M-O-S-H

MOSH (as defined by the FreeDictionary by Farlex)

v. moshed, mosh.ing, mosh.es
v.intr. To knock against others intentionally while dancing at a rock concert; slam-dance
v.tr To knock against (someone) intentionally while dancing at a rock concert.

I think this is a pretty apt description of my personality as a whole- rocking, slightly demented, but at the same time, I’d like to think I’m pretty grounded now that I’m Mosh Mummy. I used to be a little-famous rock star (right, that’s the word I like to use: rock star- when in actual fact, I was more of a folksy-alternative-rock chick) in my city about 10 years ago. Ah, to be young and spirited, free from the shackles of the cruel world. Living with my parents, studying for my Bachelors degree in law, I led a fabulous life of semi-luxury. The rock chick. In my heydays, my guitar and piano were the loves of my life, music was the inspiration that drove my soul to furiously writing lyrics and penning notes feverishly in the middle of the night, trying out different riffs and chords, blending soft and hard until the music soothed my ears. Even when the discovery of boys was inevitable, I stuck true to my music: notwithstanding the starry-eyed romances, holding hands, penning love-sick poetry into my diary. My songs took a new turn, angst-ridden, emotively love-struck. I drew squiggly hearts with my boyfriend’s and my name entwined therein on music paper.

But I rocked on, playing in dingy little pubs, singing songs like “The Roof” by the Bloodhound Gang, screaming, “Burn, motherfucker, burn” as I whizzled chords on my friend’s borrowed electric guitar. I cut an album with my close friend, a folksy-alternative debut that won a number of accolades including Best English Album in my home’s equivalent of the Grammy Awards. It was a big deal. Girlfriend and I won the award also for Best New English Artiste. It looked like my life-long dream of becoming a musician was coming to fruition. A psychedellic music video, haunting and melodic, followed: we were living the dream, made up to the nines, dressed in white shift dresses, plunged into cold lakes with fish nipping at our bare skin, diving into a human-sized aquarium and a bathtub filled with flowers and orange slices. The song was, I have to say, a very cool one, our first single penned by yours truly, my proudest achievement to date. Then came the nationwide tour, performing live concerts, doing little gigs and shows, the most amazing time of my life.

After almost 2 years of rockstar-dom, it came to an end. The pact I had made with my father- that I would take time off from the books to pursue my musical destiny, on the condition that I would commence working after I had passed the Bar exams: that time had come. With great dejection, the band broke up, I cried for several nights, but consoled myself with the fact that I could still continue to write my music. After all, one’s true passion cannot be denied.

I still love my music, although it has been 10 years on, and the last time I wrote a song was 4 years ago. My taste in music is somewhat different now, although the musical artistes who had influenced my direction are still very important to me these days: I am still seriously, seriously serious about Tori Amos and her wonderful strange music that, till today, I cannot get out of my head. Now, with a 3-year old daughter, the iPod plays songs from the Barbie movies, M2M, some Bananarama. Yes, cringe: that happened to me, too although I’m somewhat numbed these days. When I am alone, though, I crank the volume up and start singing in the car, like the rock star I had hoped to be. My current musical poison: Liz Phair and the good ol’ 90s, the rock chick I completely idolized when I first heard her music. Go, Liz!

I found it compelling to begin this blog, although I already have 2 semi-active ones running. Blogs are such public things, aren’t they?- and too many people already knew about my other blogs. I wanted, and I still want this to be just mine. Where I can rant and rave about any damn thing without thinking about repercussions and who may be reading. I told a close friend: I’m starting a ’secret’ blog. It’s going to be a bitch blog. And he says, what’s so secret about it now that you’ve told me? True… I’d only let in a few of my friends on this. But I changed my mind- since I accidentally deleted one of my other favourite, active blogs... boo hoo... I have to get past that...

“I am extraordinary if you ever get to know me…!”

I am, I truly am. Do you believe me? It doesn’t matter anyway. This is my blog, and I get to be as whiney and bitchy and insolent as I want to be. It’s the new year, 2009, and I’m not looking forward to this, save for a few milestone events (my daughter attending nursery for the very first time today) that I will recount as we go along.

It’s going to be a fucked-up year, I can already feel it… I only pray that I have the strength to deal with the obstacles life has thrown at me. I thank God that I have my sanity, although that is now hanging on a thread with the nasty things happening in my life. But that’s another story.

Today, I’m just Mosh Mummy, and I’d like to say, hello, here I come.