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.
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.
(oh you one plate wonder you...)
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.'
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!"
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.
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.
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?
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!
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..
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!
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?
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~
I've been sleeping for 3 hours per night for 5 days, 2 hours during class and 3 hours in between classes.. So why am I complaining? It's a bloody medically assured number. 8 hours!
Dunno... but I can't help complaining........
Life as a archi student can be relentlessly clueless. You'll figure out what the heavens I'm saying after 3 minutes 25 seconds after you read this:
I was listening to a couple of first years talking to each other with a slightly annoying america accent. A lot of -like- I like got up early and then I was like why the hell I woke up like like this early like like.. c'mon. like you know... you know what I mean and if my face is made out of metal to resist pangs, I would scold them and tell them off. But no, my fair mosturized complexion is a pretty valid reason not to interfere with their conversation.
Where did they get their American accent? Obvious isn't it? And how they's shifted their perspective on life, about the lucid details of on-off relationships, attitude driven swearing and even the unlogically flirty reactions to attractive men. How can that not be from America?
Wolly baggy many poon, it is a choice made by these people. It was offered through the telly and they's accepted it. They didn't go looking for it though. And in the other hand are traditional values enthusiasts who praised excessive humilty and encourage people to -berkias-. A whole different dimension from the popAmericanized kipas susah mati. (die hard fan) Is this acceptable? Asking that question from afar, away from Malaysia would make much sense but to live in the scenario? It is possible and it is happening. It is our present and it would later be our future. So why, why bother?
Well those values were picked from home, from the television. Untaught values by parents were merely substituted or replaced. It is not out culture to defy our culture but the way things are going now, what the fudge is culture anyway? Cultures are perceived as restriction and how are children and teen to be blame when it is possible to encounter limitless access to other people's cultures and what are the chances of them to practice these cultures.
So what is culture anyway?
I'll tell you, it's like a thing when you do shit and repeat them and like get used to them, you know, like that. you know, if you don't f*** off you f****** b****!!!!
Aside from that, I'd spent the whole week with my project so I'll catch a movie with e tomorrow. Hearts or the Lake House *scrathes head* hmmm....
Aside from that, bloggospere is getting more and more void
Aside from that, that's that.
A research was conducted on how many pages of miscellaneous books are read by an average malay malaysians throughout his/her lifetime and the result: 2 pages per person! So I figure malay malaysians are not up to par with the rest of the community to express their anger through intelligent discourse so they resorted to the infamous Kampong Riot.
If you or a friend of yours are an Anti IFC enthusiast, tell yourself or him/her this: READ THE FRIEKIN' PERLEMBAGAAN handbook! Yessss.. they do have an easy search&read handbook.
If you malas, be clear of hatred and accept that Malaysia is not a Muslim country but a secular one. It was stated during our grandfathers' time and remained to be valid until now. Ya Pakcik, memang macam tu... Makcik, jangan dengar cakap pakcik, dia tu follow drama Samarinda je, berita tu bila kawan datang baru tengok.
Malaysia is a secular country.
Not a Muslim country.
And how is Malaysia applicable to Islamic Laws if only 50-60 percent of the rakyat are Muslim Malays? How can it be possible?
So worry not about Lina Joy and her strong-will desire to peluk christianity and start worrying about your own children. Do you think their knowledge in Islam is enough to withstand temptations to convert? Pakcik, kalau anak pakcik tu pun beromen tepi tangga ngan boifren anak Ustad Kampong Hilir, tak payah lah susah-sasah dengan anak orang lain.. Buang dek masa.. Buang dek suara..
Even UIA is in dilemma because of Irma's case. Tak payah tengok jauh-jauh. Nun di Law Department pun ada 'Lina Joy'.
But then again, who am I to reason with you, pakcik dan makcik. Saya budak lagi kan -_-**
Or are we really? Personally, I am a multiracial person. My childhood bestfriends are Yogesh and Jason Ng, I had parties, birthday bash, weddings etc with non-malays and non-muslims. Sadly, in the midst of my past multiracial exposure, I noticed that malays are not included in it.
A fellow roommate of mine, Shafie made it clear when he said:
"Kita melayu jumpa orang cina bila la sangat, kat Low Yat, midvalley, kedai mamak. Cina pun jumpe org melayu ket pejabat nk bayar bil eletrik, cukai and rasuah. Cis.."
Races do not intertwine well enough for us to exude pride in racial bliss. And why is it that the previous generations of KL citizens are more connected with eachother albeit race and religion rojak?
And why are Damansara and Petaling Jaya are proclaimed Chinese territories, Keramat and Gombak Malay territories and Brickfield and Bangsar Indians'?
