Angelina Bong: Sarawak Artist and Poet

What do you do?
How did you get into poetry?
What do you paint?
Can you tell me briefly about your journey into the Arts?

I get asked these questions a lot. My profile can be seen on http://www.sarawakart.com/artists/angelina-bong/

Feel free to check out other Sarawak artists when you are there.

Cheers!

Xoxo

Hippie Pies

My poem Hippie Pies is published on Image Curve.

Take a break and enjoy some foodie poem!

Click on the link below to read it.

http://www.imagecurve.com/2015/08/hippie-pies-happy-life-poem/

Apologies. NaPoWriMo Day 27 to Day 30

Big Big Apologies.

I did finish 30 poems in 30 days for April NaPoWriMo month but failed to post the last few ones on my blog due to hectic schedules.

However, for those of you who have been following my Instagram and Twitter, you would have noticed that I did post each of them on the right days.

Here's Day 27 to Day 30 

A drop of poetry by me. A. Bong 2015
Kopitiam Observation
NaPoWriMo Day 27

A drop of poetry by me. A. Bong 2015
Flight Behaves
NaPoWriMo Day 28

A drop of poetry by me. A. Bong 2015
Humanity
NaPoWriMo Day 29

A drop of poetry by me. A. Bong 2015
A letter to South Africa from your Malaysian sister
NaPoWriMo Day 30

Day 30 was special to me. A South African friend who organized a 'March for Peace' in Johannesburg had requested me to write a poem for him to be recited then. This poems captured what I feel about the Xenophobia attacks in April.

Once again, my sincerest apologies for not updating my blog.
Feel free to follow me at Instagram and Twitter for more poetry and arts updates. Look for me @swakgel.

Xoxo

NaPoWriMo Day 26. My Sundays

Here's Day 26!

A drop of poetry by me, A. Bong 2015.
NaPoWriMo Day 2015.
My Sundays

NaPoWriMo Day 23. Keeping Count

Here's my Day 23.

Enjoy the music of my lines!

A drop of poetry by Angelina Bong 2015
NaPoWriMo Day 23
Keeping Count

NaPoWriMo Day 18. Papa's Longing

I've just written this for a 'Man in Solidarity' Project based in South Africa, to be recited by the man giving a welcoming speech.

A drop of poetry by Angelina Bong
NaPoWriMo Day 18
Papa's Longing

NaPoWriMo Day 16. Waking Up

I thought I'll try a 3 line poem today.

A drop of poetry by Angelina Bong 2015
NaPoWriMo Day 16
Waking Up

Dedicating this to all the unsung heroes!

NaPoWriMo Day 11. A New Day

A drop of poetry by Angelina Bong 2015
NaPoWriMo Day 11
A New Day

A Little Update from me

It has been a long while since I step into my cavern.

Last year has been amazing. I have climbed a little up the stairs of my dreams, immersion into the world of Arts and Poetry.

I was invited to Africa twice. Once as a performer/storyteller in a musical play entitled Basadi Balefatshe in South Africa and later in the year, as a guest poet for Maun International Arts Festival, Botswana. Both proved to be enriching experiences. I have met incredible souls and talented poets. They fueled my passion to reach out in arts and poetry. The power of the spoken word brings healing, encouragement as well as educating in the form of entertainment. God truly entrust each person with different talents to bless the world.

Back in my homeland, we started the World Arts Convention 2014, the first of its kind in Borneo. At the same time, we hosted Malaysia's Biggest 3D Mural Art in a mall. The aim is to elevate the appreciation of arts in the local society. 

I am also very grateful for all who has supported me in my arts; buying my paintings and drawings as well as commissioning me to paint. The start of this year has proved to be fruitful too. I sell at least one painting a month. That's a progress for me ;) We even painted a mural art as part of a community project in Kenyalang earlier this year.

Here's a snapshot of a passerby taking a photo of the 3D mural we painted.

3D Mural Art at old Kenyalang Theatre, Kuching. Photo credit: Samson Koh.

A shout out to God above for guiding me towards a narrower, less travelled path in fulfilling my purpose in life. If I can just reach one soul through one painting or a poem be it in Africa, Korea or Russia, my mission is accomplished. Do pray for me as I continue to sow peace, hope, love and light through my arts.

Thank you for dropping by!

LOOK UP

YOU ARE NOT ALONE

The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies

I could feel the waters rushing through my tyres. The rain balls thumped hard onto my window screen, and splashed out like waterfalls gushing down into the tar roads as I drove under the heavy downpour. My astigmatism which has possibly worsened was not helping either. What if flood occurred and I got stranded in the middle of the roads? I was staying on the outskirts of the city and I was trying to get home after watching The Hobbits.

