Art

"Which book do you think I should get her?" AN asked, our arms full of potential Christmas gifts, as we browsed about MidValley's MPH.

"Jodi Picoult, Cecelia Ahern..." I rattled off a list of the usual people-pleasing authors.

"Do you read those?"

"No... the stuff I read, most people consider boring." I pounced upon Mendocino and Other Stories. "OMG, I didn't know Ann Packer had a new book (yes, I am aware now that Mendocino was one of her earlier works)!" I turned to AN, hugging the book to my chest for effect, "I love her stuff, she knows exactly how to put into words, the feeling, the emotions."

Because we were caretakers of each other's habits and expressions, weren't we, witnesses who didn't just see but who gave existence?

The next day dressed in some random model's bebe dress (size XS a tad tight - must have gained 5 lbs in Malaysia by now), I checked out the resultant photos on KJ's borrowed DSLR and realised the appeal of each picture depended on how well the emotion was captured.

We later killed some time at the Petronas Art Gallery whilst waiting for Di. Raja Shahriman's sketches and sculptures were dark and almost violent.

And then I thought about the amazing band I'd caught at Hard Rock Cafe, Penang, of the passion in the vocalists' voices.

And then it occured to me. "Art is what happens when you make emotions tangible," I marvelled to KJ. This rare nugget of profundity was completely lost on him. I got a grunt in reply.