The Lone Ranger

I really feel like blogging today but I cannot even manage to write a single sentence without making grammatical mistakes so I decide to write rapid succession of nonsensical sentences. Sometimes we need to express our personal literature without the latching of grammar and common sense. You may call it 'rapping' or 'freestyling' but I rather call it rapid succesion of nonsensical sentences. So be it. So be it.

My hands are full and my feet are sore but my dreams are wide and big and bright. Rain will fall. Rain will fall. Fear not. Strive. I slip and fall, slip and fall. My hands are full and my feet are sore but now my dreams are not wide and big and bright anymore.

I pick myself up and run towards the light. My sons are sick and my daughters are dying. Worry not my children, our dreams are nearing. Our dreams, it will heal your sickness my love and will keep you from dying. My friends are sick and they are leaving. You will see, I tell them. You will see me beaming.

Oh yes my dreams are near now. My sick sons are leaving, my daughters are almost dead. Don't worry my love, for your love and sacrifice, I will lend you my bed. May you rest and wait. Rest and wait. Don't be sad. Enough! Get yourself up and fight! Get mad!

My friends are mad, they are scared, they want to attack. They want to reach the dream I set. They want to dampen my strength and make me sad. I will persist. I will attack them with brutal silence in form of a hiss. Better this than offering them a kiss.

I pick myself up and run towards the light. My sons are mad, they are scared, they want to attack. I will insist. This fight is our fight remember? This is our dream together. I should be sad. I should be mad. I should attack. I am not scared. Hug me now and share my dream or leave me be and see me beam.

Oh yes my dreams are near now. My daughters are dead. They lay motionless on my bed. I will carry on your struggle my love. And live in the valley of dreams. My sons and friends are restless. They know my dream is nearing and they see my face almost beaming. They are sad. They are still scared. But they are too tired to attack. They sang a white song and leave me be. They hate to see me glee.

Yes! My dreams are here. My dreams are here. Come my sons, daughters and friends! Come here and see me glee. Worry not I will lend you a shot. Where are you my sons, my brave sons? Where are you my daughters, my delicate daughters? Where are you friends, my most loyal friends? Where are you now? Are you too sad ? Too mad? Come here now and beam with me, I have no regrets.

Where are you my sons?

Where are you my daughters?

Where are you my friends?

Where are you?

Where am I?

I am not beaming, I am not happy I am sad. I am empty I am mad.

You are not laughing? You are sad? Why are you not mad? I ask them.

They say:

Because you are not beaming, you are not happy you are sad. You are empty you are mad.

Thank God

Three days ago was somewhat interesting, I ate breakfast with Hadi, my brother who had recently transferred from Sabah to Alor Setar and set out to the heritage study site with more than enough spare time to catch up with Hadi. Hadi had got a few inches taller since the last time I met him but not as tall as he had described to me on the phone. He's still very very impressionable which comes across to me as annoying. I don't mind having an annoying little brother. It's his best and most memorable personal trait.

We reached Istana Sepachendera, an old torn down mansion Sultan Abdul Hamid built for his first consort, Che Sepachendera. From afar, the mansion is a Malaysian version of a typical haunted house. Creaking wooden floor, dusty window pane, crumbly concrete and faltering rafters. I went in the mansion to take some additional shots. "Hadi, jangan lupa ucap assalamualaikum! Bangunan lama kene hati-hati sikit.."

The first floor smelled of rotting bat faeces and damp walls. It smelled like a torn down ghost house or a lonely cave. Or a torn down ghost house in a lonely cave. The plank floor creaked of age and squeked, as if in pain. I orchestrated my shots like a true amatuer cameraman, twisting and contorting my forearms with all the flexibilty I was able to muster. The hall I was shooting reminisced a a colonial private hall. The passing of decades painted the hall black and green and the absence of life filled the hall with cold sorrow.

I balanced my feet firmly on one of the exposed beams to test a shot.

Our heritage study driver went up to the hall with his hands tucked on his lovehandles like a overconfident tourist. He examined the hall idly and picked up a rusty nail from an exposed beam.

"Abang, kitorang dinasihatkan tak usik bende-bende dalam bangunan nih." I said with my sight oblivious to anything other than what appears on the camera screen.

He felt the jagged end of the nail.

