calling out, calling out



This week I spent one fifth of my time crying, which resulted impending assignments. Whenever I start tracing plans and sections and focus about nothing but the sharp metal technical pen, pearl of tears began showering on the tracing paper, like missiles bombarding onto a cream coloured dessert.

I couldn't do anything but diving into others lives to escape mine. For a while. I watched tonnes of complicated japanese animes to reflect upon the simplicity of my problems. But how could something so simple take away so much of myself? How can Life Give so much and Take so much away? I hate facing my studiomates now, with my nose constantly running and my eyes heavy of crying. I hate seeing them happily chatting about their plans for holidays. I hate it so much that I begun hating myself.

Men don't cry. They do actually, but never in front of people who would say such a phrase. I would wake up sober but pathetic every morning, confront the deceitful Sun and shut it away from my room by dropping the venetian blind, like killing a noisy chicken with a single slash with a sharp parang.

Thank God there are strangers from all walk of Life that proclaim themselves as Friends. Thank you God for granting all these beautiful Friends to me..

tsk tsk tsk

Why am I not surprised to find out that most porn surfers are Kelantanese? But it really does makes sense, doesn't it?

I would like to think that conservative people are the horniest of them all. The horniest people with inner sexual carnage that defies bobbing dangdut girls. That hides under rattan cupboards.

Maybe those surfers are curious young adults whom conservative parents refused to engage in an informative sex talk. Been there. Done that. Like most of you, I too learn about sex from the internet. Where else lah? In minutes, I was enlightened (choir singing 'allelujah'). Images of breast, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, horse, etcetra invaded my mind like an old flick. And instead of getting the bigger picture, I was captivated by the westernized version of SEX. Yeah, you heard it right. S to the E to the X.

It took me 4 years to learn about the dignity and purity of sex. The Bigger Picture. 4 long years. 4 painstaking years of discovering sexuality. Thank God I was equipped with enough Islamic knowledge to abstain myself from pre-marital sex. Another question loomed after the 'enlightenment' (another hallelujah). Masturbation.

Is it Haram? Some say it is Haram and some allow this action of self-pleasuring. But one thing is for sure. The Quran never mention about it, let alone restrict it. So be my guest, please discuss about it and show it in the Headlines of Metro. I have to know!


My limbs won't listen to neutronic instructions. They heed the nerves contraction but ignore the mechanism of the coding. They'll go "What the hell do you want me for, you maniac!"

My limbs are going against the wishes of my brain. And the weird thing is, my brain refuse to comply with my limbs' wishes out of revenge. For example, I wanted to type 'across' and having that word typed a few thousand times, Mr. Brain decided to process it as "what the hell is across? Is it A Cross? Maybe it's accross? Hey fingers, maybe that word never existed?" So I have to check to get a confirmation, only to listen a discreet chuckling from the depth of my skull.

Angry of the un-syncing of my brain, I lashed my inner fury and typed "I'm stupid" and before typing stupid, I froze and my brain became vacuum for a few seconds (an incident similar of getting high of alcohol) and only managed to type the word "Stupid" by concentrating on the keyboard. I spent about half a minute just typing that Stupid word.

There are many similar incidents. One was when I refused to defend my design because I was trying to be (whatdoyoucallit?) adamant to the lecturer's taste and my brain made me stutter, sneeze, and urge my bladder to burst only to see no liquid coming out from my genitalia as soon as I was in the toilet. Other times, the brain took control of my whole body but this happens when I couldn't get a grasp of what's really happening.

It happened. I was somewhat surprised. I was caught by a STAD officer for having long hair, wearing black jeans and without my matrics card.

STAD: Why did you have long hair.

me: It's not really long, my collar is too high, plus my neck is shorter beyond average, making the length seems exaggerrated.

STAD: Oh, Jeans are not allowed

me: But these are Black jeans. Only blue jeans are not allowed.

STAD: I don't like your jeans.

me: I don't like your slacks.

Among the 11 students interrogated by that very STAD officer, I was the only one left un-summoned.

It was analter-ego of mine many known as MADBA. Madba the Cynical. Madba the PraiseWorthy. Madba the Psycopath. Madba the Architect.

An alter ego that resides in Afiq the Mediocre. Afiq the Normal. Afiq the NewlyWashedClothes'SmellLover. Afiq the BookReader.

Somebody save meeeeeeee~~~~
I was watching an anime series with a roommate after a restless day until his mother called him. He answered the phone. Happily.

We possessed the rare ability to absorb and re-enact behaviours. And sometimes not. I learned that he arrange shoes on an hour basis because his mother did the same. He practiced active silence because his father potrays such behaviour. And like any other malays, he will scower to his room just maghrib and will only come out of it after Isyak.

Parents are the map of their childern

My other roommate is obsessed with anything electronic and is a desperate technology freak but his father is an old-fashion man. But he blinks manically like his mother.

As I approached adulthood, more and more mistakes of my parents became apparent. More and more of them materalized. Deep psychological trauma, ignition of dramatic retribution, childhood tremors. Like a silk that floats on a bubble of sea water. That soaks mysteries and agendas. That hides a piece of a destroyed village. And when the waves crash onto the ocean, there will the silk be, stranded and wet. Stranded and wet. But beautiful to look at. Beautiful to the eyes of the beholder. Below the moulds of clouds. Like a substandard mattress.

A speck of cream if you don't mind, all the entries are semi-fictional. A


I just found out that DIGI is contributely largely to the Jewish community. Jewish community contribute largely to the invasion of Palestine. Invasion of Israel contribute largely to the killing of muslims. So stop using DIGI lah. IT IS the only foreign company that shares Malaysia's sickly sweet waves of enslaved electrons.

Hotlink is co-owned by Maxis. The maxis founder and boss, Ananda Krishnan is an Indian Malaysian. Rumours has it that he supports the IFC. I could not be bothered by personal inclinations. Another rumour has it that he is the BOSS of the successful chains of Pelita Mamak Restaurants. Just rumours lah~

Celcom sounds good now. It DOES. What other righteous choice do I have?

My youngest architect uncle was officially married to a Sarawakian architect who worked volunteerly as his draught(wo)man during his university years.His father in-law was the Tok Kadi and they had to repeat the Nikah process three times because the official Kadi was too overwhelmed by emotions, like an old father watching his daughter sail away, only to feel the breezy presence of her baby skin smell in his sleep. And in his heart.

It was my first time performing a 'menepung tawar'. And it strucked me that I'm next .I'm next in line! The most probable bachelor. A bachelor who still has parental complications and complex(es). A bachelor that religiously hugs his bantal busuk. A bachelor that spends less than a minute in the shower cubicle and more over an hour in front of the mirror. A bachelor that is despicably un-bachelor like. A crab that refused to walk sideways and was labeled a new specie by a dumbfounded homeless man who turned into an instant millionaire, only to lose all his money to his fourth wife.

A bachelor that is mildly (sometimes medically) narcisistic.

A bachelor who is still confuse about the nature of Life.


Another self remider

Yes, yes, I know. It's 'poyo' to post lyrics. It's very 'syok-sendiri'. Very personally attached that no one could possibly relate to it.

Read on. But years goes by since Americans step foot on Iraq's soil and decades since the Palestinians are terrorized. Tragic news of death of muslims are no longer effectively audible, serving as an entre to everynight's news. We have to admit though, that death news bore us nowadays. Gone are the days when we'll whisper or cry out loud 'Innalillahi wainnailaihirajun'. Please keep reading, I won't bore you to death with this little reminder:

Look into my eyes
And tell me what you see
You don't see a damn thing,
'cause you can't, until you try to relate to me.

You're blinded by our differences.
My life makes no sense to you.
I'm the persecuted Palestinian.
You are the American red, white and blue.

Each day you wake in tranquility.
No fears to cross your eyes.
Each day I wake in gratitude.
Thanking God he let me rise

You worry about your education
And the bills you have to pay.
I worry about my vulnerable life
And if I'll survive another day

Your biggest fear is getting ticketed
As you cruise your Cadillac.
My fear is that the tank that just left
Will turn around and come back.

American, do you realize,
That the taxes that you pay
Feed the forces that traumatize
My every living day?

The bulldozers and the tanks,
The gases and the guns,
The bombs that fall outside my door,
All due to American funds

Yet do you know the truth
Of where your money goes?
Do you let your media deceive your mind?
Is this a truth that no one knows?

