ancestral roots in Melaka. Ok, what do you feel inside your heart when you were in such house? How do you relate to the house, emotionally, personally? What will you feel if you lived in such house?
Silence.
"Let me see your studies and sketches". She obliged. Obviously, I could see that she is a talented student, skilful, good command of her chosen surrealist style, good flair in handling her chosen medium, techniques and composition. The potential to monetize these qualities was there. Formalistically, no issue there. Typical of UiTM Fine Art students. Normally, its a prelude to, 'ok, boleh jadi artist dah, boleh jual work'. Im was not interested in that. Totally.
There was lingering vibrations that I felt strongly. Needed to address them.
"Nurin, as I look at your works, I feel sad. Like a melancholic yearning for something that was there, but not anymore. Like 'rindu'. Do you know why?" Perhaps I could persuade her to open up a bit, to engage in an honest introspection of whats going on with her 'inner narratives' as well as mine.
She looked at her friend Qila who sat beside her. Qila looked back at her, with empathy. Nurin looked at me. Empty.
"Why empty house? I felt a sense of loss, loneliness, disconnectivity. Isolation too."
Nurin's face changed. Her eyes watered. She looked at Qila. Qila rubed her back gently.
"Your colours are sombre, greyish, mostly middle and low key, matt surface, nothing glossy. The green is soothing. Felt like you are seeking a remedy, for your heart. Somewhere in your chest. Blocking."
Nurin responded, "sometimes, when Im stressed out, I had trouble breathing. I threw out."
"Sorry to hear that. Do you like hiking?"
"Yes", she answered.
"Keep doing it. Eat lots of vegies or natural organic green foods. Keep on drawing and painting. Will release any blockage. InsyaAllah."
Then I felt an urge to release a lingering energy surrounding her, and me.
"Nurin, that fish. Floating outside and inside the empty house. Ya, like a surreal presence, in a real home, rendered realistically. Silence but disturbing. Calm but wierd, as if the home is being taken away. Like a safe heaven for love and compassion, for family bonding, is being intruded by an uninvited guest. Im sorry, but thats what I felt. Have to release and share that. How do you feel about my interpretation?"
Nurin opened up, sobbing. Still courteous and polite. Relaxed. She shared her story. This time, not pretending to 'memandai-mandai'. Time for her heart to speak out. To release. No more blockage. I listened. I empathised. I learned. With her.
"Nurin, life is a story of love, between each of us with God. Each of us are experiencing our own different scripts and dramas. Thank you for opening up and sharing with me. I can totally relate to it. I will honor it."
Hers is a story of love, tested not broken. The place is home. Its a safe heaven. Its a place to return to. For all. Its a solace where one can experience a sense of belonging. Its a garden to bond, to connect, to immerse in our true vibration or beingness - love. Its a place for us to heal. Its a sacred site to receive and inherit inner values that money or whatever material gains cant buy. We cant buy love, compassion, honesty, grattitude, happiness, kindness. But we can, ...... choose to be. Home.
Today, home is fragile, perhaps under siege. Our own homes are being intruded by uninvited guests. We can lose it anytime, if we are not carefull, or to busy to appreciate its true value.
Ya, we are too busy. Always busy. Racing. All the time. Entertaining things that may not bring us back home.
'Baliklah'.
No comments:
Post a Comment