A Cut-Off Journey

I know.. I know... So poyo.

BUT

I have a new set of resolutions ready and one of them is to make my blog look 'serious'.

The whole week was such a blur. I didn't think much, I ate like a pig on vacation to pasar malam, sleep like a wreck and didn't care much about anything remotely important. I considered this week as my Post-Break Up Berkabung period. I can pretend to not feel a thing, breaking a 3 year relationship but the heart knows not the logic of plastering emotions. I guess somehow, eventhough our eyes rarely meet, our hearts was set into a journey of discovery. And when the journey is cut off, our hearts will return back to our soul aimlessly and without purpose and holly molly! it takes a week to do so.

I am beginning to feel a lot better now. Now I know why sad people are fat. It seems that the only way to preoccupy myself is to bloody gorge myself. Take yesterday, I ate a bowl of mixed salad, half a kilo of lasagna, 9 McNuggets, 2 strawberry sundaes, 12 currypuffs and 2 packet of maggi goreng mamak. Here's a pictorial description of yesterday's gorging (all taken from the internet lah, takde keje eh tangkap gambar makanan!)

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a new resolution

It is somewhat refreshing to have a new picture greeting me whenever I visit my own blog to read other people's blogs through my blogroll. To ____________________(fill in your own choice of expression)

It's time to move on.

Like any other days awaiting the election, the roads are littered with flags, people are all fired up with their political fanaticism and medias are flaring blue and white non-stop. When voting, ladies and gents, please not be bothered by who belasah who or who prays more than who. Your decision should only be based on parties' manifestos.

Read the bloody manifestos already!

From what I can see, BN under the leadership of Paklah had failed terribly these past few years.

Enlightened Am I

Yesterday, a close friend of mine had taught me an important lesson in life.

He'd learned it the hard way for three bloody years and he had graciously passed on his knowledge to me, his... his revelation of things you might say.

If you're an avid reader of this blog, you might have noticed that there is a fued going on between my mom and me. Long story short, I refuse to talk to her and she's pushing me to reconnect with her with ridiculous means. And I do mean ridiculous. How ridiculous I won't specify.

My friend told me to ardently make merry with her and forget about the whole hoolabaloo, even though I literally cannot erase memories of being emotionally bullied by her. Why? Because Islam says so. Because Syurga terletak pada tapak kaki ibu.

"Baik baik je ngan dier... walaupun tak suka perangai dier ke hape ke, simpan je lah. Kalau dier kutuk-kutuk ke, buli-buli ke, sindir ke, telan jelah. Dier macam kita waktu kecik gak, suke berteriak, sikit-sikit tak puas hati tapi dier sabar je dulu. Sekarang giliran kita pulak nk bersabar dengan kerenah dier. Tapi tak payah la ikut cakap dier yang tak betul, yang betul tu je lah yang ikut. Memanglah doa ibu tu mujarab tapi kalau doa bende yang tak elok... senang camni je ek.. Tuhan tak bodo. Angguk-angguk jelah, buat dier happy. Dier tak perlu betul pun tapi kalau dier tak nak mengaku salah dier atau teruskan cara pemikiran dier, itu hal dier dengan tuhan, bukan dengan ko. Tanggungjawab ko ialah to make sure dier sentiasa happy walaupun dier salah. He's all knowing you know..."

"Chewah."

"Shadap. Orang cakap omputih sket nak kecoh, ko tu cakap omputih 24 jam aku tak kaco pun."

Fikir Sebentar

Fikir sebentar, setelah tungkus lumus menyiapkan dan mempersembahkan design Police Station Setiwangsa ini.

I'm extremely chatty and emotionally unstable right now. I haven't sleep for 2 days and my eyes, god, my eyes are like red balls of fire nesting on a heap of charchoal.

It's weird, how our body works. Even though I haven't enough sleep this week, spent a few nights thinking and planning, eating whatever edible matters that exists around me without the effort of acquiring them and doing my work 4/5 of the time, my body can still have enough strength to carry on till the end of the day. Unable to estimate the capacity of physical exertion, my body simply hyped itself like a damn robot.