You blame me for defending myself
Against the ways of Zionists
I'm terrorized in my own land
And I'm the terrorist?

You think that you know all about terrorism
But you don't know it the way I do.
So let me define the term for you.
And teach you what you thought you knew

I've known terrorism for quite some time,
Fifty- four years and more.
It's the fruitless garden uprooted in my yard.
It's the bulldozer in front of my door.

Terrorism breathes the air I breathe.
It's the checkpoint on my way to school.
It's the curfew that jails me in my own home,
And the penalties of breaking that curfew rule

Terrorism is the robbery of my land.
And the torture of my mother.
The imprisonment of my innocent father.
The bullet in my baby brother.

So American, don't tell me you know about
The things I feel and see.
I'm terrorized in my own land
And the blame is put on me.

But I will not rest, I shall never settle
For the injustice my people endure.
Palestine is OUR land and there we'll remain
Until the day OUR homeland is secure

And if that time shall never come,
Then we will never see a day of peace.
I will not be thrown from my own home,
Nor will fight for justice cease.

And if I am killed, it will be Falasteen. (Palestine)
It's written on my breath.
So in your own patriotic words,
Give me liberty or give me death.

Look Into My Eyes by Gihad Ali
Performed by Outlandish

Take a moment. We're busy with work and assignments but why are we working so hard? We're doing so to enrich ourself with preparations. Preparations to face the real world. And to help the ummah, to help our communities in our own little (or big) ways.

We have to have a bigger picture when we draw life, when we render it with grey and yellow and black. I see myself as a rock. Myself as the problem. Myself as the root of ignorance. Because I drink Starbucks? because I ate at McD? Nope, because I haven't found and establish subtitutes for them that benefits the ummah. Because I failed to invent. Because I simply innovate.

Because I thought God will take care of his Ummah????

A good teacher let their students make mistakes so they can learn from them. They don't give out answers. Let me put it this way. God is the perfect teacher.


I'm at starbucks, drinking frappucino and surfing the net. I used to dread those who does this type of leisure activity but now I'm dreading myself for being a subject of my own generalization. I went to KL sentral to send a friend balik kampung. Not a favour nor a treat but a simple token of friendship, of companionship.

A nyonya with a crooked face is staring at me. One-eyed nyonya with curly whites wearing a polka-dot blouse. One-eyed nyonya that looks like an asian version of an american pirate. She's staring at me with a contented look, like appreciating a sleeping spouse before going out for work. Maybe she thinks I look like her long lost tomboy granddaughter. Maybe I'm just good to look at, God Forbids! Maybe she's looking at the SALES details on a banner behind me. But I would like to think that she's looking at me.

Yesterday, Tya, a studiomate I can quirkilly remember as the girl who buys clothes at expensive boutiques and used the paper bag to keep her paper models asked me about uncle Lee. She's a sort of person who goes to the gym and drink at Starbucks while surfing the net. She told me uncle Lee is her uncle's uncle and asked my acquaintance with him. I told her that he's my uncle. Now she wants to go to the gym together with me and drink at Starbucks while surfing the net. How I dread people who drinks at Starbucks beside a windowpane while crusing in their laptops. Now I'm almost 'that sort' of people!

But I didn't go to the gym. I went to KL sentral to accompany a friend. The person next to me just got back from a relief centre in the Phillipines (he was talking loudly to his wife in his cell phone)

Okay God, point taken. I won't generalize anymore. Now get this guilty feeling out of me!

Just a thing or two...

I'm a gemini. I know. Do you? We geminians have a special gift of shape-shifting our personalities when we see fit. Yes, personalities. Attributes. Sometimes sudden and honest impression. Some live by it and some ignore this tendency of theirs.

In my case, I live in it. It is life. It is how I live it. My abilities shamed Bollywood actors. My whole life. I have never decide whether I want to use 'it'. I just did without starting from a point. My presence can be felt. It can be easily felt. My silence is shouting extrusively. My fidgetings are screeches. Like a hungry owl. My nods and shooks are defiant. My implying compliments are the things you wish you'll hear often but never thought of them before.

Both sides of my family is clearly taken back by this. Unwilling to take sides, I ventured for the key of calamity that had been torn apart since my parents' divorce. I searched and searched and seached some more. And realized that the problem lies within everybody. Everybody with an apparent reason to believe that there is a problem is actually embodying it. In simpler, more kindergarten words, everything is everybody's faults. I have my share of course. Everybody has their unforgettable 'moments' and every part of it was a result of complicated emotions and ego. Of loyalty, of righteousness, of many other factors.

Each sides have their heavier sides on things while others justified them and emphasize on their thoughts of some other event that holds no importance to the other side. Nobody is willing to say "Yes, all of us made a mistake. You and me. All of us."

Nobody is willing to face the blame, eventhough they know that everybody is blameworthy. Being the Afiq in the middle didn't help. I am an embodiment of betrayal. I am also an ambassador of tolerance. I am a person with no integrity. Who is neither here nor there. I am also being relentlessly picked on for taking sides, even temporarily.

I am not perfect. I want to be a person with integrity. A person with principles. But do I have to take sides to do so? I am developing my personality for the better. I have the intention and will to do so but pressuring me to 'smarten up' and be 'a man' is futile and is doing any good. Have you no thoughts of MY wants, MY ambitions, MY purpose in life, MY goals. I need MY alone time to search for my soul. I need MY alone time to build my personality. What I need from all of you is support. Support. Guidance. Not 'holier than thou' preaching of how I should lead my life. Not instructions from pointA to pointB but hints. Just hints of my life. Just hints.

Just in case.. just in case nobody notice. I'm only 19. Will you allow me to make mistakes and learn from them because I DO sincerely think that that is the only way to learn about life. And the limits are cordially stated in Islam. A subject I'm well equipped with.


BTN: Biro Tata Negara

Mencipta semangat patriotisme dan cintakan negara di kalangan semua lapisan masyarakat Malaysia dengan memberikan keutamaan kepada golongan pelajar, cendekiawan dan pemimpin-pemimpin masyarakat dengan hasrat mewujudkan satu negara dan bangsa yang kuat dan bermaruah melalui rancangan latihan dan penyelidikan kemasyarakatan.

How They Reach The Objective
I was asked to memorized a whole article of how Pak Lah is the most competent and wholesome leader and Anwar Ibrahim is a common criminal. I was then asked to answer a -fill-in-the-box- question paper where I have to complete sentences of how Pak Lah is Malaysia's perfect leader.

Memberi sumbangan bermakna dalam usaha mencipta kegemilangan masyarakat Malaysia.

How They Reach The Mission
I was bombarded with Semangat Melayu. Melayu Boleh! Melayu Boleh! Melayu Boleh!

Pembina semangat patriotisme negara yang terkemuka dan utama.

How They Reach The Vision
I was forced to sing Negaraku at the top of my lungs until the facilitators are satisfied

Oh yes, yes... I'm highly patriotic now. Long Live UMNO! I mean Malaysia...


I didn't sleep last night thinking how ignorant I've been about my religion, Islam. I have been adopting the so-called-modernized Islam that I've neglected its rules and regulations. My way of life, the way I think and the way I approach Islam. It had always been my religion, not my way of life. Sure I pray, I fast but there is much more about Islam I've neglected because I thought I can't reach success if I fully practice it.

I've been judging and moderating Islam the way I want it to work. I stood up, basking myself on the morning's sun feeling ashame of what I'd done since puberty.

Surely, there is more than Islam than praying 5 times a day and attending the Friday prayer. Much much more than that. There is more than Islam than covering my aurah. There is more than Islam than its proclamation on my ID card. There is so much more.

I've been praying five times a day, reading Al-Fatihah which I have no I idea what it means. It was only out of habit. I didn't know what I'd memorized and read in the Quran. I have no idea what I'd recite while reading the Yassin in a congregation. Imagine that, I'd been mumbling a foreign language in which I failed to understand for the past 10 years. Truly, I am ashamed.

My intentions or niah had always been materialistic: to be successful and rich, to own an expensive house, to have other people to respect me. What have I contribute to my way of life? to my giver? Have I ever planned to help the ummah?

I have to rethink on how I should proceed with life. On the intentions in which I will spend my heart and soul on. On my life goals. I really have to rethink everything. To go to the roots of everything. I must prevail in this intention. I must.

