My Self Potrait

I was browsing the internet, doing my impulsive research on Theo Van Gough when I saw a self-potrait painting by his famous grand-daddy, Vincent Van Gough. Theo was killed (no,slaughtered) by a fanatic 'Islamist' by the way.

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.


I'd just finish reading Battle Royale manga. It's about a government program that randomly select a class to be deserted on an island to kill each other until 1 student reigns victory over the others' (corpse). All students' necks are braced with explosives that will go Boom if they remain in the same area for some time and each student received a bag filled with basic necessities and a weapon, ranging from cyanide to Sub-Machine Guns.

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.

Despite getting a lot of Duit Raya money, I am currently broke. Well, car ownership just


Despite getting a lot of Duit Raya money, I am currently broke. I blame it on my car. It is old and weary and some parts of the car broke down unexpectedly. I had to unexpectedly lay on a few hundred ringgit to fix the unexpected faulty parts.
My daily spending is not more than RM5, which I used carefully with thorough consideration on my health. Like for breakfast, I'll be eating hard boiled eggs for a week. It's only 25 cents each and a meal will only cost me 50 cents. Its full of protein, provides sufficient calories for the whole morning, and it's oil free. My lunch is oats with powdered milk and sugar to give me consistent energy throughout the day and dinner is simply chicken soup which costs 2 ringgit. Blimey, who would've thought being broke does wonders to binge eating.
Really, I'm not complaining.
This is one of those time when I've no choice but to be optimistic. To see the glass of 'tak jadi, terlebih cair' half boiled eggs half full. Yeah.

Dream a Dream

I had the strangest dream last night and the oddity lies within the the lifetimes I'd travelled through. Three lives. One young boy whose father died in a car accident, a poet who'd contemplated suicide most of his life and a middle-aged wife of a mayor who has to put up with her husband's promiscuity. And all of these lives are related.
It's like the movie The Hours, plus-minus the lesbian and depression bit.
The dream reached out to me vividly, unlike my other vague dreams. The plots are unforgettable and the background, is as real as life. So very real and vivid, to the slightest pearl of morning dew on a dying leaf.
I AM deprived of fiction.
Today is the last day of Portfolio, and unlike my other porfolios, this one is low-key. It's not Malaslah but I'll Lie Even More If I Touch Up. Aaaahhh... Serenity of complacency. Plus, the -void- acted up last night during the Kulliyah's Raya Celebration. You knowlah, the -void-. The empty feeling that conjures me to do random things on my own. Last night I strolled along the Pasar Malam at 10 something, when all the stalls are stocked into vans, leaving trails of melted ice. It's one of those moment, you know; the dark unknown alley up a street.
The -void- is a time for self-immensing, to get soaked in the muddy end of a beautiful reflective lake. To be in the moment. To be the moment. I'd already figured out the pattern of the -void- moodswings. It happens only when I am surrounded by people who gathered for the sake of pure vanity. It'll suck the real in reality in me, leaving me with the -void-.
Today will be a full day, after a night of smelling stolen shoes and dream that defies time-travel, today must be a wholesome day. I just have that feeling. That feeling that nothing will go wrong today. The naive deceptive thought that will snare its fangs later in the evening and it'll go SUCKERRRRR! But for time being, the thought of today to be a full day is seemingly imminent. Seemingly. Let's enjoy the moment, shall we?


When I heard the extremely shocking revelation on radio, I was flabbergasted. How couldn't I figured it out myself. I should've known.

Dumbledore's gay.

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


The part time model, Dr Sheikh had just returned to planet earth. Yes yes yes, he is a space visitor. He visits the big bad void, did his experiments which was probably done decades ago by other scientists, ate his rendang and returned home. Patriotic or not, I don't see the point of getting excited of the whole thing, I really don't. It's a waste of money. It's a waste of TV time. Space supremacy my ass. And I guess he will be awarded with Datukship and be considered a national hero. All is well. A journey of a trillion miles starts with a single weapon buying agreement with Russia. Oh yes, did I mention I shed a tear when the space rocket took off? I did.
I am planning to buy a camera, a video camera to shoot my short film and stuff. Priority; I'm going to Jordan with studiomates so we need a camera lah. To buy a camera, I need money. A pretty large sum of money. My financial flow is pretty much restricted so..... go figure lah.
Just in case some of you are worried that I'll get depressed over the Raya Tear Marathon, I'm confident to confirm that this heart is as hard as cement. My ego grew harder with it. I've been depressed all my life so it's not hard to realize that the cause of my personal dilemma is myself. I am dealing with myself right now and discovering means to relinquish -this- void.
"Why do I think so much?"

nature: a comic reminder

I produced this simple animation for 3 hours. So don't expect so much la...

