vivteoh

Hi, I'm Vivian. Welcome to my portfolio. This site will showcase my written work, both creative & formal, and to some extent, my photography. Feel free to ask me anything. For work-related enquiries, drop me an e-mail at [email protected].

[wivteoh]

Why marry early? - The Brand, Sept 10 Issue

Ring by spring. To the Southern ear, this phrase is by no means foreign. It is common for students pursuing their undergraduate degree to be engaged by spring and marry over the summer, be it while in college or after graduation. Yet for students outside of the south – or perhaps even an ocean or two away from the United States – marrying at the epitome of one’s youth strikes off as an unfamiliar concept. For this urban Malaysian girl studying in Abilene, Texas; marriage is not on the top of her to-do list. For one, getting married would require having someone to well, be married to, and that hasn’t quite happened yet. Besides the obvious however, there are more intriguing reasons behind why a cultural norm such as putting a ring on it as promptly as you possibly can, may come off as a peculiar to students in other parts of the country and the world.

When it comes to painting a portrait of marriage, generational expectations appears to be the brush by which all strokes are made. As a Malaysian, I can relate to the notion that the older generation holds great influence in the way of things; regardless of our acknowledgement or agreement. Marrying whilst in or fresh out of college would no doubt be a cause for concern for the older generation. As partakers of a past typically turbulent and inundated with insufficiency, these folks want what’s best for their younger counterparts. With no luxuries of their own, they lacked liberty in their decisions, including the freedom to determine when or why to marry. So they strived to make it happen for us, and in doing so, imposed their discreet yet definite expectations.

Many of the older generation saw value in security, in ambition. Rather than seize the opportunity to settle and start a family upon one’s coming of age, parents encouraged their children to focus on college first. Finding the ideal partner was not half as important as an ideal career, with which stability and maturity would stem from. Only then would marriage enter the picture, once other factors were securely fastened. My own mother was quick to discourage me from being attached romantically too early. She reasoned that I needed to acquire a sense of responsibility and have a stable income first before I could truly be ready to take on a wife’s responsibility. This differs from the notion of having marriage thrust one into the realm of adulthood, where responsibility and accountability are to be learned from. As such, marriage is seen as a consequence of maturity, not a determinant of it.

Another perspective as to why marrying early might not be ideal would be the celebration of freedom. Snoop Dogg couldn’t have summarized it more accurately with his track Young, Wild and Free. It is our cultural inheritance that our youth is characterized by the liberty to do as we please – to suck the marrow out of life while one is able. Therefore, marriage, as it is a commitment, appears not to fulfill that goal. They say after all, “Why tie yourself down to someone when the world is your oyster?” Why be bound to the responsibility of putting food on the table, caring for children and managing a household in your prime time, right? We see this mindset embodied in mantras we encounter daily. “You only live once. Follow your dreams. Just do it. Travel the world, don’t worry about money.” Such quotes are abundant on the internet and so are the countless Buzzfeed, Upworthy and Elite Daily articles shared about them. Different titles, perhaps, but same message.

Even the older generation, whom we chastise so often for not living with the times, has bought into this. Haven’t they also worked tirelessly to provide us not just with the stability they didn’t have, but the luxury as well? Thinking about this takes me back to the conversations I had with my aunt about studying in the U.S. She’d told me to grasp this opportunity well and make it a point to travel and work hard in college. She’d tell me not to worry about anything or anyone, because hey, this was the time of my life and there never would be again such an opportune time. While I might not always agree with her, these conversations do depict a reality. We are indoctrinated to elevate our freedom (irony alert) above many things; to rejoice in our autonomy if we can choose it, because what could be worse than having to live every day with the one we love and being satisfied with whatever we have… right?

It is clear that these reasons are not all there is to the question of why early marriage seems so strange to a student that’s not from here. There still are parents who continue to hold to strong views regarding marriage, and emphasize the urgency for their children to engage in romantic relationships and tie the knot (grandkids, duh). Moreover, expectations about marriage will differ according other factors, such as gender, as males may not face as much pressure to marry as soon as females do, for explicit reasons. Nevertheless, the reasons stated above do preview the potential beliefs that surround marriage in other societies, and thus explain why marriage is expected to come later.