“You are not Alone.” I recalled the words given to Gandalf the Grey when he was on the brink of death. Lady Galadriel came and freed him. I reminded myself I was not alone either. God was with me. The angels were with me. They would keep me safe. True enough, the rain stopped halfway to my home and I was able to open the gate without being soaked wet.

http://i.imgur.com/Epstpoo.jpg

Galadriel was later surrounded by the dark and they tortured her courage by telling her she was the only little light in the darkness. However, she was not alone. Her compatriots came to the rescue. Many times, we think we are alone with evils, disasters and nasty people attacking us. That is not true. We forget that there are angels around us, sent by God to guard and protect us. We need only believe. The world is not only a physical one but a spiritual battle that we could not see with our normal eyes.

http://puddlesgathering.com/blog/ani-th_the_battle_of_the_five_armies.gif

The dragon with all its pride and confidence wanted to crush Barn and his son. His son was terrified. Who would not be with the dragon behind you, ready to pounce and burn you up? Barn was calm. He assured his son to look at him. The dragon was defeated. Likewise, when we feel that we are going to vanish and hope is nowhere to be found, LOOK AT OUR FATHER. Look at HIM that IS ALL POSSIBLE and not at ourselves who are merely humans. LOOK UP to God, our Father and we will not grow weary. HE is able to do immeasurably more than we can possibly imagine.

http://www.kabobfest.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/black_man_praying.jpg

Bilbo, small and weak without a warrior’s training was the most courageous of them all. He put love and honour above greed and gold. Thorin was blinded by GREED. So blinded that he forgot his true purpose, he almost could not wake up but a dear kin awakened him to his senses. Let us not be crushed by the power of Greed, Pride and Lust. We are born for a greater purpose than to be swallowed up by worldly desires.

https://wallwidehd.com/wp-content/uploads/2014-The-Hobbit-The-Battle-of-the-Five-Armies-Wallpaper-364x227.jpg

Let us learn from this movie. Let the past year be a lesson from our downfalls and let our successes be an encouragement to go on, pursue our passion, fuel our adventures, fulfil our mission and spread a little light and love everywhere we go.

A Blessed and Happy New Year to you all!

The Innocent Cries

Broken pieces fly over me

Shards of memoirs flash by

Running across green hills

Smiles and chatters with family

Will these days ever return?

Fears paint the faces around me

Hopes and dreams crumble and torn

I lie awake with no more tears

Numb to bombings and shootings

Will this madness ever end?

Hunger and thirst becomes a norm

The little one cries out for milk

I have nothing left to give

Not even my pride or dignity

What is left for me to do?

Blood spilling like water fall

In the name of religion and politics

Broken limbs and dying spirits

Defeat rises more than victory

What have I done to deserve this?

I ponder on the golden days,

Bread and honey on the table,

The white lamb at my feet,

Dance to the echoes of the caves,

Will I ever hear music again?

Source: http://www.mamalisa.com/images/non_ml_images/bluebird.gif

A bird perches on my window sill,

Fluttering with chirps of glee,

Pecks on my cheek with a kiss,

Something melts in my heart,

Is it trying to say something?

A shrill cry fills the gloomy shack,

A child hovers over her dying mother,

She shakily says to her and me,

I will see you both in heaven,

Are my days fewer than I think?

Source: http://www.momscleanairforce.org/wp-content/uploads/sky_bird-580x386.jpg

The bird flies up high to the sky,

Blue and pink with sunny rays,

A drop of peace amidst death notes,

Do not be afraid it seems to say,

My body shall die but not my soul

I dedicate this to the innocent victims of the recent Gaza/Israel War and especially the minorities who might be slaughtered in Iraq. 

A Cultural Encounter with Basadi Balefatshe

It had been more than a day travelling. My body slumped against the chair at the transit area in Doha airport while I struggled to keep my eyes from shutting and dozing off. It was three am and there were a few more hours to go. My heart fluttered in excitement as I reminisced the first time I saw her.

Almost five years ago, I met this vibrant African lady during the Delphic Games in South Korea. We were both representing our countries in the lingual arts competition and as we recited our poems on stage, we both felt connected through our stories and thus, a friendship developed. Through the years we kept in touch and one day, she invited me to South Africa to perform in a musical play and be part of a cultural exchange.

I had heard numerous stories about Africa but I had never been there. I did not know what to expect but I trust whatever happened will be a good adventure. My stomach stirred like busy butterflies and I felt like a teenager having a crush for the first time as I boarded the plane to Johannesburg. I clasped my hands tightly dragging my luggage as I looked out for that familiar face that I had not seen in years. She spotted me first and gave me a big, tight hug. All nervousness dissolved as soon as I met those sparkling eyes that lit up with smiles.

A warm welcome awaited me as some of the cast greeted me with cheerful glees. My heart melted further as the little girl whom I was supposed to stay with allowed me to hold her in my arms. My curiosity had ventured into random questions about what my hostess was going to be like and all questions vanished into thin air as her sweet aura made me felt instantly at home. That was the beginning of a wonderful one month stay with them.

