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..
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 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 Dictionary.com 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.
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
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.
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.
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!
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.
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...