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~~~~