The vicious cycle

The phone vibrated. It is a feeling you get before a storm. An impending pain. It is not my first time. It is like a papercut where I flick through several familiar pages and get my fingers cut repeatedly. I answered the phone, slumped and used my weakest tone of voice in favour of the speaker. Dreading the moment of the cold icy conversation, I held my breath and sighed from inside my lungs. Like every similar phone conversation with the speaker, she would hung up. Like choking my throat with a bottle full of guilt pills. It will last a week, maybe more but then again, the speaker wouldn't know about it. I, in the her opinion, have a heart of a stone.

So I switched off the phone for good. 'Good' is a moment that I feel appopriate for my excruciating pain to mend. I will switch it on again, when I'm ready for another papercut.

Everybody should know that what comes around goes around. It is cycle nobody can't deny. I will, sooner or later be in position similar to the speaker. And the cycle will begin. The same cycle. The same experience.

But I won't.

Because I would like to learn from it. To learn that pain is continuous, sometimes heridetary. To learn that as a human being, I can manipulate my emotions and experiences. To learn that the most beneficial and most harmless pain is realization.

It is a difficult journey. It is a journey where I have to get into the root of my behaviour. A journey no one would like to revisit. A point in life where I 'died'. A part of me. It is about forgiving myself, forgiving everybody that had inflicted the vicious cycle.

A journey I will have to endure to get rid of the heap of burning, balmy feeling I can't describe everytime the phone rings.

The Beckoning

For as long as I can remember, I read magazines backward. Not because I like to favour the good stuff but the reading experience will be more thorough and full. And precautionary.

To think about it, what if I cound the years of life backward. Assuming I'll die of cancer by the age of 80, I should be 61. 61 more years to live. Maybe I'll live a more full and thorough life by that psyche.



An old white man who lives nearby Nael's condominium had been bringing guys my age to his home. Some are baby-faced malays and others are age-defying chinese teenagers. He'll bring his companions home for a cup-of-tea and relaxed with them by the pool. Apparently, Rymond had bought his home to spend the last moments of his life here, on the shores of the Pearl Island.

Rumours has it that he has a wife and children whom he had left in Britain. Rumours also has it that he sleeps with young boys to invigorate his vitality. In other words, to live longer. Could it be that sodomizing and fondling young adults is the elixir of youth? He is also the Chairman of Welfare of the whole condo and had used this oppurtunity to decorate the entr ance with rather untasteful objects.

I met him a few times in the elavator and to be honest, the few seconds in the entrapped space is torture. It is not much of what he did but what he had done. The thought of his 'secret escape' exerted a few drops of nervous sweat.

marry a whiteman lah

Ah, malay men.... Sure I can't generalize them but I CAN sum predictions for a major portion of them. They will win your hearts with endlessly flowing poems and song lyrics during their first spurt of interest. They will later try tease you and lead you on a romantic roller coaster. They'll marry you, proclaim their husband-ly status in kenduris and will work their ass off for your domestic needs. This is the peak of your relationship; when hardships and fruits of labour are shared. And when your first baby is born, you'll go through another hurdle of temporary neglegence. A few children later, you will be practically be a queen who is in control of your household but no, not your husband. Your husband, whether you'll realize it or not will spent a quarter of his salary on mistresses. When your age goldened-seasoned-blackpeppered, he'll come back to you with a heap of burdon, some of them being terminal illnesses. An unforgettable trip to Makkah and he'll die a few years later.

But if you marry an englishman: you'll spent several years of cultural tolerance and absorption before marriage, a simple (cheap) and romantic marriage and honeymoon and a few years of wild social exuberance. From there on, you will find yourself a full time companion who revitalizes your 'fire' every now and then. After a few children, you will be pampered by their tendency of sharing your domestic loads and after all the children are able to live for themselves, the journey you had during early years of marriage will embark in full engine.

So malay girls... marry an orangputeh!
or malay guys who thinks like an orangputeh!

My assumptions are made from personal observations so please mind my rather shallow perception of marriage sequents.

try typing elgoog on google and click i'm feeling lucky.. trylah


Minumlah... why should I be bothered?

Drinking alcohol is haram because its bad for the health. Same goes to smoking cigarette. Everything than endangers human life is haram. So why are Malay muslims making so much fuss of others' haram deeds? Backbiting and gossiping are also haram. Touching women that are not related is haram. So why bother picking on others when all of us know for a fact that we have a fair share of misdeeds?

I rest my case.

What if I tell you that today religeous calamity is another version of the Crusade, a newer, economy oriented crusade that had longed plan to make the very few jews rich and the many muslims poor so they'll destroy eachother. And the crusades will pick up the carcasses as treasures. The long alliance was broken and now we muslims practically hate Jews; but the real enemy are the crusades, crusades under Christiandome that disguised as peacekeepers.

for real~ I'll do more research on this.

That's not Hijab!

Yes, yes, yes, Olang Malaysia manyak komplen - Dr. Lim Keng Yaik

I've been on the northern side of Malaysia, working part time as a food critic and enlisting delicacies to be in my 'Best in the World' list. A full time glutton is what I am! I am also currently busying myself with new menus to cook every night, experimenting my cooking on laboratory mices... I mean family.

The hoolaboolaboolaloo about Raja Sherina and her fitnah SMS is quite amusing. The fat tudung labuh lady is so self-determined to clear her name that I'll be delighted to make her a stew with a cupful of blackpepper. Then she'll realize how the stew won't sting her mouth until some time.

The guy named Baginda had sex with a mongolian model, forced to marry her and later blew her up in pieces. As peculiar behaviours always starts at home, I wonder how his mother cooks. Maybe she flirts with chickens with a unique rendition of cockadoodledoo song, have the chickens follow her to the kitchen and blow them up. Maybe.

Datuk Zakaria satay stall was recently demolished. Albeit his misdeeds, he had the courage to declare "Rakyat masih mempercayai saya." because of his largely attended open house. Datuk, Datuk... people are there to see for themselves a living, breathing scum (since the most horrid ones are already dead) and to get free lunch. Full stop.

Kefli dan Marsha semakin Intim. Like I give a ****.

Ah yesss, this is a good clip about hijab aka tudung aka tools of camel-riding arabs to opress their women.

Load of shit

How can special interest of malays are in sync with Islam. Or Islam Hadhari for that matter?

Islam Hadhari or its literal meaning Civilization Islam is new approach of rebranding Islam. Rebranding the worldwide perception of Islam and its Muslims. It is rooted by Malaysia's Prime Minister's passion for the religion but how is possible that he denied Islam basic rules of governance? It is clear that Islam do not permit tribalism or race-segregating policy in all aspects of its governance. During the time of the prophet, Jews have the same political and economical right in Muslim Countries and the same can be said about the diversity of races.

Doesn't Islam Hadhari means International Civilization of Muslims?

And there they were, shouting like maniacs about protecting Malay special interest during the UMNO annual general meeting. If this were to be scaled down in proportion, it is like a group of red indians proclaiming more power that the other red indian tribe across the river. And at the same time, in the Perlembagaan, Malaysia is a Secular country.

As bits and pieces come together, Nori, the Prime Minister's only daughter, an avid follower of Sister In Islam (SIS) are discussing that women should make their own rules in Islam on the basis of reason and not the clear and consice content of the revelation. The most obvious rule they agreed on was women do not have to wear Hijjabs.

Sister In Islam, Islam Hadhari and Malay special interest do not blend well in Islam (to be totally honest)

Load of shit if you ask me. By the end of the day though, I'll throw all those thoughts away, watch American Next Top Model, eat a lorry load of Ice Cream and cry out loud... Life!

holy shit!

I'm feeling grey, that's why.

You have no idea how I would metaphorically stab -holidays- in pieces. Stab. Stab. Stab.

Most major psychological and emotional problem of mine happens during the holiday. Maybe I'm not preoccupied enough to withstand the holiday heat. People just love tailing my progress during the holiday. I hate when ppl do dat. Seriously.. what's your plan? what's plan?

My definition of a holiday is: days that I off my friek of a phone and dissapear from expectations. Because expectations both intimidate and anger me. I work so darn hard during my busy days, why can't I have my holidays to myself. Where I feed my impulse and enjoy the fruit and shit of it. what's my plan? to make sure I live a better life that you

I am afraid of the holidays. where I don't have suffer to succeed.

I cry a lot during the holidays. where i'll enjoy my passion and its fruit

I usually become hot tempered during the holidays. because its my life

I either lock myself in an enclosed space or walk in an unknown street to get rid of the fear and anger of the holidays. my holiday..

