Yes yes, I delivered several cards to some customers at their hostels. Sisters's hostel. Blerghhh...
I put on my black jubah, and wore a sampin over my head to make it work like a stylo tudung. I then had some ingenious make-up on (colour pencils) and put on shades to hide my Charlie Simpson-Chinese Warlord eyebrows. For extra precaution, I sprayed my eyes with listerine to make it look teary thus supporting my fashion sense. I could either be a grieving ex-gf or a girl with conjunctivitis.
Nobody noticed my disguise except for one sister. I asked her for directions and she was puzzled by my apparel.
"Oh, saya Afiqah." I answered.
After delivering the cards, I rushed back to my car with my fake bossoms sliding down to my waist and my pants unusually heavy with excess laundry. It was exhilarating then to do something extremely ridiculous but the next morning I felt like a complete douche bag. I was like "OMG, I'd totally messed up my balance cycle! I was so fudging drag. A good muslim drag... but that's not the point."
Well, I did it and nobody can prove that I did it. That's all that counts anyways. For all you know, that weird broad-shouldered sister could've been a vindictive young Datin who'd had a little too much muscle-gain formula.
If this life tale of mine is not interesting enough to attract as many readers like my out of bed picture did, this picture of me and Shasha will definitely do the trick:
(Ah, I can see you eyeing my sexy Shasha, you pervs!)
Mollykutty: Yes daddy?
Father: You see Mollykutty last night I went errr... bought shares and unfortunately you see, the stock closed early and I was shoved aside the road spinning, begging for mercy.
Mollykutty: You gambled, got drunk and was kicked out from the bar. Got it.
Father: The thing is, I no money to pay the water bill soooooo you see, come over to Bukit Bintang tomorrow and standby underneath the monorail. They'll be a free shower from morning to evening.
Mollykutty: Okay daddy.
Father: Ask your sisters Ashwarya and Kajol to come along too ah Mollykutty.
Mollykutty: *wags head*
We went to Gombak Police Station to do our case study yesterday and we'd interviewed a police officer about the current design of the police station. We started off asking questions about lockup dimensions and drifted to current affairs; Hindraf to be precise.
The police officers told us that there were many officers from all over Malaysia on standby around KL to assist local police to control demonstrations and some of them have been here for over 2 weeks. Since rumours of upcoming demonstrations circulates relentlessly, they have no chance to go back home to their families. "Depa dah marah tu! Kalo betoi la ada Hindraf punye demonstration lagi, pakat bantai la! Yalah bini tak jenguk nak dekat sebulan!"
It's funny how Hindraf is justifying their actions. A Hindraf demonstrater was interviewed on the streets during the demonstration by Al-Jazeera.
"You call this a free country. They don't even let us demonstrate and express our views on the country. Look! They are throwing tear bomb everywhere, one of my indian brothers head was drenched with blood when one of the bombs hit him on the head! Kroghhhhh, Petuih! (spits)"
Al-Jazeera tried to find the guy drenched in blood, only to found out that the guy only sustained a considerable bump on the head.
And COME ON, ethnic cleansing! Are they sure it's not punic cleaning? Where are they getting their information, Pelita CurryHouse?
And Pak Lah was so mad about the whole thing he struggled to express his anger but was at last successful at it by proclaiming it. Yeah! Way to go monotono!
Now for international news, back to you Afiq.
Thank you Afiq.
I'd noticed hidden satanic symbols and signs 4 years ago when I was 16. I was staring at a Vodafone ad and saw 666 on it. More followed throughout the years, especially when I know more about the symbols I should be looking for.
And you know how subliminal messages provoking us to smoke, do drugs, have sex and other immoral behaviors are embedded in songs to make us do those things unconciously. Like the Asereje song or Hotel California, or even High School Musical and recently hip hop songs. I find it ironic that I hated these songs for no reason, even though I didn't know then that it was encoded with secret messages. God is Great.