You know how people say they will get a series of flashbacks during a life threatening incident. I saw things I never thought I could able to remember with crystal clear clarity. My 20 years spent in this world were abbreviated in less than 2 seconds but before I got a glimpse of my own birth, my flashbacks were ended abruptly like a movie on TV3 distrupted by the midnight news.

I stood up with cat-like agility


My face was covered with what smelled like a mixture of bat droppings, dust and moss. I wobbled a bit, trying to apprehend the gravity of the situation. What were that flashbacks all about? What? What? Whaaaaaat the fish just happened? Hadi rushed towards me and hugged me like a baby grizzly.


I looked up.


There was a hole on the ceiling above me. I fucking fell from the first floor!


Coolness.

I smiled like there will be no tomorrow to flaunt this metalic smile of mine. I'm still alive.

I'm still alive.

I'm still alive, with minor injuries.

Thank god.

Thank god.

Thank you god.

As the head of welfare, (which is ridiculously ironic at that time) I treated myself and asked a fellow PBSM member to cover my apparent skin abrasion with cotton pads. To everybody's amazement, I smiled, walked, took more pictures, got my pictures taken and drove back to my grandmother's house. To my amazement, the first thing my studiomates did was taking out their cameras and taking pictures of my wounds. (I might have died people!)

Everybody panicked when they heard about my accident. I was forced to get myself checked twice and had to drink a tonne of air doa, made special by Tok. My dad rushed from parit buntar to alor setar to get me x-rayed.

The doctor said I was really lucky for not breaking any bones. He double check by feet when I told him I only wore selipar jepun when I fell. He repeated the same bloody sentence more than 10 times, "you're lucky". I told him I think Che Sepachendera caught me in mid fall. He told me not to not make jokes of 'these things'.

Sure thing doctor...

Learn and Let Learn

Today is one of those days.

One of 'those' days. Days that passed by like an impending storm. It's not exactly chaos but the anticipation of it dwells in chaos, resulting something that lies between knock knock truth and sigh sigh fiction. By the end of the day, the only thing I will probably remember is how I wish tomorrow will arrive much faster that the eye of the clock will allow and the only thing that I will probably forget is how yesterday is the fruit of today like today is tomorrow's. By the end of the day, I will probably will not learn anything.

But I usually do LEARN.

I just have no intention of applying what I had learn if I can't make sense of it. Sense can come knocking like my nextdoor neighbour or like a bunch of drunk policemen with loaded guns.

I have two Life Lesson options: I can either be aware of the whole process or experience the ups and downs without the realization of god's unexplainable sense of beckoning.

Or I can do both and spend most of my waking hours expecting and anticipating.

Expecting and anticipating.

Like a sodding monk; aware but ignorant, pious but at fault, all too human to direct, all too godly to act.

Hmm....

Hmm....

Hmm....

A bee am I?

Yes, very much like a bee.

There is a pattern in any chaos and in the fiasco of work I'm in, something distinctively personal is emerging from the normalcy of work and more work: I hate being in am enclosed space with lots of people. A pattern is formed and a conclusion is reached. I don't think I'm suited to work in offices. It's not a matter of choice, really. It's a body reaction, a conclusive succession of self study, a consequential abomination of body and mind, a shit load of crap.

There are several types of bees and I am so very sure that I'm a carpenter bee.

Carpenter bees have metal-like, black color and no yellow marks. Their length is 2 to 2.5 inches. They have solitary behavior and cannot prepare wax. From flower to flower, they can travel long distances. The nests these bees make are in flower stalks or wood. As they make tunnels in solid wood, they are so called. There exists a pile of sawdust near the nest entrance.

Well better this than other sucky types of bees like bumblesbee, honeybees or the damnest of all bees, YBs.

Oi

Oi self-professed, self-labeled, self-abused gays, here's Roseanne's top 10 advice to you..

1. No, your lap dogs are not “just as important” as the children we actually gave birth to.

2. Stop being so anal.

3. The crystal meth thing has got to go. Leave something for straight white trash.

4. Black-and-white photos of guys in their underwear is not art.

5. Are you sure you want the right to marry? Haven’t you suffered enough?

6. No, we don’t want to hear how big it was.

7. Tops? Bottoms? Why limit yourselves?

8. Trust me, real prisons are not erotic.

9. It’s not cute when you flirt with our boyfriends. They’re not “uptight” -- they’re straight.

10. Judy’s dead. Get over it.

Bah! Humbug!