All in all, being exposed to this cultural difference has helped me consider both sides of the coin. Although I still don’t view ring by spring as standard practice, I don’t find myself in complete agreement with justifications for a later marriage either. Besides, an early marriage does have positive implications. It is a beautiful thing to be able to find love at a young age, and enter the difficult realm of adulthood comfortingly, hand in hand with your life partner. It is a responsibility and yet a privilege, to choose to love the person you’ve promised to spend the rest of your life, each and every single day, regardless of the circumstances and your own selfish desires. It’s a wonder for the young husband and wife in their unending discovery about the other’s temperaments and interests. While this might not be the path I tread as of now, I am definitely able to see the value of and appreciate a young, early marriage.

�

[wivteoh]

The Struggles of an International Student - The Brand, Issue 13

Being an international student is an exciting experience. Attending college away from home in another country provides the liberty to explore a different part of the world and engage in novel experiences with new people. For some, it is a rite of passage, as you learn to live independently in a new environment. Nevertheless, it is a challenging experience. Many international students who attend HSU are exchanging the familiar for the foreign. It isn’t easy, as some of life’s trying times are brought about by unfamiliarity in a new territory, financial concerns and cultural differences.

Stepping into another country for the first time is daunting. While many are initially awed by a new environment, wonder soon becomes engulfed by unfamiliarity. For those like me who have lived all their life in the convenience and liveliness of the big city, moving to a place like Abilene is a massive transition. While the city is not void of interesting places and activities, getting around is an issue for many international students. It is difficult to travel in Abilene without a car as public transportation is limited. Getting a car is also a hassle on its own, as that means getting a driving permit, setting up insurance and even learning to drive on a different side of the road. All this is inconvenient for a non-Texan, let alone a non-American. Traveling by foot seems feasible, but given the infrastructure of the city, it is better to carpool, even if it means waiting on others and managing time better.

Some concerns international students face are financial. While universities like HSU are generous with their financial aid, many students who study abroad still need to be wise in monitoring their money. This is especially true for students whose home currency value is inferior to that of the United State dollar. In Malaysia, the exchange rate between the United States and Malaysia has been increasing steadily due to the recent economic decline. If the economic situation does not improve, the rate could amount to a ratio of 4 ringgit to one U.S. dollar. For every dollar I spend in America, I could be paying four times the amount in my home currency, which is costly for Malaysian students around the U.S. Although many international students studying abroad have the sufficient funds to do so, students are aware of the ever changing circumstances that could dictate the course of their education.

Furthermore, cultural differences can be a source of anxiety for HSU international students. For students from countries where English is not a first language or is a completely foreign language, communication can be a serious challenge. Not all words in one’s mother tongue can be adequately translated into English and it could take years before a person achieves fluency. But knowing the English language is not enough. I had to replace the British English terms I had learned in Malaysia to the American ones, like asking where the trash can was and not the rubbish bin. I picked up on a different measurement system, learning to read the temperature in degree Fahrenheit instead of Celcius. There are also social norms to adjust to as well. After a while, I realized that I didn’t have to take my shoes off before entering a house, and that it was socially acceptable to voice my opinion even if it was a bold one.

In spite of everything, international students at HSU, Texas and in other states know all too well that the price paid in pursuit of the American dream, or any dream for that matter pales in comparison to the wealth of experience attained. As time progresses, the weight of adjusting to a new place, currency and culture will decrease and a sense of familiarity ensues. At the end of this journey, some of us will return to the comfort of our homes, and some of us will call this place home. Regardless of what will be, being an international student is an experience that will remain with us for good.

[wivteoh]

I’ve found that I take the best pictures when I’m given sufficient freedom, autonomy and solitude. These were my favorite outcomes of the countless shots I took around my university campus.

Studying abroad does have its perks.

[wivteoh]

Approaching 2AM

wings of ivory

two hundred and forty five

tainted with second brain

see through roll

scared stiff

partly flow filled

double half moons

crescent

half again

[wivteoh]

5 posts!

[wivteoh]

Unearthed : A Short Story

Clara was transfixed on her dressing table.

“It’s definitely here somewhere,” she mumbled.