Arigato Mr Robato!

Many things happened this week. A good balance of extreme goods and bads. Broke up, received a memo from the Uni, only to find out it's from my mom, this and that, that and this. The usual uni madness that only I can experience. It's a rough tumbling I've to admit but it's ultimate purpose seems ludacris to me now. I know god, there is a lesson to be learned but please, keep those trials and tests coming. God is planning a fiasco for my stubborness, puzzle pieces of events mounting a coming disaster. I can feel it coming. I know it's coming.

This is how a lot of people misinterpret disasters. They think they are tests and trial to be braved through but really guys, God is neither testing your determination nor your will. He wants you to bend over, receive a beating and leave you alone for you to contemplate, to reflect.

You can either be a piece of pawn for the whole chess set's education or a queen, a free prideful son of a gun, learning his way through obstacles.

Elections are coming. Storms of green blue and 'eyes'. Jungle of mafia ropes and batang mop.

An atmosphere that can best describe me right now, before tomorrow, before I realize what I should be thankful for, before my wild conscience are tamed by the subtle sound of snooze, before everything piles up neatfully before my eyes, with caring eyes and round lips, before I lose my ability to write rubbish such as this one.

Before tomorrow I will sulk. I will shout, cry, mumble and sulk. An extreme entity of emotion, one after the other, just the way I like it. Just the way I intend it to be. Just the way god exhaust me with extremes, hoping for me to suddenly surrender my wishful thinking to a realm of moderation and acceptance.

Everything I do is a lesson for me and everyone who'd moulded me. I have to be a subject of other people's lesson before I can be responsible for my own and in due time, others'. So the hell with my philosophy and unusual sense of wisdom, god will somehow teach me and others the hard way. Because they aren't any other way. Or is there? I'm sure to be pressed with more calamities if I succeed the current one with unusual speed. It's how life mistakes catches up. It just does, however annoyingly ironic it can turn out to be sometimes.

I know. Because my deja vus proved to be reminders of eventual possibilities and I'd successfully evaded some of them, only to be frustrated on how twisted fate can be, resorting to alternatives with the same feel of coscience and situational coincidence. If only I can solve you. If only I can figure out alternatives of my own to counter yours.

But hey, you're the Man. You're god for your sake!

Afiq the Troubled Storyteller

We broke up last night. I think the whole thing went terribly. I blamed myself for her despair partly because she needs comfort knowing the three year probation is my fault entirely. I can easily tell her she had repeatedly ignored all my hints and how I never actually utter 'the word' to her or how I treat her like any other friends but for the time being she needs someone to hate and I don't want that person to be herself.

She was pissed because I wrote about my decision to break up with her on this blog and said that it'd somehow tarnish her dignity. If she's still reading this or anyone of you who take this blog seriously, stop it. To tell you the ultimate truth, about 60% things that I'd written here are completely made up. Many stories here were either exaggerated or fictionalized.

A lot of people take this blog to seriously sometimes, like my mom and ex-gf. No one needs to get angry because I had never exposed a single soul with their names or face caption. No one knows whose my mom or ex-gf, so why all the commotion? Some of you even think you know me well enough to judge me.

Just pretend this blog is my fantasy journal. My domain for whatever I want. If you have something to add or share, please do and if you want to dispute what I'd written, don't bother because I don't care. Simple. If you love me and can't stand the lies, don't read lah...

If you are somehow related to me, if you can't handle my fictionalized truth, bare in mind that I am still Afiq the person, not Afiq the storyteller.

To my ex-gf, I'm sorry that you feel this blog had somehow tarnished your dignity but please, get your sense of things straight; the only spectator that can be easily ill-informed about you is yourself. No one else. No one else.

To make things a lot easier for everyone to comprehend the gravity of the entries, I'm going to start verifying the percentage of fiction in every entry. Ok? Puas hati? Orait.