Here are some clues about the satanic symbols you should watch out for:
I am not as complicated as you would think I am, really.
I am as normal as karipap.
When I get older, which is going to definitely happen! I want to build my own library. It will have stacks upon stacks of books, refining every absence of space, detailing every slab of walls with its shimmering gold labels. There will be another large hall where Mozart, Tchaikovsky, Bach and Chopin swindles the morning air with lust and drama and betrayal and their insane concoction of harmony.
And another hall surrounded with silly bits of food, each sized no more than a teaspoon.
And a huge bed topped with orgies of pillows.
(I've got to grow up)
Indian writers or writers who'd basked themselves into the intricate Indian culture usually writes explicitly and beautifully. My first Indian novel, The God of Small Things defined beauty. My second Indian novel, The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai, daughter of Anita Desai defined Loss. Unlike american or britsh writers, Indian writers define the intricate nature of a story. They Define.
Since my days are becoming even more hectic than university life, I'm having trouble sleeping at night and out a whim, I'd found out that rock songs are my lullaby. My personal favourite is INXS with the new addition of JD Fortune and Jared Leto's 30 Second to Mars. I guess rock songs are my anxiety pills. Haha.
Are these songs UnIslamic? Hahah. I don't think so. Most rock songs are not about sex and drugs but more on personal reflection and undealt emotions. Say what you want, but Nasyids are lame. I'm not conditioned to think this but today's nasyid is a sample of musical complacency. Period.
Maybe they should have applied their affliation to the condition of the roads after they rallied.
It's good that Malaysians are beginning to speak out regarding flaws of the current administration. But should they really hit the road?
It's not our culture.
Or is it? Was it?
It doesn't matter though, demonstrations and rallies are great ways for people to express their dissatisfaction but sadly, the BERSIH rally was in my opinion, useless.
It's embarassing really, to plea for the King's help, only to be lashed back by the King himself. Now where to go lah?
Thinking back, it wasn't so useless, they had free mineral water, got a free public shower service from the FRU and worked out a hell of a sweat. They'd all came back home cleaner and a tad healthier.
AND free t-shirt.
Yippeeee, sign me up next time. It'll be our rendition of a Malaysian Mardi Gras.
tidak ada yang lebih menyayat
dari melihat bangsaku dijajah
Tidak ada yang lebih menyedihkan
dari membiarkan bangsaku dihina
Air mata tiada ertinya
sejarah silam tiada maknanya
sekiranya bangsa tercinta terpinggir
dipersenda dan dilupakan
Bukan kecil langkah wira bangsa
para pejuang kemerdekaan
bagi menegakkan kemulian
dan darjat bangsa
Selangkah bererti mara
mengharung sejuta dugaan
asalkan langkah itu yakin dan cermat
bagi memastikan negara merdeka
dan bangsa terpelihara
Air mata sengsara
mengiringi setiap langkah bapa-bapa kita
Tugas kita bukan kecil
kerana mengisi kemerdekaan
lebih sukar dari
bermandi keringat dan darah menuntutnya
Lagi pula apalah ertinya kemerdekaan
kalau bangsaku asyik mengia dan menidakkan,
mengangguk dan membenarkan,
kerana sekalipun banggakan negara
kerana makmur dan mewahnya,
bangsaku masih melata
dan meminta-minta di negara sendiri
Bukan kecil tugas kita
meneruskan perjuangan kemerdekaan kita
kerana rupanya selain kemerdekaan,
mengisi kemerdekaan itu jauh lebih sengsara
Bangsaku bukan kecil hati dan jiwanya
bukankah sejak zaman berzaman
mereka menjadi pelaut, pengembara
malah penakluk terkemuka?
Bukankah mereka sudah mengembangkan sayap,
menjadi pedagang dan peniaga
selain menjadi ulama dan ilmuwan terbilang?