For what is worth, I blame myself for inflicting pain onto myself. I also blame expectations.
please give it back to its rightful owner
There you go, another personal entry that I will regret typing a few days from now.

I wonder...

I don't need narratives for you to understand what I had felt.

Three and a half year ago, I remembered being in love with a girl that had caught my attention in the canteen when she first arrived. We write letters in discreet and on our fifth letter, she decided that she will give it to me by her male classmate to avoid unwanted commotion. And when she did, this fellow classmate read the letter and spread it among his friends. We later found out about the 'leak' and she had blamed me for spreading her letter. What started as a curious misdemenour became a controversial serial drama, five times a week.

The malay guy who spread the letter then threatened me that unless I apologize for accusing him, he will bring his 'gang' from his kampong to beat me up and he did so in a friendly tone, a very customary tone for serious discussion that are usually opted by malays. I refused and he paraded his threat to the whole school, reeling unwanted attention from teachers.

I didn't sleep well for a week and my appetite shrunk. On the day I had to face him and his gang, I ate a full breakfast, dressed up neatly, wore my favourite white underwear and equipped myself with the heaviest watch I have. I salam-ed my mother, got out from the car and walked to school like a mannequin, my limbs were hard as wood.

On the afternoon, the time I would face the wrath of this short, odour-smelling, hatred-filled peer, I did what I usually do. Library. Lunch. A commotion streaked the school yard. I didn't care much. Not then. I followed a few students to the back of the school and saw the malay guy surrounded by my classmates.

"Where's your fucking gang, huh?" Michael yelled, yakuza style~~~, supported by a reverberation of "Woi-s". "So you think you can simply beat up one of us and get the fucking away with it, issit.." JD shrieked. The malay boy, gang-less and speech-less, resisted but was finally intimidated and kept quiet during the whole ordeal. I was there to witness how friendship extends to this level.

And after the brief 'reconsiliation' female classmates poured their relentless empathy and in a day or two, I fully recovered.

The spirit of brotherhood then was so knitted that it made me ponder of the importance of friendship. Many used it to gain something, whether immediately or in the long run, some use it to feed their pride or sympathy. Some just wants companionship. But alas, the word friend-ship itself is an indication of the nature of the word.

It depart, sail and sink in one piece.

pain is a sign of life

Pain is a mutual essence with life. It co-exists with bliss. Pain is the fluid anger that creates resistance. Pain is natural.

Bliss is not the absence of pain but the lack of it. Pain is like a shadow. That lurks behind us and is only verifiable once encountered. Pain is being a person you ought not to be. Pain is being abandoned. Pain is here and now and is present in every soul.

What am I blabbering about!!!!

I'm just testing my 'goreng'(making-up) ability. I'm also testing my photo-editing skills.. I'm also bored to death to even include a happy ending to this entry.

So let it hang, bare with eyes wide open.

ups and downs

(picture: a montessori kindergarten I designed)

I believe in life people worry too much about what's going to happen and why they're here and what will become of them.... so much that they are practically not living it.

Adults I've talked to will condescendingly boast "During my younger days, we were nasty rebels, tearing everything down, got into alot of trouble but eventually we'd always found a way out." They would recalled their fondest memories of being in the fraternity scene and their romantic get-a-way(s). Dissapointed at my attempt of being a 'good boy', they recalled more so called examplary past activities. It is never 'cool' to be a 'good boy'. Not for teenagers.

And they'll end their stories with "And look at me now."

I am looking at a person who's fondest memories are in the past. I am looking at a person who's youth is only apparent in their stories. I am looking at a person who talks nothing of the future or present. Like life is only a hurdle now until the calling of death.

I guess that they'd never planned their life to be this way during their teen years simply because they had planned it. And by planning life, they'd defied the unknown circumstances of life and they eventually have only a grasp of solace, in the past. Maybe this is how life punish people who tried to bend the possiblity of misfortune, death, divorce, bankcruptcy and lost during their earlier stage of life.

Datuk Dato' Datuk Dato'...... Kaboooom

Somebody gave me a message that goes like this:

I taknak jadi anak setan macam u!

Malays and their sentiments. Sokong melayu when you know you'll gain something and jatuhkan melayu if you know you have nothing to lose.

That's how things are in Sejarah Melayu since the Kesultanan period and it this notion is still largely in existence until now. But history had taught us that whatever goes around comes around. No matter how we avenge our self-driven principles, reality is bound to slap us some much needed senses.

Maybe it is how malay humans are programmed to be. Programmed to insult and critisize their own species ans stand by as a team only when cornered. Programmed to destroy eachother. Or so it seems.

Datuk Zakaria defied morale obligations with extreme arrogance and when cornered, hid in his home crying and bidding for the public's understanding.

What can we expect from these powerful malays?

You and I know that there are a pack full of Datuks in expensive clubs gurgling whiskey surrounded by fair skinned filipino attendants. Moral disintergration is growing among malay teens and who is to blame? If you ask me, racing around, endangering lives is not as catastrophic as sucking/parasiting tax money. Hell with Remp-it, let's make another movie about the kutu malam that occupies the 'happening' side of KL. Let's call it Dat-ok. Let's show how these cherished beings are peppered with money from illegal businesses and -account slip offs-. How Datins lurked the alleys in quest of handsome Bangladeshi gigolos. How their children are engulfed with ectasy and drugs and prostitutes and alcohol.

They are the new age Datuks. The hype trendy type. The type that enjoys life to its very limits and drop dead as quickly as you can say KAYA!!!!!!!


study study study.....

I am deprived of human contact by locking myself in my room(again) reading notes and a (disturbing) gay novel: The Line of Beauty.

I am getting restless for some reason and this had made it extremely difficult for me to brace my notes. I am at a point when I have a feeling that I dislike what I'm doing now, as a student who's piling on loan debts and assignments. It's just a feeling of being amidst a crowd. Regimented and Controlled. In the hustle and bustle of the education field.

A part of me wants to diminish family expectations and go against the current and the bigger part of me cowered at this idea helplessly.

So I'd developed some useful hobbies to pre-occupy my thirst for stardom: I've been writing a fantasy novel and this time, I'm not going to quit until I finish it. Scout's honour!

For parents who has their children in universities, they may think that their childrens' future is in the horizon. Scientifically, the horizon recedes as we get nearer to it. There you go. There is really no such thing as the 'horizon' as it is a mere illusion.

This decision of mine, of not following my impulse is even scientifically proven to be GOOD.

Taken from Times:

It turns out that a scientist can see the future by watching four-year-olds interact with a marshmallow. The researcher invites the children, one by one, into a plain room and begins the gentle torment. You can have this marshmallow right now, he says. But if you wait while I run an errand, you can have two marshmallows when I get back. And then he leaves.

Some children grab for the treat the minute he's out the door. Some last a few minutes before they give in. But others are determined to wait. They cover their eyes; they put their heads down; they sing to themselves; they try to play games or even fall asleep. When the researcher returns, he gives these children their hard-earned marshmallows. And then, science waits for them to grow up.

By the time the children reach high school, something remarkable has happened. A survey of the children's parents and teachers found that those who as four-year-olds had the fortitude to hold out for the second marshmallow generally grew up to be better adjusted, more popular, adventurous, confident and dependable teenagers. The children who gave in to temptation early on were more likely to be lonely, easily frustrated and stubborn. They buckled under stress and shied away from challenges. And when some of the students in the two groups took the Scholastic Aptitude Test, the kids who had held out longer scored an average of 210 points higher.

When we think of brilliance we see Einstein, deep-eyed, woolly haired, a thinking machine with skin and mismatched socks. High achievers, we imagine, were wired for greatness from birth. But then you have to wonder why, over time, natural talent seems to ignite in some people and dim in others. This is where the marshmallows come in. It seems that the ability to delay gratification is a master skill, a triumph of the reasoning brain over the impulsive one. It is a sign, in short, of emotional intelligence. And it doesn't show up on an IQ test. For most of this century, scientists have worshipped the hardware of the brain and the software of the mind; the messy powers of the heart were left to the poets. But cognitive theory could simply not explain the questions we wonder about most: why some people just seem to have a gift for living well; why the smartest kid in the class will probably not end up the richest; why we like some people virtually on sight and distrust others; why some people remain buoyant in the face of troubles that would sink a less resilient soul. What qualities of the mind or spirit, in short, determine who succeeds?

