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!
I smiled like there will be no tomorrow to flaunt this metalic smile of mine. I'm still alive.
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.
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...
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!
LAST FOUND YESTERDAY AROUND MAHALAH BILAL
She wears a blue collar and respond by meowing when her name is called: Shasha
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?
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.