Bukankah bangsaku pernah mengharung
samudera menjajah dunia yang tak dikenal
Bukankah mereka pernah menjadi wira serantau
yang tidak mengenal erti takut dan kematian?
Di manakah silapnya hingga bangsaku
berasa begitu kecil dan rendah diri?
Apakah angkara penjajahan?
Lalu bangsaku mulai
melupakan kegemilangan silam
dan sejarah gemilang membina empayar?
Tugas kita belum selesai rupanya
bagi memartabatkan dan memuliakan bangsa
kerana hanya bangsa yang berjaya
akan sentiasa dihormati
Rupanya masih jauh dan berliku jalan kita
bukan sekadar memerdeka dan mengisinya
tetapi mengangkat darjat dan kemulian
Hari ini, jalan ini pasti berliku
kerana masa depan belum tentu menjanjikan
bagi mereka yang lemah dan mudah kecewa
Perjuangan kita belum selesai
kerana hanya yang cekal dan tabah
dapat membina mercu tanda
bangsanya yang berjaya
Dr. Mahathir Mohamad
-4th of May 1996
A perfect holiday is when the duration is about two weeks. One week is too short for comfort. Three weeks or more will get me itching for work. Two weeks = just nice.
A perfect holiday would also mean me going around Malaysia -ranger- style. Heheh. I love being a nomad in Malaysia. Taking buses, trains, motorcycle hikes or just walk around aimlessly. Not all who wanders are lost. Being Malaysians, we often take for granted of our own historical and natural splendours. Wandering around town or kampung alone will get you rediscover the distinctive beauty of God's creation. The bustling town, the asap hitam bus, the golden Buddha statue, the air terjun, the nyonya, the trishaw mamak and oh yes, the FOOD.
A perfect holiday is when I carry around my camera, a sketchbook, a drawing pen and a writing pen.
A perfect holiday is when I officially OFF my handphone, a liberating feat I tell you.
A perfect holiday would have me scheming to make money.
A perfect holiday starts today.
"I, as a natural selector, will eliminate all who I see unfit, disgraces of human race and failures of natural selection."
His potrait of himself is so decadently honest. If this is how he expressed his vainity, with his smug but curious expression jotted out by thousands of layers of oil strokes, it made me wonder: why the hell did he worked so hard to paint himself but did it with full-brand honesty. Why didn't he paint like other artists of his generation, whom had exeggerated their features and basked in baloney angles and shading.
Simply because he grew from inside out. More importantly, he grew. He grew smarter and more expressive when he discovered the golden reality of truth. Truth about himself. Truth about his personal canvas, where he painted himself silly until he was able to inspire others. Even though his paintings costs millions now, he never sold a painting in his lifetime.
Frida Kahlo painted her misery, she painted her pain, she painted her anguish, she painted her monobrow!
She learned that beauty lies in truth and how we make the best of it, whether it inflicts pain or joy. The important thing being, we learned from it.
Andy Warhol was critisized for being a put-on artist, a hoax but what the critics didn't realized is what hoax to them is a symbol of reality to many. The infamous designer of Campbell's Soup and Coca Cola proved the purity of his art when his 'work' reached everyone, the poor and rich, the beautiful and ugly. That is how he potrayed truth, by implying comical relief that were reached by many, making it closely relative. That is how he 'made' his designs beautiful.
And we see ourselves today. Many of us are entrapped by our delusion of beauty, delusions imposed by the plaster-friendly media; newspapers, magazines, you name it. Truth to us is embarassingly private. It is a lingering flea that has to be kept hidden in creaking crevices. We are so fascinated by our delusions that we'd simply stopped growing. A simple truth to this is our friendster profiles, yes yes, you and me (I am of no exception). Many of us learned to edit pictures to edit ourselves, to appear flawless and beautiful to standards pre-determined by 'them'. If we don't edit them, we pose in a certain angle that hides our facial feature flaws.
How does this imply our perception on beauty, growth, age and truth?