Ahah... see see... sabar itu kan separuh daripada Iman~~~~

(gambar hiasan semata-mata: Pulau Sapi)

Why do we tend to neglect those who are more makan garam.

Didn't this year's raya Petronas advertisment teach us anything?

From the media and majority malays' opinion on Dr. M's rebuke, I can conclude that:

1. The rakyat can't read between the lines, taking up gossips and newspaper reports as easily as picking a kuih raya.

2. The rakyat are malays? Since when did that happened? Why is it that there are two stream of opinions in the media, one in using malay as the medium and the other english.

3. All the politicans are ganged up on Dr.M.

It is clear that the rakyat has no second voice. Why can't we respect a pensioned Prime Minister's opinion on how the country should be governed? Aren't Malay tradition about respecting elderly's opinions. Can the malays for once, stop being so engrossed on the newspaper's headline and use that spare time to think of business strategies and oppurtunities. We're lacking that: economic empowerment!

Being so obsessed complaining of chinese malaysians taking over the country's business over an evening teh tarik won't do any good will it? (not knowing that the country's economy are actually feulled mostly by jews)

A pakcik that sat beside me during my kedai mamak outing told a friend of his that he lost Judi recently and will compensate his loss by joining a 'persatuan'. But when his friend brought up the headlines, he began heating up and tossing slurs like 'celaka punya orang tua'. For a moment there I thought he was referring himself.

As quoted by an evil character in an anime: "Didn't your mother ever teach you that when encountering a stranger, you should cover your wallet and ass."

It seems to me that malay politicians are all ganged up on this subject to cover their own Pierre Cardin satin underwear covered asses. Well, after En. Zakaria of Klang kantoi with his mansion in the middle of a kampung, it served a pretty good warning. Here here, an examplary wakil rakyat: built a mansion without a permit, instructed to meet the Sultan but decided that a vacation could easily dismiss the Sultan's intention and when was finally called in, got out from the castle with an arrogant smile. Pakcik, pakcik, say sorrylah... For a person who earns no more than ten thousand a month... he's expenditure is undeniably illogical. BPR.. where art thou??

This here is an open letter written by Dr.M:

Ladies and gentlemen
Citizens of Malaysia
Why did I criticise the Prime Minister?

Because no one else is able to criticise the PrimeMinister. He cannot be criticised by his Deputy, his Cabinet Ministers, Umno Supreme Councilmembers, Menteri Besar, Chief Ministers, Members of the Dewan Rakyat, Members of the Senate, Members of the State Legislative Council,Umno members at all levels, Government Officersand anyone from royalty to beggars

The mainstream media including radio andtelevision are not allowed to admonish the PrimeMinister. Pre-paid telephones are now required tobe registered so that anyone who transmits SMSes will be known by the Government andaction can be taken.

The Internet and the websites will be electronically bugged and action taken against anyone who criticises the Prime Minister

Anyone who attempts to hold any function that may involve criticising the Prime Minister will be harassed and threatened by the police and Government leaders to force them to cancel the function.

I myself have been blocked using all sorts of means to stop me from criticising the Prime Minister.

1. I cannot be invited by Umno, non-government organisations, associations of government officers or non-government officers, universities or any other institutions.

2. Umno members and the public are prevented from and advised against attending any functions or meetings where I am to speak.

3. All sorts of threats are meted out by police and political leaders to scare anyone who refuses to comply.

4. Every time anything that involves the public takes place, the Deputy Prime Minister and certain other quarters will forcefully advise that any criticism, comment or debate should stop

5. Actions that are taken or threatened to be taken include sacking, transfer to remote areas like in Sabah, retraction or cancellation of contracts, harassment by the banks, call-up by the police, the Anti-Corruption Agency and other government enforcement agencies, detained and interrogated repeatedly.

A climate of fear has enveloped this country.

No one dares to comment, criticise or oppose anything that is done by the Prime Minister.

In a situation where no one can criticise the PrimeMinister, I have to voice my criticisms on matters that do not concern my personal being, but only those that concern the interest of the religion, race and country.

Because of this, I am abused by the PrimeMinister's henchmen including component party leaders, the mainstream media that is controlled by Kali and Brendan and all other government apparatus.

The questions and issues I have raised have not been answered. What is being questioned is my right to comment and criticise. Attempts are made to disparage me so badly that I am made out to be of unsound mind. Repeatedly, allegations were made that the administration during my time was worse.

Their media make out that my criticisms of the Prime Minister are despicable and reprehensible

Muslims should know that even the Imam can be corrected by those he leads in prayers if he reads or does something wrong

Saidina Abu Bakar, Islam's first Caliph, had asked to be corrected if he did something wrong, not by foreigners but by the Muslims themselves.

But the current Prime Minister cannot at all b ecommented upon, criticised or advised. He is almost a saint who is free from any human weaknesses or wrongs.

My meeting with him should be kept secret from the rakyat. And because we have met, I can no longer criticise whatever is done by the Prime Minister.

Because of my statement that I would continue criticising if something that is not good for the religion, race and country is done by the Prime Minister, all sorts of condemnations and insults are thrown by these hatchetmen and the mainstream media towards me.

Because all avenue for criticising the government has been shut, therefore I am forced to come up with this written statement so that it is not spun by anyone.

Dr Mahathir bin Mohamad
Malaysian citizen and commoner

Oct 27, 2006

A leap to the unknown

Went snorkelling yesterday at Pulau Sapi.

As I swirled my fins in circular motions, redirecting myself deeper into the sea, I examined a coral reef with little Nemos (clown fishes). The bright orange neon coral reef danced to the current's rythm, spurting threads of seeds every five seconds or so. The clown fish that occupied the coral shot itself to my google and curtsied. Curtsied? To little Nemo, it is trying to imply competence by displaying its deep orange pattern. But to me, the little Nemo is doing something cute. Barracuda stays still to aim. Greyback cuttlefish stares at surfers to catch a scent.

How we are estranged of of our own presence. How peculiar we looked. How we hate to admit our facade. How we imply the unintended impressions through abstraction. How first impressions are wrong. Frankly, to me, silence is granting myself the freedom of judgement, giving me the benefit of doubt, waiting until the pieces of a puzzle draw themselves to their original position. To observe. To contemplate. And to finally express in finality.

But some perceive my newfound state of solace as a refusal to 'join in'. To be a part of anything or in denial of my state and surrounding condition. But in the lenses that are held in the skull that is covering this brain, I have simply found a better way to absorb life as it is. We humans do not amplify thoughts by only talking, we do so in our body language, our released aura, the temperature of our body, the changing hue of our skin, the moving pupils of our eyes.

And when this subject is in motion in an emotionally caged conversation, I was accused of not having dreams, of not having a proper ambition, of not making the initiatives to reach those ambitions. I can only answer "I know what I am doing.."

I don't.

Many people searched for their talents for years and years and some just never had the oppurtunity to even lay a finger on their hidden passion. I'd found mine. And I'm pretty good at it. But I have can't plan my future on that foundation. I can design it. Little by little. Sikit-sikit. I may not have straight As. But what I have I have alot. Or so I think.

Should I endure or should I follow?

Should I tag along or should I wait for my turn?

You ask yourselves these questions as I will too.

We all will.

And in the end, we have to face the music. Will those who followed a distinguishable figure be abadoned in midflight? Will those whe searched continue searching? Will those who 'believe' stop 'believing'? Will those who reached their ambition be content of it?



What is Raya Shopping without the midnight Bazaar at Masjid Jamek?

It is a yearly event that surpasses any bazaar in the country. It has the longest line, the most customers and the best raya bargain in the country.

And eventhough it's technically illegal, it is supported by ministers as well, having seen VVIP cars cruising against the waves of discount hungry muslims. What better way to spend the last nights of Ramadhan than to dig through mounds of rubbish, endure unwanted odours and the sickly humidity, all along shouting "Berapa boleh bagi kurang!!!". Heaven I tell you.

For me the best thing during the bazaar is the desperation of the traders to sell their -soon to be tak laku- goods. Some wear the goods. Some parade their goods like gorrilas parading their tarzan son to the whole jungle. Some even do things that are absolutely irrelevant to their business: singing, pantun-ing, and silat-ing.

It is a celebration of the eternal habit of KLites: Last Minute Shopping!

And if all went well, have an enjoyable supper at the exit of the bazaar: yong tau fu and air tebu... lululu....

omost raya

I took a long break from blogging to work on my portfolio.