FICTION: 40%

The Ship

I checked statcounter every month to check my rating and how people stumble upon this yellowblackblog.

5% IQKL

8% Susuk

10% Afiq

11% Aurat

22% Mikhail Hyder

26% Saiz melayu

Saiz melayu is the highest search that leads people into this blog! Well well... What can I say, WE MALAYSIAN MUSLIMS are deprived of sex education. I can assume that many of the search are made by teenagers or undergraduates. Since your bapak or abah or papa won't teach you about your own reproductive organ, I will.

The penis size greatly differs according to race, nutricient and genetics. In most internet websites, they will inform you that the average size is 6 inches. But let me tell you something, those bastards did their statistic in the european or american regions. I can roughly tell you that in our beloved country, penis size greatly differ because of our mixture of family heritage. Since the infiltration of various family jewels from around the world, a rich mix of shapes and sizes can be found.

The point is kids, size does not matter, or so they say.

According to Men's Health, 86% women prefers average sized penis which is in the range of 5 - 7 inches.

Trust me, there wil be a time where all men question their own libido and when that happens, they will usually blame God for their members' dimunitive length but never themselves. Never themselves. Very typical of us. Instead of eating and living healthy and live an optimal life, we blame our God-given treasure. See kids, these ungrateful idiots deserve a small member so it'll match the size of their brains.

Bak kata orang-orang tua; it's never about the size of the ship but the motion of the ocean.

Just so you know, my face was all over the kuliyyah last friday. A Personal Asistance of a lecturer took the liberty of making an A4 photocopy of my face and pasted it on the kulliyah's only elevator with a caption 'Most Wanted'.

Imagine that, me, being M0st Wanted.

I went to the office to get to the root of things and had found out that the reason why they pasted my picture was because they want me to get back my matrics card and pay a fine of RM10 for an offence I perfomed two weeks ago: wearing flip flops in a lecture theatre during lecture.

For wearing flip-flops or what we fondly call Selipar, the PA think it is suiting to paste my picture like a wanted bad-ass, yee-haw! Disgraced but composed, I played along with them, laughing at my own misfourtune. Well most people would either demand an apology with a straight face or ignore the humiliation

Clueless Am I

I just dont understand this thing. This thing. Love. How can something so complicated and complex be summed into 4 letter word. It is a ridiculous abbreviation of something of colossal proportion. Or is it?

I just don't know anymore. I just don't. Shouldn't love be so simple and easy? Shouldn't love trascends boundaries? Shouldn't love be something so heart-felt?

Why is it messing my mind then?

I am contradicting my own perception of love, only for it to be a series of unresolved dogmas in retrospect. My initial thought of love was a shared kindred connection between two people, albeit their backgrounds and state of mind. Although I've never been in love except during my highschool years, I am a strong believer of love. I believe in love. I belive in honesty in love.

I have a problem. Please.. oh... please... HELP ME OUT!

My story goes back three years ago when I received annoying text messages from a female stalker. A year passed until I actually replied her many smses. I met her in the UIA main campus and even went to the same class with her. As our courting experience prolongs into a unmentioned, unclarified, unverified relationship, she began to call me names like Bang, Sayang and so on and so fourth. I ignored her cat-calls and never replied her in a similar fashion simply because I don't feel the same way about her. We see eachother a few times a month every month and still, my feeling about her seems to be unfazed. Sure, I like her but I can't even imagined myself to be in love with her. I just can't fit that mental picture in my mind. We began going out more and my feelings towards her became even more decidedly stagnant. Sure, I am very nice in person, something so many lunatics would easily misinterpret.

Maybe it's because she was the person who initated the relationship and not me. Men are not easily lured to respond to women's attraction.

Maybe we are not meant for each other. We are so... different in many ways, something I considered a success formula to a relationship until I began to understand the frustration of having my interests unbounced. We have almost nothing in common. She comes from a loving family. I hail from a broken family with lasting grudges. I write, read and think english and she write, read and think in malay. I have an acute appreciation for novels, movies and music and she is your typical korean-series loving girl who loves murderously sappy korean music videos with predictable fatal endings.

