05 workshop object

Recently, my family just got google chromecast for the LCD television we have at home. I think we got the TV around 5 years ago. The thing about that is I don’t watch TV and neither do my siblings and so the TV is really for my parents. I don’t even know how to use the TV and remember a memory where I had some friends over to watch the World Cup Final and couldn’t figure out how I could switch the volume on because it was connected to some external speaker system. It think its a reminder of how my family home isn’t really my home anymore, considering I spend most of my time in my student dormitory.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my relationship to my family these days. On the surface, it seems pretty amicable but deep down I know there are some unresolved tensions. Just the other day my mother asked me why I was perpetually scowling when I was around the family all the time, to which I had no reply to. I sometimes think I’m acting irrationally, being annoyed not by the present but a crescendo of past moments that have culminated in a certain disposition. I’m interested in thus looking back at this history and engage in moments of reflection.

Perhaps one specific aspect would be my relationship with my dad. I think it has reached the point where we engage in very surface-level interactions, something I get really annoyed at which has affected my interactions. I struggle a lot between this idea that his thinking might be archaic (which he doesn’t think so) and how he simply cares and means the best for me. Just the other day he said that gender studies was a subject no worth of study, to which I responded quite curtly to. I find that our conversations are never productive, which has seen me choose to disengage with it to defuse any potential moments of tension even though it might not be the most healthy way of moving forward.

There's an old scratchy couch that is in the corner of my living room. It wasn't bought but was given to us by someone who wanted to throw it away. I used to spend a lot of time lying on it while watching television with my family. Over the years, the couch cushion have been worn and have deformed by our weight. I hated the feeling of the couch on my skin. Its rough and it traps so much heat, the cushion shifts after light use. Today, the couch is used only by my father when he watches television with the volume on high. The couch seems to belong in the same group of things that makes me hate being at home.

I'm curious about how different meanings can be ascribe to commonplace objects and transcend beyond its intended use. Perhaps it might be because i'm also curious about how these objects have shaped me and affected me over time. I find that objects in my home and my environment always affects the state of my mind.

My relationship with my father is one of a distance, where I cannot seem to bridge the gap that we have accumulated over the years. We don't have a habit of communicating, not for lack of trying from my end. It just seems that we are unable to understand one another. However, my mother has been actively trying to know what has been going on with my life to an annoying degree. I find myself being mad at her all the time. Recently, it has been made known to me that I have exhibited tendencies that my parents have and I want to explore how much of them is in me.

Yes. I have this particular plastic jug that was given to me by my late mother-in-law. She had spent a month in the hospital and after she was discharged, she decided to give away plastic jugs as a "souvenir" to some of her closest relatives and family members. About 2 weeks later, she started vomiting blood that appeared black like coffee grounds and was sent to the hospital in an ambulance. By the time she reached the hospital, she was sent to the quiet room and she passed away within a few hours later. Since then, I feel that the plastic jug is a constant reminder of her and that we have a piece of her that we can use as part of our daily lives.

I see myself as a woman who believes in equality. In which women and men to have the same opportunities, rights and obligations in all spheres of life. Coming from a malay muslim household, I feel that the role of a wife and mother is important. They see to the bulk of the household and are often the main caregiver. When my mother-in-law passed away, her mother, husband and daughter (the ones who are still living in her house) felt so lost. No one knows how to use the washing machine, where she kept certain things etc.

Ever since the passing of my mother-in-law 2 months ago, I have been spending more time with my husband's side of the family. My relationship with my family is good but I would like to explore more on my husband's side of the family. My husband is the eldest in the family but we recently found out from his grandmother that he was actually adopted. I feel that he did not only lost his mother but also his identity.

Across continents I have picked up objects found in transit, disposessed. And reassigned meanings. These include a hawk feather from the dune of Jaisalmer, disposed plane tickets, fabric patches from Pushkar, a batik cut off from a Jogja friend.

These ephemeras also included gifts from extended family. 3 in particular struck a chord; all from the same family in Paveh, Iran. Arshad's mum to my home. A black chador, a traditional Kurdish prayer rug, an emerald tinted tasbeh. Those are dear and the transactions of a mother to a mother is particularly a story excited to be unfurled.

My ethnic origines has always been my most keen interest. I am still tracing my bharoocha-bengali roots from my dad site and the ceylonese/javanese maternal lineage. The embedded histories and spirit of objects is something I would love to explore. To perhaps lead me back to amuch larger gesture- a chance at delineating a diaspora. Its dances, its dooms.

I found a sari blouse that my grandmother had passed to me sometime back whilst trying to clear out my wardrobe.

This black & gold low neck sari blouse is one of the few remnants of our girlhood- my grandmother, mother & now mine. 'I felt really sexy wearing this' I remember my grandma giggling as she took this out of her cupboard & and handed it to me.

I am a cis woman who struggles with her sexuality- having grown up in a conservative Indian Muslim family. I guess growing up I was taught that my body was a vessel of sin, it had to be hidden away from the eyes of men. I find myself in tense arguments when a family members who pass homophobic or misogynistic comments casually, so I'm navigating and unlearning for myself...

In constant flux, I'm in the midst of dealing with my mother wound.  I'm working on figuring out traumatic incidents that my grandparents and parents have faced. In the past when they have had manic breakdowns, they reconcile it with references to djinns etc.,; I'm particularly interested in intergenerational trauma & decolonising mental health practices.