The table top was a freshly organized space. In the last several minutes, strewn silver jewelry was replaced into trinket boxes. Cosmetics had found their way into mini cloth bags. Empty bottles of eau de toilette were discarded. Traces of old receipts and loose change were completely diminished; and not a single strand of hair prevailed on the glass surface. It was void of anything miscellaneous, and everything else on it had a reason for being there. The dressing table was the last place she had looked, but it wasn’t there.

Clara turned to her right, where the full-length mirror was. A pair of blue eyes stared back at her. Curling a strawberry blonde lock of hair on her index finger, she examined her figure; donned in a casual ensemble of a loose-fitting top, blue jeans, and sheepskin slippers with no jewelry. In the background, a chest of drawers was seen by an ivory wall.

It was a familiar part of the house, nothing extraordinary. The chest was a brilliant sheen of ebony and had four wide and vertically adjoined drawers with circular brass knobs. Its height was half the length of the mirror, probably reaching Clara’s hips. Not much sat on top of it – only a broken lamp with its shade detached, and a few decorative pieces. Dust peeked out from its edges.

There was no real need for it when she had bought it a year ago. Clara was content with having her things in plain sight, and there was not much that needed keeping anyway. It was Howard who insisted on getting it.

“You’d finally have a place to keep your things,” he had said in front of the glass display. “You’ll need it sooner or later.”

“I like finding my things where I leave them.”

“We could put on labels.”

“No,” Clara maintained.

“Well, I want it to keep my things.”

“Use your own place then,” she retorted.

It had not taken her long to realize why Howard was smirking. The chest of drawers moved into the house that afternoon.

Clara had to bend over when she rummaged the drawers. She had guessed it was there, since pretty much everything ended up in the chest. Howard never bothered with the labels since they had bought it, but he had set rules that were easy to remember. The drawers at the bottom were designated for hardware, mostly his things. The ones on top, however, kept everything else. She couldn’t care less though; these days a rubber hose inhabited the same drawer as a curling iron.

Clara wondered if she had overlooked anything inside. It couldn’t have been in the bottom ones. Most of it was still hardware, except for a bouquet of red plastic roses and a severed piece of candelabra. It could have been in the upper drawers, the second one perhaps, which contained handbags, purses and a steel safe but only a few pennies and loose thread fell out, though the bags had been flipped inside out and thoroughly shook. The safe took a bit of prying as its keys had been misplaced, but the steel clasp had no sooner given way to the crowbar, revealing twenty dollar notes and some high school memorabilia. She had gone through all the drawers again before she finally gave up, and she was not keen on probing the space for a third time.

Still in contemplation, Clara’s attention was diverted to a tall piece of furniture on the left. She had looked there, after the unfruitful search at the chest. The bookshelf was her favorite piece in the room. Unlike the chest, she had painstakingly handpicked, built and positioned the shelf all on her own. She even went through the trouble of polishing and painting it white, for aesthetic purposes. It had been, and still was her pride and joy.

The only thing she didn’t quite like was that it towered above her vertically which made it challenging for her to properly put into place – so it rested oddly on the floor in a horizontal orientation. She had figured she would attend to it another time, once she found some way to lift it. Nevertheless, for over a year, academic copies and literary paperbacks remained inadequately balanced in the narrow but tall spaces between each shelf divider. It was only when Howard had moved in, that the shelf received its rightful rotation.

“Looks great, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose,” she shrugged.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Well, it looks a lot better now but –

“But what?” he asked.

“I could have done it myself.”

“Clare, it’s okay to ask for help if you can’t handle it, y’know.”

“I swear I could have done it. It was just a matter of time,” argued Clara.

Howard pulled her close. “Well, if you could do everything,” he started.

“You wouldn’t need me now, would you?”

The pursuit of the missing item had been unproductive at the bookshelf as it had been with the chest. After it had been reverted into its correct orientation, she had settled for the shelf’s most accessible part for her things, the middle. That was the only place Clara had been compelled to look. She didn’t bother with the higher parts as it was considerably beyond her reach, nor did she care for the lower ones as they were unlikely to be there, holding only old hardbacks with covers faced downwards and several boxes of Howard’s paraphernalia. There was no way it could have surfaced anywhere else apart from the middle shelf, if it would.