Is the much boasted Multiracial Malaysia a long term propaganda? A brief clearance of conscience? A cheaply coated unity?
And who are to blame to this.. this... concocted conception. Why is the government fabricating the scenario by throwing big bucks in the expenses of merdeka advertisments and larger than life KLIA billboards? How is fabrication a method of unity?
What is a beautifully knitted teddybear without its fillings?
And don't you think that there'll be a period of angry 'unmasking' and forceful 'knitting'. Do we need to repeat May the 13th incident?
Afiqsays~ Sekloah Jenis and Sekolah Agama should be abolished for good!
She told me that she's from Boyan. Boyan? "Itu pulau di Timor Jakarta itu." Oh Boyan.. and she told be she had been in Malaysia for 25 years and had worked various domestic jobs. Stories of marriages popped out from nowhere and subsequently stories of her children.
I was in awe with her flow of words; depicting her misery in a casual manner, as if it was something all of us had gone through in life. 3 marriages, 1 dead child, a cheating husband, long journeys and affairs in one scoop of cold cucumber soup. "Hidup makcik ni senang ja dek.." she would say in between stories. "Makcik mau kerja halal!" My heart skipped a beat.
It was courageous of her to travel without assurance but she had made it a point that Patience is the key to almost everything and that doesn't include her first husband. And somewhere along her confessions, I 'clicked' with her, both of us have negative notions towards Kelantanese. "Orang Kelantan tu mana mana pun pelat, dia ingat kita faham cakap dia. Gedebe kunun.. Dia tak sedar.. Ini KL!"
By the end of the day, we met in front of the elevator, I grinned out of empathy and courtesy. She was no longer a Makcik Cleaner but Makcik Hazura and I, Apik.
Habits are compulsiveness that occurs due to repetitive pleasure. It's like licking an ice-cream in a same up-down motion on the same spot. It's weird, some would say it's kinky and others unethical but it is some of the things you would rather do unto yourself when you're confident with your surrounding or when you're alone.
To humanize the third speaking role I'm playing now: I have to admit that I have countless habits. Childhood habits, temporary habits, eternal habits, desperate habits and even comsumption habits (sigh). My eternal habit: decorating any habitation I limit my activities in @ room. I'll spend more money on my room than my cloth expenditure or sometimes even food. It's a habit nonetheless and I find this habit quite useful, architectural speaking of course.
But habits has their own consequences and repetitions will only maximize in strength. We humans naturally don't appreciate lateral pleasure thanks to our nafsu (nafs). We (humans not crabs) comply our enticity to multiplications. Sequential pleasure. It's like a wave movement graph. It'll go up and down and finally tsunami will strike and before you know it, all you had gained is lost. Sad. Sedih. Grief.
Unexpected explosion is the right category of limitless metaphores. Consider this one a more appopriate metaphore.>>>
Habits are meant to be sustained or it'll eat us up, chewing our dignity with its wrath, swallowing chunks of our identities and eating people's love for us along the way. Truthfully speaking, I _____________ but really I _____________.
See, we make excuses for our action.It's only natural. To have peace in mind amidst atrocity. Amidst thumbcracking pain. Reality hurts. I have no idea why I'm writing this way suddenly. Think of it as the poetic segment in a fully commercialized drama. The scene where the heroine stare at the dusk without emotions.
That way lah.. ('_')"
How can lah??? You are what you eat! So today I'm a Nasi Lemak, Nasi Bukhari with Lamb and Broiled Chicken and Chocolate Cake lah? Impossible *add the --bley-- to make it sound Latin Soap Opera-ish*
Being Malaysian, it is strange that when a foreigner asks us what food are we famous for... we will probably answer "Dunno.." Unlike Thais and their TomYam and Indonesia for their Rojak Tsunami.
So.. *imagine a sengau auntie speaking* actually ah... we are what we read. Yep, you are either an
Or you don't read at all and prefer staring at feets. It's what most LRT passengers do really... They stare at shoes, sandals, flip-flop, kurap, thick yellow toenails.
Hard black shiny shoes, 10 ringgit pasar malam flip-flops, Celuped Vans
I am more of a fantasy novel reader. A natural Geek. So what lah.. Wanna piece of me issit? I'll charge my Mana and unleash the Demons of Ambarcia!!!! or I can just ignore you and enjoy my dragon ride. Either way I will achieve naught. >_<*
Interesting Bedside Lamp. It has a name too: Syahiran Sukardi... nah.. it is "I am sensitive"And this is Syah's 20th birthday box. Happy birthday Syah!!! It was meant to mock him. So what the dodol lah kan~~~ very kawaii innit?
I sell b'day boxes too you know.. RM15 including the poslaju fee. Get one today!!!
(haha...I'm killing myself!!)