Taman Melati Fire Station: Perspectives

I just feel the urge yo explain this design. But then again, this blog is not entirely arch-based. So, long story short:
songket pattern-local reference of heroism-something I've to come out with to impress lame-ass design-outdated lecturers.
red ribbon-corporate colour-wow,it flows-lofting instead of standing-versatility
No its not Zaha Hadid's or Karim Rashid's. It's Afiq Deen's.

Bjork's All is Full of Love

I'm all for Lesbian Robots!

Selamat Hari Raya

Selamat Hari Raya Maaf Zahir Batin.

I am one of those people who could not express joy and happiness in full length. Because Joy and Happiness are distant cousins who visits once in a while.
I'm just happy that I am, you know, happy. And everyone else too. Personal conflicts and communication breakdowns will be well dealt by the future Afiq. The present Afiq wants to eat excessive amount of Lemang and Serunding. The present Afiq wants to appreciate the melodrama of Raya. The present Afiq wants to make merry. Talking of which, there is another football joke I've been telling people recently.
God organized a conference with all national football managers to discuss the future of the world's favourite game. The Japan football manager, who'd waited impatiently to ask God something suddenly stood up and asked "When will the Japanese Team win the World Cup?
God answered "50 more years!"

Amidst the crowd, a small man burried his way to the front, violently shoving himself. He hopped around to get God's attention and asked loudly. "I am the Malaysian Football Manager! When will we win the World Cup!"

God cried.
Raya is the day for forgiveness, of forgiving. Raya is a celebration. Selamat Hari Raya Everyone, Maaf Zahir Batin.

Today was an emotional roller coaster. Reading Yassin by my grandfather
Gosh! My last post was so ridiculously emotional.


I spent RM25o for Raya shopping and the rest will be invested in my upcoming project. Nope, its not my studio project.

I am nobody. Nobody's perfect. Therefore I am perfect?.

I've been encaved in my room for a week and a half and honestly, I am deprived of companionship. I'll usually get into a state of desolation or despondency or both in which during these emotional hardship, I wish not to be bothered by anyone about anything on everything. Alas, presentation's over! A long deep slumber awaits!

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?


I think it is downright embarassing when non-muslims tells it as it is: it's a guitar fish dumbass!

I knew many (oh yes, many) muslim friends and family who actually believed in the anak derhaka transformation into a fish tale. Many. And it is embarassing. Very very embarassing.

Mysticism is irrelevant in Islam, just so you know. Very very irrelevant. If mysticm is the pillars in which Islam was founded, muslims will be no different than American Shamans and Scandinavian Witches.

Alas, we grew up listening to tales of Si Tanggang who turned into a rock when he was too embarassed to acknowledge his own mother. I don't know about you, but I think the story is ridiculous and should be shelved in between Cinderella and Beauty and the Beast.

Islam only acknowledge science as the procedure of medium manipulation, not Eh Mambang Tanah, Mambang Air, Mambang Pokok, Mambang Pasirrrrr. There are more ridiculous videos and pictures sent in e-mails to remind muslims of the power of God. Oh God, look at these ungrateful insignificant followers who'd only believed you when they see an edited picture of a dog-girl, and not the natural splendors you had granted for us to use and enjoy.

Siot betol!

If muslims can be easily fooled by fucked up videos and pictures, how on earth are they going to react to the Dajjal, whose sole mission is to mislead mankind with his 'magic' before Qiamah, The End of The World? (as written in the revelation)

I'm just saying, lailatul qadar is not about prostating trees and jelly water, it's a night when cosmological and astronomical conditions is at its best, and will grant enlightened self-motivation and foreknowledge that will be translated into personal decisions to people who is in a state of praying at that very moment. Get it?

I'm just saying later, when we have kids, we should stop the Tanggang story cycle. People are misusing the whole context of the story by being negligent to psychological and emotional needs of children and bullying them with the "I keep you fed, you do what I say!" theory and defying the impossible by expecting children to be loving and understanding to them when they get older by threatening and beating the hell out of them when they were small and vulnerable. That just there, strangely rhymes.

Oh yes, a message to the guy (or girl) who impersonated me in my Taggie. Just in case you think bloggers have no right to be pissed by blatant insults, think again. And I do edit my own pictures. Yes, it can be quite startling; I am not getting any more handsome but I am getting better in Adobe! Anyone can see the relevance of my actions (the editing)

Ini bulan Ramadhan, Afiq tak nak lebey-lebey nak counter-attack your kurangasam-ness, cukuplah sekadar gambar hitam putih ala-ala 50-an ini:

Up Yours Bebeh!