Some days ago, was the anniversary of Yasmin Ahmad's death.
I was not a close, close friend. But she listened to me, sat down with me when I needed an anchor to my humanity.
I believe she grappled with accepting herself and her predicaments, so she was very accepting of almost everyone, in the later parts of her life.
I trust very few people, and Yasmin was one of them.
Very few people in this world don't want to use or abuse you for something. Some hidden agenda.
My greatest guilt is not wishing happiness for people, so that I could play superhero. Getting rid of that now. I don't want to fix people anymore.
I don't want to be Jack.
Yasmin, she never tried to fix me. I appreciate that. She just wanted to tell stories.
There was only one other woman who, when I asked her, "What do you want?" Said, "I want stories. I want to tell stories. Good stories."
Well, good and bad are for other people to decide.
I told Yasmin some of my stories.
"You better tell your stories, or I will," she said.
Oh well. No more time for that, Yasmin. But I'm telling my stories. If it takes the rest of my life, I'll tell my stories.