DIGI sucks. Big time. It's inefficient, insufficient and intolerable. Do you know how hard it is to buy DIGI top up cards these days..

sorry dek, outta of stock, raya baru new stock
sorry macha, don hap Deejee
sorry a chai, wa talak dealing DIGI

It's their reception in Gombak is as though I am inside the parameters of the Bermuda Triangle. The only reason I suscribed Digi till now is because my family is using them. KALAU TIDAK... Digi is also very very very very very very expensive. I have to spend 60 to 80 cents to call some Celcom numbers. One minute 60 cents. A nasi lemak that cost 60 cent pun will last longer than a minute of material existence.

Having OrangPutehs to run the tele-company too bothered me. It's a modern time Penjajahan I tell you. A bare fact it is: Chinese are NOT penjajah, they are our brothers that enriched our country with economic bliss and Genting Highland. And beautified the roads with beautiful cars. Not that our local cars are UGLY. THEY ARE UGLY! Kelisa and Kancil are scraps from biskut Marie, Proton Saga is probably made out of Kulit Saga. They are all cars made my big companies protected and secured by a country to make syok-sendiri profit. Wary, cepat rosak mechanisms that shrouds our visions of sleek sexy beasts.

What else a... *looks around*

What is it with Malays and their spiteful hate towards dogs? Those creatures are cuddly and loyal la. Not haram. They are not Haram. They can be touched. Its just that you have to wash your hands more thoroughly after dealing with them. What? If you touch a pet hamster you don't wash your hands when you want to east issit??? Even Rasulullah deals with dogs when he hunts. He had told a story that a stranded man who saw a crazed thirsty dog and went in to a well to give it water and died after doing so and went to heaven. And a woman that starved her cat to death went to hell. See? They are animals created and loved by God. So why hate them. Stupid la you...

Aaaah... lega. Pardon my condescending use of words. There are more bottled emotions in this poor poor heart of mine but I'll save that for later.



Hajeedar, one of the prominent architect in Malaysia puji my design. I'm so freaking happy. And so were the lecturers. They were beaming like the Malam LailatulQadar's moon. A Divine smile. A Relief smile. Because during external portfolios, the targeted piece of bloody flesh are the lecturers, not students.

I'll be posting the pictures so my mom and other design students can see my 'kene puji' design. Hohohoho...

Makes me Wonder

Someone told me that most architecture students like to tell imaginative tales of how they would like to KILL people. Yes. KILL.

tududududududu (machine gun)

I miss Life.

Anyways.... let's leave my sad suicidal tales aside and shift our interest to Malaysia's number 1 male singer: MAWI

he Makes Alot of Woman Itchy

He has his own Mineral Water. But people, don't get mistaken for his CamPoyo pose. It's not cctually his mineral water. It is owned by an anonymous company (most probably bumiputera's) and the company decided that their mineral water will be the people's choice if it has Mawi on its packaging. Well, well... let's compare..

Your Source for Unique High QualityBottled Water Products From Around the World

Belilah Air Mineral Mawi World

Yelah, a makcik kampong that goes: "Mmmm, sedapnya air mineral Mawi World.." in the advertisment is a more efficient mode of advertizing than "Be healthy, drink healthy."

How can mineral water be Sedap??? MANA BOLEH???

He IS a one shot wonder. Well, Business 'Friends' of Mawi, use that Kampong Boy and get it over with as soon as possible. I want to see innovative changes in consumerism. Is that too much to ask???

It's killing me how BURUK advertisments rule air time.

But things that didn't kill me, will make me stronger.

16th October is Anti McDonald's Day

My shoulder aches lately. So is my neck, my belakang, my lutut... "Apa hal lu Afiq?"

Wa tala apa apa. Lu lon't wolly. Lon't wolly kata Afiq belah Cinanya.

I'm currently struggling with my drawings. My fingers keeps on complaining, becoming spazzztic in the the middle of the tracing process.

Have you heard of McCurry? The shop was sued by McDonald's for using the name Mc and uses red-yellow deco. A Malaysian Curry House owned by an Indian Malaysian Sued for immitating a USA company... in Malaysia? Stupid I tell you. Feels like I want to ....

Afiq entered the McDonald's building with fiery rage. Fiery Red-White Rage. Security hurdled through office partitions to stop Afiq but hut he resisted them by climbing up the building from the outside like Neo (from Matrix)... One of the Pak Guard distracted his friends by shouting. "Ane pocha alibaba allagapas" (Look, free chapati!) and later whispered, "Kane ah chopla chopli" (Good Luck my friend)

Afiq dramatically smashed his way to the Regional Manager's office, filling his socks with snooker balls and sway it around like maces. As the partitions were reduced to splinters and cells(haha) Afiq glides through the office, as though swimming through obstacles, eating a hot nasi lemak, waiting for Abang Domino's Pizza to arrive.

KEDEBABOM patah kaki....

Regional Manager: Ni yo sen me? (What do you want?)

Afiq: Wo bu hui chang hwa yee (U dunno how to speak chinese)

RM: Really ah.. lu macam chinese

Afiq: E tien tien ar.. (little bit can lah)

RM: Owh... Apa lu mau?

Afiq: I want to eliminate evil. I want to destroy the Devil's trusses. I want to demolish the columns of destruction.

RM: Wa tatau cakap ang moh(orang putih)

Afiq: Oh.

RM: *puzzled*

Afiq: Ini macam lah *throws t square*
--tweesh twoosh tweesh twoosh--- BOINK!

Assistant RM: Lu ham sapp baling itu luler sama wa punyer bontot!

Afiq: Sorry Miss..

Miss: Panggil saya Ping Ping.

Afiq: Sorry Ping Ping.

--tweesh twoosh tweesh twoosh-- TOKK!

Afiq got nearer to the unconcious body of the Regional Manager and slowly but stingingly whispered:

"~~~BENGONG mu~~~"


I have been boycotting McD for quite a while now(three months) .

Why?Be a Rakan Afiq and visit these lovely websites:


I came to the studio to bukak puasa with the studio guys and found out that there are going to Mat Goncang Nasi Ayam. Without me. Uninvited. Such dears of them to not get too excited in front of me. Syah beamed to me twice. Like Cyclops's.. PWEEENG--- Right through my head.

Well, I smiled back, wanting to say "DIE, DIE, DIE, DIE!" manically while loading a machinegun.

Need to be patient..

Tarik nafas.. Hembusss..... Tarik nafas.. Hembusss...

Patience process completed.

Don't read if you hate SLOGS

So very sick of Coffee. Tracing paper. Tecnical pen. Pencil. T-square.

Those are the things I've been associated with for the past week.

I have no concern over anything other than my design and FOOD. Design and FOOD. Design and FOOD. The guys in the studio teased me being the most kecoh guy in KAED. "Once you know, everybody will know..."

But everybody knows that I too, keep a lot of secrets. And I think I'm off better keeping them for other people's sake. Coz I dig alot. And once I get to the root of things, I'll anounce it to the whole world.

Well I guess a part of me loves journalism. The 'kecoh' part of course. And the 'senyap' me loves poetry and writing. The 'critical' me loves architecture. And the 'emo' me loves faking. Uhuh, like I'd written before, I fake a lot.

Signs that Afiq is Faking it:

He smiles more than 5 seconds.
He acts blurrrrr and gullible.
He never stops talking.
He acts stewpeed.

I fake it because it's easier to have a lot of friends this way. More contacts, more priviledges.

Another SLOG... So be it, I've been in solitude for so long that I think I need a pet. I do need a pet. A cat. I'll call it Tigger junior. Bless you Tigger (he's in cat's heaven)

Hantu, Free food and Pasangan Kantoi

One of the benefits of Ramadhan (fasting month) is all the satan in the world are chained by God. Yes Seh-tunnn. Hantu. And Miss Pontianak. Mr. Jenglot. Madam Hantu Tetek. They are all chained by God. Chained. If (for whatever reason) satans has access to the internet during their one month prison, I have a message to you: BUAHAHAHA... Padan Muka!
There is a road in IIUM that I've considered haunted. It is currently alienated by indonesian workers and students had refused to use routes nearby the road. So having known jinns will not be around for a while, I had decided to cycle on the road at 1 in the morning.

I passed through silhouttes of lamp posts on the way to the Hauted Road. I wasn't afraid at all. I was, on contrary, overwhelmed by my own (purposeless) bravery.

The air is damp.