If we're so ashamed of our faces, God knows how we're ashamed of our body, family, living conditions, etc. The many facades that shaped our mentality, or so we think.
The cool thing about our brain is, really, that it is not conditioned by surrounding factors, contrary to many of your philosophical mumbo-jumbo assumptions. It is there and it is square. And it is up to us to shape it from within, for it to fully embrace its beauty. Only then will the beauty leak from our thoughts to our actions, and from there on, to others.
My take on things, as usual.
Not for the faint-hearted.
I hate exams!
Don't we all?
(I don't blog responsibly, fyi)
I've no idea why, but I'll get perplexedly contrary with my noted priorities. Macam for example when I was focused to perah my brains for tomorrow's exam, a ridiculously large portion of myself shouted "Jom tengok movie jom, kalau bukan sekarang bila lagi?" The rational part of me whimpered "Esok boleh tengok ... lepas exam.."
It's not about not setting my priorities straight, its experimenting with incoming danger, to cling in between those line, to feel the rush of guilt, to be in danger in a not very dangerous situation. I don't get it myself, but this guy right here, the guy who's typing this is not sorted enough to discipline himself to do what he hates to do. Selfish bloke, this guy.
I'm still thinking of ideas for my next 3 minute film, My Poetic End. I want to make it funny, in a dark comical setting. I want it to be as UnPoetic as possible.
When I heard the extremely shocking revelation on radio, I was flabbergasted. How couldn't I figured it out myself. I should've known.
A fictional outcome that beats (in rating) the killing of 135 civilians in Pakistan. People get killed everyday and I could never empathize enough, because it is unrelatable for the time being. But Big Tall Albus's history of being in love with a rival; that's News.
Even though it is understandable that Rowling is mixing more flavours in her fictional cereal for the sake of global understanding of acceptance, her revelation is fictionally logical. When good friends with goals to succeed one another in the spirit of competition, emotions will run wild thus creating an inhabitable condition for love. Love. It's all around us, whether you're too thick to accept it or not.
But being in love with a man does not validate Albus of being gay. I mean, he only loves one person, and that person happens to be a man. I just don't see the hiccup here. If he was gay, he would have other homosexual relationships with other wizards of his class. Human beings are too unique to be categorized as single entity that reach a certain understanding. And we're talking fiction here! Rowling should've only said that Albus was in love with another man. Now THAT would reach a wider parameter of acceptance.
I was in love with many people throughout my life. I love my umi, bapak, my three siblings, my auts, uncles and cousins. And later, I'd learned to love my stepfather and his family. When I was in school, I loved three girlfriends and when I got into matriculation, I loved a studiomate who happens to be a guy. My recent love is for my cat and girlfriend and all the people I mentioned. Because love is an eternal bond, like our love to God. The only thing that distant the perception of love is situational relatability. If people can get pass that, I think anyone would've admitted their numerous bumping on the four lettered syllable.
To this very day, I can't forget how Bibiana cried when I gave her her birthday cake or how Stephanie shrieked under her breath when she found out she was awarded best speaker. How Haikal never reply important messages and how Shasha, my cat never get tired of chasing my legs around my room.
Love is all around us man.
L is for the way you look at me
O is for the only one I see
V is very, very extraordinary
E is even more than anyone that you adore
Can love is all that I can give to you
Love is more than just a game for two
Two in love can make it
Take my heart but please don't break it
Love was made for me and you
L is for the way you look at me
O is for the only one I see
V is very, very extraordinary
E is even more than anyone that you adore
Can love is all that I can give to you
Love, love, love is more than just a game for two
Two in love can make itTake my heart but please don't break it
'Cause love was made for me and youI said love was made for me and you
You know that love was made for me and you
I just feel the urge yo explain this design. But then again, this blog is not entirely arch-based. So, long story short:
I'm all for Lesbian Robots!
Over the recent months, I've been engulfed by a blue blood guilt, a kind of guilt that could only snowballed into something larger. It did, and I'm dreading the day it'll splat me head on to the floor, choking me for a bloody confession.