Waking up to the lively chirping of birds, I was all ready for my first day of rehearsal.  As I crossed Mandela Bridge, I saw the iconic legend’s face on a poster with a big smile plastered across his face and I sensed his soul beaming down at me from heaven.  To my amazement, Constitution Hill would be where I would spend the rest of my two weeks practicing. This historical heritage was where Mandela and other freedom fighters were jailed and tortured. I knew this had to be a good start as my morning was showered with the vigour and charisma of Mandela’s determined spirits.

The cast captivated me from the first moment they started singing and swaying their hips to lively African music roaring from the talented band. Everyone was bursting with energy and I wondered if I would fit in. After all, I was not much of a singer apart from echoing melodies in church choir. I assured myself I was there as a storyteller so it would not be a problem. Little did I know I would also need to sing and dance. My eyes glanced up to the wall facing me with words written ‘Conversations We Do Not Have’ and immediately, images of prisoners chained with loneliness flashed before my eyes. My throat choked with emotions as voices soared to the tunes of “open the floodgates of heaven, let it rain…” How ‘coincidental’ it is that this ‘dungeon’ was chosen as our meeting venue to have conversations about women issues which was the main purpose of the musical play.

Basadi Balefatshe meaning ‘World Women’ was the title of the theatre play. As South Africa celebrated Women’s Month, this show was staged in conjunction with International World Women’s Day in March 2014.  It showcased an international journey of a woman as she walked and danced through various phases of her life encountering many other women. She connected with them in various ways even though each was different from her in terms of culture, background, belief and race.

All the women in the play each conveyed tales either of their very own or inspired by people they knew. It was manifested through poetry, storytelling, acting, songs, music and dances. I was humbled to be part of this enriching process of getting to know one another through the weaving of experiences. A refreshing approach that opened my eyes for I had never been in a performance where each wrote their own piece and all was intricately knitted to form a story of its own.

I was moved to tears by the passionate dance from a physically challenged dancer. The powerful and soulful voice of one singer kept me enchanted and I found myself giggling with happy grins to the vivacious expressions of a poet telling us about how the play was birthed through a conversation between her and a dear friend. My fingers tapped with delight as I heard the umakhweyana, an indigenous African instrument being played during a storytelling session where kids gathered around.  My heart cringed at the expressions of depression and anger where one woman was very hurt by her own mother. My mind was blown away by the exquisite recollection of an Eritrean woman’s experience as a soldier defending her country where women had to carry guns and waged on war. I had to clutch my stomach aching from laughter by the comedic acting of one poet who enthusiastically put on a sophisticated accent while communicating a serious message across to the audience about getting laid and paid. I equally enjoyed bringing forth an Asian perspective to the Africans.

The highlight of the presentation was the conversation we put across about women issues. Oppression and discrimination due to gender, cultural expression and beliefs with increasing underpayment were among some of the concerns addressed and brought to light. As we lifted the rain sticks to let its soothing sounds take flight, a male performer joined us and spoke out in support of women to raise awareness on the plights of human trafficking and prostitution. The stage brightened up with a colourful concoction of multiculturalism. That was when the bonding formed with an invisible hand holding us all together to rise up for unity.

As we invited all women to come together as one through a very uplifting track, we heartily moved to the beats set aflame by the band and engaged the audience to the catchy rhythm. I still could not believe my own ears as I heard myself singing along in African. I guess I did not have to worry about fitting in at all. What a priceless moment in celebrating the beauty and purpose of women through arts, culture and music!

The three days performance ended but the messages and the people kept a glow burning in the recesses of my heart. I had a week left to chill with my newfound friends. It was an amazing cultural exchange. Waking up to sweet innocent cries of the little baby girl with long eyelashes blinking at me, singing lullabies to her, savouring exotic and scrumptious food specially prepared by my hostess, watching South African sitcoms, walking on the streets with an African princess donning a myriad of fabrics and beads with her rain stick by my side, being asked all the time whether I know kung fu, listening to storytellers in Freedom Park, giving impromptu drawing workshops, relaxing with Rastafarians, trying vegan food while laughing at each other’s jokes, dropping by Mandela’s house, visiting townships, drinking coffee served by traditional healers in their hut adorned with animal skins and hearing wise words from a young spirit-filled pastor were just a few of the little perks I got to try. Not forgetting taking the taxi-vans known as combis almost every other day with all eyes on me every time I climbed into them. Not surprising at all considering I was practically the only Asian looking person boarding them. It was fun.

The time finally arrived to bid farewell to the loving souls that I had met. Parting at the airport was sad but I knew somehow we would meet again. Reaching home made the trip felt surreal.

Months passed but that memory relived itself from time to time. It is with much hope that this little baby of creative genius, Nolwazi Mkhathini also known as Nomkhubulwane will continue to grow and flourish. This idea of bridging the gap while crossing cultures by having a dialogue between women from all parts of the world to stand united in embracing each other’s identity and diversity working towards promoting peace and humanity is a noble one.

I believe the little glow that had started should be passed around the globe and set a spark to get the conversation going. A toast to more of Basadi Balefatshe!