Clara had assumed it was concealed somewhere by the right corner, where she usually kept her things within the room. The tiny clearance housed shopping coupons, newspaper cutouts, some cards, keys and a television remote, alternated by decorative pieces. Her purse had been there as well, sitting partially on a few bank notes. When it wasn’t there, she scrutinized the other end of the shelf occupying literary paperbacks. She was particularly fond of the collection, having almost read each piece of work more than once. It had little variety, mostly just books by Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters, though she had preferred neither.

Her favorite was The Awakening by Kate Chopin, a novel that initially belonged to her late mother. Although she had read it countless times, it was her current read yet again, and she had suspected the missing article had been used as its bookmark. Having not found anything, she had skimmed through the rest of the books, to arrive at the same result. She had hoped it was there, given that her collection of books was off-limits to anyone. No one else was allowed to retrieve anything from her space without her direct permission, especially not Howard. She had become particularly defensive about it after that one night in bed, when he addressed the plot of her favorite novel.

“Unsensible.”

“Hmmm?”

“Why she’d even think of killing herself,” blurted Howard.

“What are you talking about?”

“Montpellier, I think.”

“Pontellier, Edna Pontellier. You’ve been reading my book!”

“Yeah I have. I don’t get it though.”

“What did you not get?”

“She could have gone back to her old life even if Robert was gone. It can’t be that hard to pick up where you left off.”

Clara sighed. “It’s not that simple, Howard. She would have lived a miserable life.”

“Well now the Chandeliers have a miserable life instead. Why couldn’t she think of the kids? Ungrateful little bitch.”

“Howard.”

“Sorry.”

Silence ensued.

“I hope you’re happy with me, Clare. I really do. I love you more than anything else in this world. You know that, don’t you?”

Not a word escaped her.

“I hope you sure as hell feel it. I don’t want you drowning cause’ I’m not giving you what you want.”

Once he fell asleep, she went into pieces.

The search had rendered Clara exhausted, but mostly thirsty. She stepped out of the room and paced towards the kitchen. It was not a conventional household space. Rightfully, it should have been called a kitchen counter, as it was all there was in the small, open space closely knitted to the living room. It did, however, have essential parts of a regular kitchen, such as an electric stovetop, an oven, a kettle and a refrigerator. There was a cabinet against the wall by the counter that stored kitchen utensils and dry food. A water cooler sat below the cabinet on the countertop. As she inched closer, she realized it was empty.

Clara reached out for the kettle, and found it easy to lift. She poured out the remainder of its contents into a mug and glugged it down. It barely quenched her thirst, but she figured she’d wait a few minutes for a sterilized batch of water. She lowered the kettle into the sink and turned on the water faucet. A few drops of water emerged, and then nothing.

“Goddamn it.”

She recalled the last time a utility bill went unpaid in the house. The electricity had gone out the day she entrusted Howard to settle the bills. He had attempted to get it back up with a few calls after he’d received a text from her, but he knew he had achieved nothing when he had to take the heat.

“I just told you Clare, I forgot!”

Clara was on the brink of tears. “Remind me not to ask, ever.”

“I’ve had a long day.”

“You said it was okay to ask for help! You swore to God you would!” she screamed.

Howard was devastated.

“Look Clare,” he pleaded. “It was a small mistake. I’m sorry and I’ll make sure I do it next time.”

“I hate it when people say that.”

“Say what? Oh, you mean sorry? The one thing I’ve chosen to say even though I could use a little less slack for a minor screw up? Well –

“Next time.” Her voice cracked. “Next time. It sounds as if the present is never as important as the future.”

“Well, what more do you want me to do? I’ve already phoned them, all we can do is wait,” he said impatiently.

“Okay." With that, Clara stormed into her room.

It’s gone.

Those words resonated within her, over and over again. She couldn’t decide if it had been misplaced outside the house, or stolen. It seemed improbable that it could have been anywhere else in the house, if not the room. She was sure she had hidden it there, somewhere safe, but she just couldn’t remember where it was. It wasn’t just the chest and the bookshelf that she had searched – every possible place in the room, including her closet and her study had been scouted out. She had not merely checked the open floor and underneath the furniture, she had even swept the place clean looking for it.

Clara was disappointed. She felt burdened even, now that she had to get a new one. Things weren’t cheap these days, and she certainly wasn’t making any more money. Reluctantly, she adjourned into the room to retrieve her cellphone. She gazed at the neat and orderly state of her room, finding it ironic. The frenzy had evoked some organization, on a positive note. She forced a smile on her face.