The grass glistened.

The view, surreal: misty, blueblack. Shadows lurked and spread like tentacles. Dissapearing when its almost at sight.

As I approached the Haunted Road, I can already feel the course and rubbled road. It was just as described by my studio Tukang Karut. After about 2 minutes of cycling, I'd saw the landmark of the Haunted Road. A lamp post and a signage. It means that I am practically a few meters away from the 'Road'. And then I stopped cycling, took out my camera and shot the entrance of the road. Flustered by cold sweat, I made a quick U-Turn and dissapeared from the scene immediately. Vanished. Kavoooooosh.. So much for being overwhelmed by my own bravery! I have to admit, the killing silence of the night (Mr Cricket, where art thou???) and the chilling morning mist is enough to friek out this funky soul.

And when I retrieved the picture, I have every reason to not go to the Haunted Road ever again. Do you notice the human figure in white tees in the picture. Was it a man? Why is he there alone? I wish I could conclude the attempt with "Hantu do exists during Ramadhan" but since it was God who told us that he chained the Hantus, I figure a new brand of hantu is found. Hantu Maksiat probably?

Some Random events during Ramadhan:

Free Food at the Mosque. Look at the sister who's reading intently. Maybe the font's too small..

Pasangan Kantoi pada Bulan Ramdhan:





No hard feelings eh Cat lovers...

suddenly hungry

OOOuuuHHHooo~~~ another sleepless night.
I haven't any Life for the past 3 days. 3 days of indoor Hibernation in which I refused to jalan-jalan, leisure cycling and room-2-room hopping. I have really nothing to blog about but I feel that I could if I do so in Japanese. I've been listening to Anime Dialogues since my eyes are focused on my work and I think I can almost understand the Nippon Linggo! Gambare! Konbanwa, Watashi wa Afiqo des...
My model is 92% finish (distruption of model-making process was caused by the insufficiency of UHU glue) Ok people, feast you eyes on 92% of Afiq's Kindergarten:

Those balls are planets. There are 7 planets. Okayla, there's actually 6. Pluto is not a Planet. 6 planets? It's just not right! It's like saying women has 3 boobs. Hmmmm~~~


::Self Reminder: You are fasting, control your imaginations....::

Oh Yes written conscience... Okay, so I won't imagine women with 3 boobs

::Self Reminder: You are fasting, control your imaginations.... Women has two boobs....::

Women has two boobs.. Got it.

::Self Reminder: You are fasting.... *thinks of something viciously turn off-ish*::

AHAH! Behold:


Where were we....... oh right. More models to make. Adieu~~~

sober and depressed

I should blog less. Because I whine when I blog. Because it's a turn off for women. Because I'm taking over one of their roles.

I put on a "JANGAN MASUK" sign at the entrance of my room because I don't want anyone to MASUK. I'm morphing into a hardworking monkey, working hard in intervals of jolly clownings. My only window to life is the computer screen.

I realized now that I pay when I blog (internet connection) so I will not post controversial entries that are meant to attract people because believe me, it's tiring. Not being yourself is tiring. Acting is tiring. Like replacing punctured tires. It's tiring.

Putra and Umi turun KL. We had supper at a Gerai. Putra thinks I am a playtool: when I'm around, he'll get away from Umi's scoldings. It is just to show that as my Love grow in his absence, his Love for me only explodes. It grows and explodes. And re-inflates. And Explodes.

My I remind myself my responsibilites so I won't forget them in the near future:

I am responsible for my own sins.

When I get married and have children: I am responsible of my sins, my wife's, my young son or my unmarried daughter.

I am solely responsible for my mother.

Being a Man is Tough.

Fast with Fury: Afiq's Drift

laLike an unfamiliar voice from a distant, like the mumbling of an old train: yes-yes-yes-yes-yes..., like a girl that was forced to marry a fisherman eventhough she had already found her lover. The fisherman found out about his new wife's old lover, he set out to sea in his little boat though he knows a storm is brewing. The lovers made a suicide pact. So everybody died. The fisherman, his wife, her lover and a shark that has no part in the story, but died anyway.

Maybe I slept on the wrong side of the bed. Maybe its because of the lack of sleep. Maybe. My heart feels like a Damp Cave that echoes. And it's wet. That's probably Despair. Despair dampens anything and everything.

The things that usually cheer me up (anime, books, friendster testimonials) are swallowed in the Damp Cave's whirlpool, reducing these objects into Objects. Cold. Hard. Objects.

If anything could cheer me up now, it'll has to be phenomenally God forsaken. Something Divine.

The truth is, I have it but I can't rekindle my hidden love with it. Not until 7.09 p.m.

We'll be ONE soon.............. Char Keow Teow....

(oh you one plate wonder you...)

God of small things

Four policemen on two motorcycles. They cruised (dominantly roamed) in front of an apartment where their civilian bikes were parked earlier. One has a pointy moustache. His passenger a completely bald man. The other two are normal. Civilian like. Background extras in commercials in heavily starched navy blue suits. Four pangkat tags shimmered under the 2.33 p.m. sun

The taxi pakcik snorted.

'Depa tu nak kutip duit.'
'Boleh nampak gaya depa, baru dapat duit latu...'

The taxi driver supposedly resigned from the force because he couldn't stand the corruption. He had tried four times to resigned but failed so he seeked council from a successfully resigned ex-policeman.

'Senang saja nak berhenti.. Bila cuti, bawak balik pistol senyap-senyap nanti balik depa tanya, mana pistol? Haa... apa lagi, pakcik cakap Tuan, dulu saya nak berhenti Tuan tak bagi.'

The taxi driver supposedly did the right thing. Supposedly. You see, taxi drivers are storytellers, always neutral. A victim or an audience. Never the Orang Jahat. Gazes are met on the taxi back mirror. His animated eyes unfolds regret of many kind. One kind detected was: 'Kalaula aku tukaq keja pi tempat lain.'

Conversations about past glories, past mistakes, the Past. And their stories of Life are repeatedly told to thousands. Makciks, Yuppies, Mamachis but never sturdy buggers in heavily starched navy blue suit. As though they are ghost of the past. As though they had lived and died and reincarnated to tell stories.

'Haa.. dek. Dah sampai dah nih.'

I sneeked at his meter charger: 5.10. Five ringgit and ten cents. The driver turned his head to the back seats and smiled warily. Like he was supposed to smile.

'Enam ringgit dek.'

A month to go~

Sensual and a tad depressing Sunday this is....

As the month of Ramadhan kicks off in full swing (soccer matches included), today is a different kind of Sunday. A Sunday of subtle reflection. Yes, subtle. Ramadhan is never the same outside the parameter of no2, Lrg. Raja Udang2, KingFisher Park. As the Balik Kampong song began to conquer national radio stations, the celestial robustness of the violin entre screeched at the very presence of me. It screeched through and out of me with no resistance. And on its way out, it slicked the exit with dispensable memories.

Raya is never a truly happy occasion. Birthdays are more enjoyable as anniversaries are meaningful. Both events are uncomparable of the hollowness of Raya. Yes Ladies and Gentleman, Raya is hollow and empty in every sense as it was misdirected from the beginning.

Raya that I'd experienced were puffed with duit raya, baju Melayu and rendang, sweeatened by the scent of baby cousins and peppered by the elderly presence. No more no less. Raya I'd lived through are results of a month's hardwork of buying new curtains and 70% bargain carpets. Raya I'd gone through are endless niblings of chocolate coated cookies and pineapple tarts. For me, no matter how glorious the front of celebration presented by everybody it was just a celebrated sketch where everyone stretch their cheeks and beamed their tired eyeballs. No more no less. But it's not to say that I didn't truly enjoy Raya. But it was a different kind of enjoyment and it had only lasted for a few minutes.

As Allah had firmly put it: I will not change the situation if you don't change yourself, today is a reflection of the true meaning of Ramadhan. Neither soccer nor sorcery will make the engagement of this holy month a meaningful one. As a humble servant of the Lord, I vow my faith to His rules and affection. As a son, I will embark my vision of Raya valiantly and responsibly. As a rakyat, I will accept raya with grace and affection.

Afiq steps into the house with a heavy heart. So heavy that the crevices of it leaked blood. His throat stiffened and froze. Afiq's cheeks is as hot as the whistling pressure cooker that hails the liveliness of the kitchen. He carved a smile when a familiar head nudged his cold fingers. Afiq looked at his brother Putra intently and whispered "Pergi cakap dekat ayah Selamat Hari Raya". He streched his face to its fullest extend to persuade the four year old. Afiq's heavy heart is now thumping and racing, stopping a beat whenever Afiq swallows.