Funnylah some people....

As an entrapenuer, I have my share of business experience including the quantity-price relationship.

More products = cheaper price. Duh.

Since I've always print my papers using A's service, I decided to print about 600 sets of wedding cards. So get this yeah:

normal price:

1 black&white page = 10 cents

In my case:

600 black&white pages = 60 ringgit or simply STILL 10 cents per page.

WTDodol right?

It's difficult to do business with a good friend who doesn't have any business sense. First of all, he's a good friend of mine and secondly, sometimes being in that position somehow made him feel that our business relationship is indispensable. As a friend, he should know that business oppurtunities should not be mistaken as favours. The favour is the deal itself and not the whole process (pricing included).

I'm having second thoughts of using his service in the future and my trust on his business sensibilities is somewhat receding.

Wah wah wah... Afiq bicara niaga!

Since most of the people I do business with expected a name card from me, I decided to make my very own name card. The logo design ada dekat bawah ni:

The somewhat organic spurts represents growth and its artistic curves defines the growth of creativity.

OK or not the slogan: redefining engenuity? I think that is what Malaysia is lacking of in the creative department: ingenuity. We are simply recycling used ideas, especially western ideas.

Since I had the priviledge of making documentaries in UIA and is still deeply involved in the biggest architecture documentary as a university student, I would like learn and get involved in documentary scene. I also make cards, crafts, etc.

What I need now is a business partner who is business savvy and can get me jobs. My Achilles heel is communication. It's not that I'm not a good speaker but I am often distracted from my focus when it comes to getting projects. If there is an art I had missed out it will be the art of persuasion.

Exploit me people before I learn how to exploit myself!

That just now sounded a tad dirrrrty...

I'll Miss You Shasha...

I can't say much about her because I think it's too personal. I'd found her 3 days ago and I let her go yesterday. It pained me to see her in pain. It was an extremely difficult decision and my roommate and I reach a concensus. We had let her make her own decision: to be a house cat or a stray cat in which she chose the later.

My eyebags are still sore and pretty much black from all the crying. Sometimes tears just comes out without prior warning, or feeling for that matter. I'll be doing my work listening to good music and still, the thought of losing Shasha will transform my eyes into overflowing wells. But I think we'd made the right decision, it is her choice to venture into the wild and I respect that.

My roommate tried relentlessly to cheer me up, which he did. He took me for a midnight motorcycle stroll around UIA, went to a kedai runcit and bought a drumstick vanilla ice cream and M&Ms. (Afiq loves his M&Ms) You know, simple cheap stuff I'll remember for life.

And we ate Roti Nan Cheese at Steven's. Steven's redefined roti cheese and nan cheese simply by using mozarella instead of cheddar spread. The nans tasted like pizza! I just think RM4.50 per nan is a bit pricey. It's just mozarella la encik Steven bukan Caciocavallo Podolico!

Right. So there's this gap yeah... that needs to be filled. Any kittens up for adoption?

Last Night

I spent most of yesterday's night thinking (and crying). Her scent haunted my 3 hours sleep and her absence filled it with sorrow. I searched everywhere. I contacted everyone I know. I followed her trails, trying to find the other end of the rope that once connected us.

It's a journey of spiralling emotions. It started with absence, followed by panic and fear and after an hour of searching, loss. And then pain. Pain that struck every once in a while, unexpectedly and without warning. Pain bred by confusion, love and the concoction of both. Pain brought by unattached familiarity and expected bliss. Pain brought by pain that brings pain. Pain.

At first, tears streamed down my cheeks without me consenting it. The body knows what the mind knows not. Like the mind, it knows love and hate but it is oblivious to their form of clothing: denial. I strolled along her trail again deep into the morning and found not a ray of hope but a brooding sun that whines and sighs in exhaustion.

I went back to my room and dwelled upon possibilities, another form of denial in disguised of an non-existing phase of the act of unravelling. As I lie on my back planning my next plan, memories of her flashed by like a storm. Her last look, her last word, her last spewing of emotions was all painted in indifference. I looked back and realized that her loss is somehow intended by her conscience and consented by my actions. My tears stopped streaming and my heart beats louder.

