Drawing the Mind Home
To return to the groove of simply being—anchored in the here and now—takes a conscious effort. The practice of presence is simple in theory, yet elusive in practice. Distractions arise not only from our surroundings—the hum of conversations, the rhythm of footsteps, the clatter of life—but also from within: thoughts of what was, and what may yet come. The internal dialogue often feels louder than the world itself.
When time slips by without nurturing this practice of presence, it grows harder to rein it back. The mind, once left to roam freely, begins to rule. And when the mind dominates, it floods the field with excessive, unnecessary thoughts—most of which add no real value to our well-being. Tasks once clear become sidetracked. Obstacles multiply, not from the world, but from within. The mind distorts reality, exaggerating events, projecting anxieties, and demanding urgent attention where none is needed. It becomes its own cancer, consuming energy that should be reserved for the moment at hand.
Today, as I write, I consciously tune out the chatter around me—casual office conversations mostly about food and ailments—and turn instead to the cinematic resonance of The Last of the Mohicans soundtrack. The drumbeats ground me. The repetition stills my mind. It is a small victory in reclaiming my presence.
Much of my focus now is on preparing for the upcoming two-man exhibition at the University Gallery, opening on the 1st of March. Yet even this is complicated by internal strife at the Museum, where staff politics have split colleagues into opposing camps. It's disheartening to witness ten years of friendship and collaboration unravel into silent divisions. Still, I remind myself—this is not my personal burden. My task is to create, to contribute, to endure.
In the midst of this, I draw strength from individuals in my life whose integrity and dedication illuminate my own path. Dr. Chong Hon Yew, President of the Astronomical Society of Penang, exemplifies lifelong passion in service to the community. His love for astronomy never falters, a quiet beacon of devotion. Mr. Lee Khai, Chairman of the Penang State Art Gallery, brings grace and fairness to his stewardship of the arts, never drawing lines between artists of different backgrounds. His encouragement has sustained many, including myself.
There is also Ah Huat, a master of automobile air-conditioning systems—an unsung hero whose work ethic and integrity have inspired me for over a decade. And lastly, Major (now Captain) Zakaria Amantasha, founder of SRI LOVELY Organic Farm, whose life embodies transformation and spiritual service. His farm, nestled in the hills of Belantik, Kedah, is more than soil and seedlings—it is a testament to living fully, mindfully, and sustainably.
Each of these men has touched my life, reminding me to keep pressing forward with what I have, and who I am. I measure my journey against theirs—not in comparison, but in communion. Through my art and my writing, I share what I can with the world. For better or worse, in strength or vulnerability—I offer myself wholly.
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