“Well,” she declared enthusiastically. “At least there’s no spring cleaning left to do!”

Clara scanned the room for her cellphone. She couldn’t see it in plain sight. She did, however, see her tote sprawled on the bed sheet, realizing it was probably there. She had not used her phone since she came home to a scavenger hunt. She unzipped the bag and dug her right hand into it. A smile formed on her lips, a genuine one. Clara removed her right hand from the bag and marveled at the items that she had just produced. She slipped the cellphone back into the tote, deciding that there was no longer a need for it.

Her eyes were fixed on the flight tickets she held.

She turned to the suitcase, next to the tote.

“And, moreover, to succeed,” she murmured. “The artist must possess the courageous soul.”

[wivteoh]

Polaroid

we stood there waiting

three blots off a brown wall

on twin tower trotters

sprinting seams

over silk

freeze dried shoulders

in the conjured haze

skulls needled

by stiff locks and barrettes

fingers tangoed

to industrial tunes

pink gerbera

bungeed off my wrist

jaws paralyzed

and eyes about to die

for a white card,

etched with our curved beams

[wivteoh]

Popo

you left the quietude of Cempaka house

the old leather seat of your bicycle,

the silver pot full of peanut porridge,

yesterday’s rice in Lucky’s bowl,

the happy creases on Ah Tai’s face

to water our pomegranate tree

    nineteen years have gone

since you came to Kuala Lumpur

and painted our house with love

    age has washed the walls

ceiling paint cracked from Mei Mei’s laughter

our brick red gate has been replaced

and haze peeps through the windows now

but you remain on the kitchen chair

    i cry sometimes

when i think of you

you extinguished the fires of my dragon mouth

bestowed upon me sea bass brains

and taught me the value of a broken stove

    popo

though your eyelids still prop open

in the morning

my stomach churns

at the thought of losing you

[wivteoh]

The Prawn Farm

I missed our day at the prawn farm

Your fine mode of time slaughter

A day to stamp on crimson soil,

to dig the graves of fortnights

    We stayed at the warehouse with feet

soaked in Milo-like liquid,

I blinked at the sunshine glitter,

together we raced outside

    I asked you why the sea was brown

and broken into boxes

Your toasted grin and no reply

teased away my walnut mind

    I inhaled the brave piscine air

Almost tripped on plastic tanks

You showed me how to work the ponds,

green and tigers were but the same

    The shadow and my aching toes

kept me inside while you went

to heal the feverish turbines

and hack the gold mine furrows

    I wasn’t done with my questions

Though jaded, I yearned to know

why the tides clinched the house at day

but at night, hurried away

  I missed our day at the prawn farm

ahead of Science’s whispers

I drew a line with freshwater

between the stream and my dear

father.

[wivteoh]

Classroom

I was beaten by the sight of cuboid walls,

his angular faces inked with national emblems,

whites printed with powdered dust and lime,

unibrow pierced by plastic time,

tonsils running down the flat sky.

    I wearied from smoking the wood of tables,

their legs neighbored graphite and fiber graves,

mouths filled with artifacts of hypocrisy,

skin bearing marks of infantile feels,

tongue stained by brainwashing coke spills.

    My lungs swallowed particles of unripe men,

those ashtray faces dulled by Descartes and ma’am,

dead bulbs induced by motherboard wrath,

turnip heads unhinged by grammar rays,

capitals dictated the order of the day.

    My face, in the stoic chest of my lover,

his bleached ribcage encased black alphabet soup,

malleable skin the shade of stale margarine,

hoping to subdue hippocampal glory,

one voice sang demise to duct tape fools.

    I refused to be breakfast to white leviathan,

hid the fragrance of tomato blokes,

poultry guts bartered for batwing souls,

ape locomotion on gears greased gold,

drunk on the peak of matchstick sopranos.

    Two sunny side ups in heavy rotation

bore technicolor statues on pixel silver plates,

marionettes lived on next door martinis,

pentagon dreams carved on yakking bamboo,

by grass tainted passive solomon screams,

yet cried the parrots and hypnotized albino–

there is no glory in living

clenched by the fists

of white, cuboid walls.

[wivteoh]

Red Lines

wisdom rests

upon

  red

lines

   drawn with

rattan

  on

yellow skin