The body knows what the mind knows not.

My body thinks that hope is neither a miracle nor a god-given ray of light. It is within myself. It is a form of the absence of love. It is not hatred. But the pursuit of love.

Help me out guys!

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS CAT?

LAST FOUND YESTERDAY AROUND MAHALAH BILAL

She wears a blue collar and respond by meowing when her name is called: Shasha

Fitna

The content of the movie is without a doubt misleading

And the translation of the Quran was taken out of context by focusing on just one sentence or a part of the sentence. Like the first ayat used in the movie, the producer left a vital continuation to the ayat and made it sound as if Muslims have to wage war against non-muslims. That is not true, what it meant is God tells us equipt muslims countries with the latest weapons so other countries will not have the guts to attack us.

It is comprehendable though the reason why Geert Wilders made the video. It was a simple form of propaganda to breed fear of the Islamic lifestyle. The immigration of arabs to europe was inevitable for the past few decades because of europe's receding human resources. The first generation arabs were treated fairly and without discrimination because arabs were thankful for the government for supplying them the comfort of living and assured jobs. The second and third generation had assimilated european languages (german, dutch, french) and were educated like any other europeans but there was a sense of alienation from eurpeans caused by their financial gap. It is still obvious today that arabs living in europe is poorer than most europeans. This is common in any country concerning any minority.

The inferior complex brought by this caused aggression and discrimination and like any troublesome phase, it will usually dissolve through understanding and acceptance from both parties. The problem is now that a minority of european arabs are taking their aggression to another level and see terrorism as their main propaganda to not to speed up the acceptance process but to force europeans to bow down to their demands. Others however see through the dilemma by peaceful means like representing the muslim communities by joining the cabinet and by intergrating different cultures by various methods

So I strongly dispute the inference of Islam being the main perpertraitor. It is a social crisis that has to be resolved from within the country without the involvement of other countries who are clueless of the pattern of chaos. When the Muhammad cartoon was published for example, muslims in Denmark should have resolve the issue by peaceful means. Not by killing the cartoonist or burning the Dutch embassy worldwide.

I can't really blame some muslims who got carried away with the cartoon or the movie because, well, they are poor, unemployed and live in a turmoiled islamic state. Poverty leads to apostacy. Everybody knows that!

I wonder. Muslims all over the world desperately need to get themselves properly educated man!

It's so embarassing to have to see my religion continuously bashed and insulted. It's even more embarassing to see muslims react to bashings and insults by means of destruction and vandalism.

Who's to blame you ask?

Ourselves.

Don't blame the jews or christians or the americans.

It's high time for us to realize that if we want the Islamic principles to be uphold and respected by the world, we have to first bomb our first target: illiteracy. Then we can move on by bombing bigger targets like education and development.

Allah SWT is everyone's god, christians or jews or buddhists or whatever. We just worship Him in our own special way. Let's just keep it simple and BUY and READ a book.

The Secret is Simple

I'm sure you heard of it. The book, CDs, DVDs anc collectibles of The Secret. You can spend 50 ringgit and above buying The Secret merchandises

or

you can just read this blog. The way I look at it, it's a hell of a bargain.

I'd read, watch and listen to The Secret and I can positively concur that the proposed (and proven) secrets of personal success is exactly similar to a portion of an Islamic practice in terms of its attributes and purposes. The secrets is assimilated to solat in every angle except for the physical movements and cleansing part.

It's amazing how a lot of really pious people we'll usually see praying their asses off in mosques are poor. I can tell you for a fact that they pray because they desperately want to go to heaven but what they don't know is by neglecting wealth and prosperity, they are mainly contributing to their family spiralling financial damnation. That's not a very heavenly thing to do is it?

The purpose of praying should not be questioned, no doubt about that but we have to somehow understand the foundation in which praying takes effect on our life. The basis of solat is:

1. Gratefulness and humility

2. Peace and meditation

3. Mind setting

The do'a part is the mind setting process of solat. Our do'as are our wishes, ambitions and dreams and is also the visualization of our future success.

So do yourself a favour and perform your do'a in a language you understand because surely, you are the person who determines your own dreams and not the Buku Koleksi Do'a.