It was my fault for being.... too happy and excited to be responding to other peoples reactions. I simply shut it off. Because it was one of my happiest moment in my life (setakat ni la) and I refused to comprehend the layers upon layers of old grudge.
I shut it all off.
Because I was too happy.
Because I was too excited.
Am I to blame? Yes. Definitely yes.
It is true. I am somewhat a Penakut. It is a contradictary self-image I possesed since I-don't-know-when. Bipolarity would be one of the reasons for it. Many would never believe such a thing is possible, claiming that it is a pathetic self-justification. They think is put-on for to make merry with flaws and weaknesses. I, in the other hand would not have known myself NOT being bipolar. To me, being otherwise is a put-on. It's not just me thinking that, it's me feeling that and it's me acting just that.
I can be smarter by the day, everybody progresses from day to day with their intelligence but what is attainable in a book would never even hint a possibility in a decade when it comes to the wisdom department. We can all be smart like cats and dogs and everything in between, but wisdom is a rare pearl. Wisdom is a state of enlightenment where actions are purely based on a responsive sense of pattern and possibility. It is somewhat foreknowledge that envisage the pattern of chaos rather than dreading the derision of it.
I am far from reaching this level of enlightenment. Very very very far away.
Being analytical, I know for a fact that deeds and misdeeds are cycles. It is derived from the Pay It Forward theory. If you get molested by an adult when you are smaller, you will build up a livid distaste for people whom had acted or acts in a similar personage but at the same time develop to be one. You know what I mean. Intelligence, of course can distinct the disastrous pattern or cycle of an action but only wisdom could deflect it. It is how God punish those who have not attained wisdom from their experiences, by giving them a taste of being the punisher after suffering as a victim for so long, only to experience a graver sense of grief and a reconcilable notion of distress which will require some heavy duty healing.
There are many kind of people in the world; people who embraced life with a full plate with no concern of the present trend whatsoever like Le Corbusier, people who embraced life by the knife like Domino Harvey and people who embraced life with habitual bliss, like most of us.
I'm feeling dissapointed at myself for not mustering enough courage to face the consequences of prolonged silence. Silence. Silence is a very confusing, no, misleading void. It creates illusions, false perceptions and imaginations for the moment of silence do not silent the mind, it makes it speak louder. Louder, louder, angrier, angrier until it shouts nothing but nonsense.
It makes me wonder why sanctuary is easily found in disparity and anger is easily found in plesantary. It still does. When people feed their greed, they do just that, a singular motion of reception that invites a bigger feed. and when disparity is befallen in a sudden, sometimes unsuspected manner, a state of peace is achieved in a sceond. God is great.
I am confused. I am scared. I am very fucked-up. But I need to break the cycle. I need to gain wisdom over the cycle that would've cost me my happiness and the happiness of othe lifes affected by mine. I need to confront them. I am destined to be confronted by dilemmas others would've happily engross and trap themselves with. I am destined to be someone who would bring a hault to the shallow entrapment of eternal self-justification. I am destined to NOT be jaded by these events and make a lesson out of it. Everybody does the same, learning life lessons but very few manage to redeem themselves from it which can easily damage their hearts.
What can be broken without being touched?
Every marathon starts with a breeze, develops into a peak of exhaustion in the middle and ends with a satisfying panting.
Whatever it is, I am pretty sure this is going to take some time; to teach myself the reality of human emotion. To enlighten myself with a holistic approach to things. Only then could I enlighten others to do the same.
But Still, I am still scared. It'll be better if we all get a taste of a biscuit and force it out at the same time to laugh at each others red nauseous faces.
It is my fault, I know but can you make it easier for me to improve myself?
I'm not trying, I know but can you make me want to try?
I'm a good liar, I know but can you make it easier for me to tell the truth?
I'm Afiq, I know but can you love me as I am?