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The following is a picture of Yasmin I took on a casual sunday afternoon in 2005. I was at her apartment in subang for a casual chit chat in and to browse her DVD. she was calm and we talked about everything from how her apartment was renovated really nicely to look very open and I love how she stacked her books on a step ladder leaning on a wall. She asked me about my girlfriend, my parents.We also talked about ghosts.I still can't believe she's gone now... I wish I had more sundays like that with her but as it is...it was one day.One precious day....Sometimes in life, we don't realise how precious moments are really....
This is something written by yasmin on life and death four years ago on july 29 2005.I think Yasmin has alot of wisdom to share with us in it.
"Like clockwork it happens,
tick by tock by quick tick by hurried tock,
but quietly,
its decibel perceptible
only to the cat and the dog.
The watch on the wrist tries to warn us,
tapping its tiny untiring beat
against the hesitant pulse of our blood;
the clock on the wall tocks on,
in defiance to the time-honoured tradition of
silence in the school hall.
We were not listening.
The body was doomed to stop
even before it started.
Death has a life of its own.
Time marches doggedly
to the cliff of its own end.
We were not listening;
deaf to the decay of the planets and the suns.
Stars were exploding and dying in the night.
We were making love;
making life.
We saw it happen in the garden;
to the trees and the pets,
and still we watched our own dying
with blinkered optimism
- “Today is the first day of the rest of your life” -
oh yes, and by the way,
also one day closer to the end of it.
And curiously, when it happens,
everyone is surprised.
Everyone is visibly moved.
Eyebrows are raised, eyes are lowered,
mouths open like unsuspecting clams,
tongues click.
Surprised, as if we had no knowledge of it,
as if it were a newcomer,
as if it were a sniper.
And when it’s over, everyone walks away,
lamenting the weather and the price of fish.
The grave is forgotten
sooner than it was remembered.
What wisdom descends when I pause to listen to death?
Nothing really.
Except, my beloved’s eyes dance
when he tells me about his day,
and I must remember to kiss them
before they finally close."
posted by yasmin at 5:07 AM
more of her wisdom can be found at
http://yasminthestorytelle