And there she sits, her face unprepared and pale in exhaustion of last night's preparations. Her expression was animated; tired yet excited. She burried her lips when Saiful's sampin slipped off his thin figure. The more Afiq's heart race, the more placid his movements. He sat uncomfortably beside his mother, feeling the warmth of his mother through the sofa. "Abang belum lagilah!" Hadi shouted from afar.. "Umi kena mintak ampun kat Ayah dululah!" His cracking voice neared.

Afiq lend his right hand shyly towards her and trembled "Umi.." she couldn't hear a thing but his curling posture reminded her greatest fear, Afiq's sudden collapse when he was younger. He seemed weak and futile. She supported his fall and held his back only to find out that it was unusually warm. Afiq burried his head to her hands and in a flush of moment, his hearts dampened. Afiq's mother could feel cold continuous tears on her hands. Puzzled for a second, she grabbed Afiq's hand harder and burried her head to Afiq shoulders out of comfort. It was like the first time I held my first child, she realized. Afiq then lulled on her soft shoulders, his cold tears mixing with his mother's. Like the becoming of teh ais. His hands grasped the beginning of his life. He is back to his origin. He is as near as he could be before he was released from her woumb. And all the ruckus of Raya faded like washed watercolour paintings. All the decorations, the angpaus, the fresh Ketupat. Everything.

Afiq's mother took hold of Afiq's shoulder and declared proudly "You are my first son, how can I not love you!" She trembled and hugged Afiq slowly and softly. Afiq grabbed her back and cried loudly but soundlessly.

And as the crying subsided, Putra snugged in between Afiq and his mother's union and whispered in his clear sincere tone "Selamat Hari Raya!"

Happy Ramadhan People

within the orb of humanity

It was circulated verbally and by casual e-mailing and later the death cycle rolled its way to IIUM administration and staffs.

The rumour:

Irma Nurzahrah, a LAW student of IIUM who emerged as the Public Speaking World Champion at the International Debate Competition: World Universities Debating Championship intended to convert to Christianity and had requested help from the IFC (interfaith commission). There are hovewer affliation to the rumours but I have decided to keep it between those who are contently aware of it.

The Drama:

Irma supposedly threatened IIUM when the university issued her a suspension letter because of her actions. Rumours has it that she had requested financial help from IFC to sue IIUM.


She had denied all allegations and had made it clear that the rumours are untrue.

This is a message from Irma to all that had been circulating the fitnah:

I havent posted in ages, because I dont have the time, but this is an emergency posting.To all the people who have kept on messaging me on friendster and my email, concerning rumors that I have converted to Christianity, please stop.

Whatever I do with my life is none of your business. I dont know you! You dont know me! Stop talking about me. This is ridiculous. Quoting from the last message I got, apparently there are a lot of people talking about it. It is sick and stupid. Go find something better to do with your time, like gardening, breeding free-range chickens, something more worthwhile.

Just so all of you will leave me alone, the answer is no. I am not a Christian. I never will be, the religion doesnt appeal to me, okay? Happy? But I seriously think all of you need to change your attitude towards this whole religion issue. Firstly, its a private matter. Do you know what private means? It means that it is of concern to the individual and to that individual alone. Nobody should have a say in what another person believes, faith shouldnt be forced, because the freedom of the mind is one of the most fundamental freedoms a human being should have.
If you cannot even think a certain way freely, how can you claim sovereignty over your other faculties?

Secondly, why do you always treat people who convert like they are the spawn of Satan? The self-righteousness that you people exhibit is sickening. Its a question of a difference of opinion, it doesnt mean that they will start eating babies. Just because they dont think the same way you do, it does not mean that they are evil. Grow up. Use that hunk of grey matter in your freaking skulls.

Thats all I have to say. Thank you for your concern, and start living your lives for real people.

Alas, she had spoken.

What say you?

Many many ticks

The SRC election and its ongoing campaign. I still don't see the use of these organizations especially WUFI (we unite for Islam) Their stickers are everywhere: in toilets, staircase, cars, etc. UIA IIUM

No matter how hard they campaign, I just don't see any friekin' difference. The watercooler is still broken, the toilets are still dirty, GoWireless is in the deepest trench of inexistence. And I need not vote to clean up the mess. A few steps to the office, filling in my details and write a complain and voila, whatever it is that bothered me will vanish. Hilang. Kepele'ot. Chompchompchomp...Kempen politik

But I can't do anything about GoWireless though. It's out of my hands. It also can't be solve by the student council!

my ass lah.

Afiq tutup kedua-dua belah mata and ignore the elections

i'm being thankful... IS THAT SO WRONG!!!!

Prettiest thing I ever did see
Was lightning from the top of a cloud
Moving through the dark a million miles an hour
With somewhere to be...


Isn't it great to be a part of something. To be somewhere you feel belonged. I truly enjoyed my shift from studio 1 to studio 2 because it gave me a peace of mind and a feeling that overwhelms my entity of self-definite pleasure. I feel so accepted and appreciated for my indviduality in my current studio. It's just a feeling but hell, it's a great feeling.

To be a part of something, it is something I have never experienced. Being in 11 schools, I was never a part of anything. I would do things alone and prefer lunch alone and had done all my homework...

teka itu perkataan...... ... ya Cik Yap..


it's actually alone but aside from your sengauness..
Teng teng teng...

Yes, alone. And things didn't change when I entered matriculation. I was 90% of the time alone, doing my own things, enjoying or sometimes loathing my unintended journeys. I'd mustered enough courage to went to almost everything with my parents advice through Goyah(handphone) and and my dearest diaries. During those times, my motivations were endless fantasies of heroic success, sudden recognition and instant stardom but all are too distant, all are too futile, too dreamy. And so I walked through life with the boldness of an airbag.

And now I feel an indefinite sense of being aboard a small operation. I may be the most unexpected retard or the person who has no control of his urges for good food or a person who has a manic sequent of temporary obsessions or a person who you know... talks too much, eats too much, cycles too much and writes too much..

but you know what... yes Mr. Maniam?

it doesn't really matter anymore?

Teng teng teng..

Sunday baby~~

I've been busy. My current project is to design a Montessori Kindergarten. So I did. So that's that. Muahahahahahahaha~~ ehem~ hahahaha.. right.

I was on the verge of becoming a madman in my room alone for several days to come out with this design and when I finally finished designing it, I paraded it around my room and asked my roommates: "Lawa tak?" most of them tried to say something before I warned. "Cakap je lawa kalau tidak aku kunci bilik waktu ko mandi kat toilet." So the verdict.. ketiga-tiga roommate berpendapat design ini lawa!

Concept? Twinkle twinkle little star.
And we had a Nocta(groupwork) barbecue just recently. I was a bit suprised that the water dispenser thingy didn't do its magic bacause we did some serious barbecuing. Bukti?

I stayed out of the smoke and coughed my way to the potong-potong department and did some serious potonging. I potong the tembikai with my razor sharp braces.
Siapa di sini anak pertama?

Prove it...
There's two type of eldest children syndrome. I self-analyzed it and surveyed it among friends and concluded the following.

::You were proposed many times by your parents to become a good example to your siblings.
::You're pressured by responsibilities but successful at keeping everything from getting out of hands.
::You are naturally a good leader to lesser crowds.
::You are moderate in your expanditure and display lame taste of decorating. Lame as in lame.
::Your have a tired looking smile. The one that has a -I surrender- tag just below it.
::You shop with you mother alot.
::You are emotionally stable.
::You won't go far in life. I know I know.. Life is sometimes unfair~~ but you will achieve happiness along the way. A ngam ngam lifestyle.

::You are emotionally dependant.
::You are allergic to instructions.
::You are close to your mother but fight alot with her too..
::You always need your own 'space'
::You are a critical figure to your siblings
::You think you have your own way of doing things.
::You are always in an emotional state.
::You'll eventually go far in life.. eventually... but you'll lose a lot of things precious to you in the proces.

Kenapa there's two types ek? TypeA has siblings that are only few years younger. TypeB has siblings several years younger.

Why do you think I can be perasan enough to predict you? It is simply because I am naturally perasan. I can also predict personalities through handwritings and signatures.. for free... so jangan malu malu bebeh~