I've never in my life utter the words I Love You because to me, Love is too sacred to be pounced about. What I am feeling towards her now is not sacred. It is an unknowing engagement that makes me all the more guilty for not being in love. A friend told me love does not appear all of a sudden. It grows. It has been three years and yet I find it impossible to even think of being in Love with her.

What is exactly my problem?

CUAK

I've been presenting analysis and designs for over three years and let me tell you this, please read the next sentence.

Okay, let me tell you this, can you read it yourself please.

That is how a studiomate present for over three years; let me tell you this, let me tell you this and he will end up not telling 'that'. Not familiar with the sudden gush of emotion? It's called CUAK. Yes, a combination of cukur and ketiak, a state where all your masculinity is stripped off, baring a helpless pulp of cekodok. But mind you, people react differently when they cuak. I'll list them down: Okay maybe I won't. I know some of you might be already bored with my listing antiques.

Some people will act cool and DO ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. They will smile a sweet serenade of ignorant bliss and somehow garnered enough natural botox in their faces to maintain that oh so fudging annoying smile.

Some people will suddenly become extremely bossy and will inevitably utter rude commanding words like Oi! or Hey! or Ane! This kind of people is trying their best to cover their asses to make it look as if they contributed to the team, if you consider bossing around during presentation a contribution.

Some people will stammer and fall and cry and sleep and forget about their manic episode the day after.

Some people will in a few minutes become natural einsteins You are one of these people if you can touch chin with your elbow. It's only natural for these people to be able to perform this task. Donno why..

Some people will enjoy the attention and speak their best accent (be it american, brit, brazil) They look at the crowd and wink like a sexy korean superdiva. Wink wink wink, wai da hel yu winki mi bak sumida.

People like me though will probably need a partner to present because I cannot possibly present anything without a trustworthy confidant. I will eventually steal his lines and answer all the questions until my 'confidants' would never want to present alongside me again. So I'll replace them with the smiley types. They can be positively assuring, with their stupid smile and shit.

And lastly there are people will suddenly become stupid or retarded. Their speech will slur and they will end up presenting like a politician sloth.

And there are people like you, who think they can get smart by trying the chin-elbow manuever.

Read a book!

The Fantasy

I made this music video yesterday. I should include some important notes though:

1. I am currently bloated because I attended 5 chinese new year parties, which I think will explain why I look so damn fat. (alasan)

2. Beware! A lot of skin, lots and lots of fair sino-malay skin. If you think I made this video because I'm vain, well... you're entitled to your opinion. But if I were to hire a professional actor, I would ask him to do the same. Mind over reason, I'll say. It's a syok sendiri video made in 3 hours anyway. (including editing and rendering)

3. Shasha is a professional alarm clock. She wakes me up when my alarm clock goes off.

4. The song is by 30 Seconds from Mars.

5. A lot of fastforwarding because I didn't have any storyline to begin with. I listened to the song over and over again, took some videos that 'I think' will be somewhat fitting to the song and compiled them like a bologna sandwich.

6. Oh yeah, the wooden snake is said to be cursed by a bomoh in Langkawi, the primary reason why I purchased it. I always thought the snake will somehow persuade me to jump off the window. It never did.

7. Enjoy

In Memory of Mihail Hyder

An ex-classmate and a friend died a few days ago. Mikhail Hyder. Most of us had known him as one of the grandsons of the founder of modern Sabah. But all of us had known him for his good heart, his wicked sense of humour and the confidence he brims us over with. The following entry is by Nadira from her blog.

Hey Malaysia, did you hear about what happened to my friend? Sure. You have some standard report written up on him filed under the drawers where you would never have to see them again and you can pretend this never happened.

My friend Mikhail lived all of his short life in Kota Kinabalu. He was rather popular, pretty much everyone knew him and adored him. He got into an accident a few years back and had a taigon implant in his leg. From what I am told, Mikh told the cops that he would need an operation sometime to replace the implant. This was when he was put into lock up at the age of 20. 20. A juvenile still. He turned 21, his final birthday, in a cell.

Mikhail's legs were already giving him a lot of pain before he got sent into lock up for possession where he stayed... for a long time because his hearing kept getting postponed. Technically he was already being sentenced long before he got to know how long he would be in there for. Your police wanted a RM20,000 bribe. The only people there looking out for him were gang members and we wonder why.

He was a skinny guy as it was and lost more weight while in lock up. He must have looked pretty gaunt after all the torture you put him through. He was feeling ill but only on Monday, he started puking so they finally took him to the Luyang Medical Center where he told them what was wrong but all they gave him was panadol. Apparently they even had time to go get tapau in between all of this. Mikhail then deteriorated as the metal in his leg turned to pus and he got septicemia. Toxic poisoning resulting in his lungs collapsing. He was still handcuffed to the bed while he was in a coma. In the ICU where his mother stayed with him by his bedside, these were her last moments with her youngest son who she couldn't touch for a year because you took him away from us all in his final year of life. He was only 21 when he died on the 7th of February. In a hospital. Never being able to see the people he loved for nearly a year. He died on a Thursday and who knows how long he had been sick for. He had to be near death before they gave him any sort of medical treatment but by then it was too late.

Regardless of how accurate this is in its depiction, the bottom line is Mikhail's passing could have been prevented if he was given better medical attention sooner. He wasn't yet a prisoner, he was still a juvenile. Mikhail was a beautiful person. He was warm, generous, humble, had a big laugh and a big heart to match. He encouraged us all to achieve what we wanted in life. He was really sweet and just about the funniest guy you would ever meet and you took him from all of us. All the people who love him have to look forward to every year for the rest of our lives without him, knowing he was abducted and abused by your 'highly-trained officers'. That's not even injustice. I can't believe you call yourself a Muslim country. Is this how you treat your children?

For everyone who knew Mikhail or everyone who doesn't know him but feels touched by this story of blatant inhumanity, please blog about Mikhail's story and pass it on.

Mikhail Hyder

08.11.1986 - 07.02.2008

Loved and never forgotten.

Doa

I still don't get why Imams in this country insists on reciting the doa in malay. Is it so hard to recite it in malay or both arabic and malay.

There are two very obvious reasons why we should be reciting our prayers in malay:

1. It is the most understood language around

2. Most muslims in Malaysia do not understand arabic

I discussed the subject with some of my mates a few months back and I was a tad enlightened by some of their opinions. One friend explained an analogy: reciting a doa in a foreign but sacred language is like getting water from a well using a pail that leaks. We may not get the water into the house or could get very little water by the time we reach the house but the pail will be constantly clean.

Interesting. But I would use a less desirable alternative like a worn out tyre to get my water into my house than to carry a heavy pail back and fourth and get no water. Imagine this: I got a painful stomach ache and a very loose motion and there's no water in my kampung house. So off I go to the well to get some water but couldn't because of the leaked pail. Insisting on using any other alternatives, I will inevitably shit in my pants but at least my pail is clean right?

Bull shit!

Allah is that you?

A story sent by Cik Intan aka In-Thang via e-mail:

A young man had been to Wednesday Night Class of Quranic Studies. The Mualim had shared about listening to Allah and obeying Allah through intuition. The young man couldn't help but wonder, 'Does Allah still speak to people through intuition?' After Lessons, he went out with some friends for coffee and pie and they discussed the message. Several different ones talked about how Allah had led them in different ways and that at the end you'll know it was Allah(SWT) Who has directed you. It was about ten o'clock when the young man started driving home. Sitting in his car, he just began to pray, 'Allah...If you still speak to people, speak to me. I will listen. I will do my best to obey.'

As he drove down the main street of his town, he had the strangest thought to stop and buy a gallon of milk. He shook his head and said out loud, 'Allah is that you?' He didn't get a reply and started on toward home. But again, the thought, buy a gallon of milk came into his head. 'Okay, Allah, in case that is you, I will buy the milk.' It didn't seem like too hard a test of obedience. He could always use the milk. He stopped and purchased the gallon of milk and started off toward home. As he passed Seventh Street , he again felt the urge, 'Turn Down that street.' This is crazy he thought, and drove on past the intersection. Again, he felt that he should turn down Seventh Street .. At the next intersection, he turned back and headed down Seventh. Half jokingly, he said out loud, 'Okay, Allah, I will.'

He drove several blocks, when suddenly, he felt like he should stop. He pulled over to the curb and looked around. He was in a semi-commercial area of town. It wasn't the best but it wasn't the worst of neighborhoods either. The businesses were closed and most of the houses looked dark like the people were already in bed.

Again, he sensed something, 'Go and give the milk to the people in the house across the street.' The young man looked at the house. It was dark and it looked like the people were either gone or they were already asleep. He started to open the door and then sat back in the car seat.

'Allah, this is insane. Those people are asleep and if I wake them up, they are going to be mad and I will look stupid.' Again, he felt like he should go and give the milk. Finally, he opened the door, 'Okay Allah(SWT), if this is you, I will go to the door and I will give them the milk. If you want me to look like a crazy person, okay. I want to be obedient. I guess that will count for something, but if they don't answer right away, I am out of here.'

He walked across the street and rang the bell. He could hear some noise inside. A man's voice yelled out, 'Who is it? What do you want?' Then the door opened before the young man could get away. The man was standing there in his jeans and T-shirt. He looked like he just got out of bed. He had a strange look on his face and he didn't seem too happy to have some stranger standing on his doorstep. 'What is it?' The young man thrust out the gallon of milk, 'Here, I brought this to you.'

The man took the milk and rushed down a hallway. Then from down the hall came a woman carrying the milk toward the kitchen. The man was following her holding a baby. The baby was crying. The man had tears streaming down his face.

The man began speaking and half crying, 'We were just praying. We had some big bills this month and we ran out of money. We didn't have any milk for our baby. I was just praying and asking Allah(SWT) to show me how to get some milk.' His wife in the kitchen yelled out, 'I ask him to send an Angel with some. Are you an Angel?'

The young man reached into his wallet and pulled out all the money he had on him and put in the man's hand. He turned and walked back toward his car and the tears were streaming down his face. He knew that Allah (SWT) still answers prayers.

Cameron Highlands

Another field trip. This time it was at Cameron Highlands. All was well. There wasn't enough bed in the rented apartment we were assigned to so some people had to sleep on the floor, myself included. I think most of you have been to Cameron Highlands before as I did with my family but going there with my friends is totally different. The trip wasn't much of a trip but a bonding session, a refreshing and inspiring one I might add.

I've the hankering to run down with a sari and shriek Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah Kuchi sapna harke jannnn!!!! The tea farms atmosphere were fresh from hindi movies and for a moment there I thought I will be transported to a tulip farm in Holland or a castle orchard in Ireland, with my attires changed in split seconds.

What annoyed me though is whenever all of us stepped out of the bus, the first thing most of my sudiomates will do is to take pictures of themselves and a little later more pictures of themselves. I wasn't too bothered by their strike of vainity but whenever I stride along, trying to absorb the utter beauty of Everything, there will always be people who will ask me "Afiq, tangkapkan gambar kitorang."

Get a tripod woman!

And the flowers! Beautiful work of art they are.

The bouquet of flowers I'm smelling in the picture smelled like Tom Yam soup, swear to god.

I really want to go to Cameron Highland but next time, I will be going alone and instead of visiting rose gardens and strawberry farms like a vacation schedule for pensioners, I'll go jungle trekking. That sort of thing. My life is lacking adventures these days so what the strawberry lah!