‘I am 4631. And you are…?’

19Sep08

There are a million reasons I could give for you to sign this.

Unfortunately, I am also a student, and in 2.2 hours, I have to hand in a journal report worth quite a bit of my grade.

Sempat lagi.

So I’ll just leave it up to your conscience.

Just remember: It could be YOU next.

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Tags: goverment, ISA, Malaysia

Ramadhan mubaarak

01Sep08

Last night, it began. My corneal lesion/dendrital ulcer (I love entertaining my med student friends) was acting up, and seeing as how light is unwelcome to my injured eye, I decided to do my taraweeh at home.

At the first takbir, a shiver ran up my body. Eleven months, and now here I am again. And yet I don’t feel as though I’ve travelled far.

Eleven months, and I still meet you, Ramadhan, in comparatively decent health, and in higher spirits than before.

That I may deign to honour your presence.

Ramadhan mubaarak, antunna – friend or foe or those in between. May this month blur the lines for us and help us see.

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Petang itu hujan

16Aug08

Secalit mentari menikam angin

Dingin embun menginjak memori

Pada ketika, emosi menagih suatu fantasi

Yang tidak sudi, apalagi mengerti

Aku adalah hamba

Terlekat pada dunia tempat menyimpuh

Rasa malu pada Tuhan

Was-wasa memintas lalu, pada

Qalb yang terlalu lemah

Masih merintih pada

Yang tidak sudi, apalagi mengerti.

Dan awanan mencapai gema hati

Dibawa pergi jauh, jauh, jauh,

Usir pergi bisikan ini, gemawan

Kamulah teman hamba yang kepenatan

Masih bersimpuh di tapak bumi

Masih terpeleku di tapak bumi

Masih menyapu pasir menggerutu dari mata

Menyapu anganan jauh, jauh, jauh.

Dan pada saat gerimis itu tiba

Menghujani tanah rata yang hanya basah

Bagai air mata yang hadir hilang

Was-wasa itu melayang pergi

Agar yang dicinta itu mencintai

Yang menyayangi itu disayangi

Simpuhan basah ini

Tetap terpeleku di tanah ranjau

Hamba musafir mencari redha.

-14 Sha’aban 1429H, 1.56pm

(P.S:- Lubna, I DARE you to translate it to Malay. But leave what quasi-Arabic words behind. Go on )

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late

03Aug08

In five hours, I have to wake up and do it all over again.

And in this moment of silence – nothing but the hum of the wind against the chilled windowpane and the tap-tapping of my keypads, the full blow of tomorrow and the days after flows through me like… waves. Like crushing waves of inescapability.

I have never been good at hiding my feelings. It seems at times as though my heart really was etched on my sleeve and in my face – people read me so easily I no longer try to build shields. But when it comes to anger… I stew. I simmer. I let it boil inside. I curl up deep under layers of warmth so that I can just express my anger to the stagnant air, which is where it stays.

I feel stretched. I feel torn. I am not helpless, but my problem is I feel too much. I always have to be liked, and when disapproval stares me in the face, I cower and wait to be let back in. Human favour makes me weaker than it should. I have theories as to the origins of this, but right now, after years of being selfish and mean, I’m trying to figure out the balance between caring too much and caring too little. I used to ignore decorum but I wouldn’t mind knowing some now. And common sense had always eluded me. If it became my friend right this instant, I wouldn’t mind either. Because I am sick of being awkward and garish. I’m sick of adapting to everyone to the point that I almost lose myself. I’m tired of fooling myself with imaginings.

If it cannot be, it cannot be. It is, what it is.

I’ll probably delete this vague, ambiguous post that is seemingly about nothing and everything at the same time. How very postmodern of me.

But for now, this is real, and this is how I feel, and I needed to lift this from my ribcage so that I can try to breathe.

Because in less than five hours, I have to do this all over again. And I want to do it with less pain.

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You leave them laughing when you go

21Jul08

9am, and I’m running on a little under 3 hours of sleep. Cauliflower and pea soup is threatening to come back out the same way it came in, and it’s cold outside.

Several fellow bloggers – fellow, in the sense that like me, they never really ascribed to a particular niche other than that of observing student, the careful outsider to reality; not too far that we cannot see the irony and not too near that we cannot tell the truth – have temporarily quit the scene in the name of honour. To quote one of them, “The economy is crumbling; Malaysian politics have taken a turn for the worse, and you still ask, ‘what’s wrong?’”

Not having placed a definite label on their thoughts and words (tags don’t count) means that they find it irrelevant, almost not their place to speak about the current situation. Bigger things are happening at a terrifying speed, and they’ll be darned if they miss it while they muse over the new iPhone 3G’s compatibility with a PC user.

As for myself, I have nothing much to say over the current Malaysian political stew – like so many of our local dishes, extra hot, definitely spicy from mix of factors, and leaves you with a sourish aftertaste. We all saw this coming, really, that fine Sunday morning after the elections; we, the generation that learnt what ’sodomy’ really meant through the media (and our flustered Asian parents), and saw parties split and take sides and dragging members of our families with them. It is my generation that is equally familiar with the Special Branch as is completely ignorant of it. It is my generation that takes to the streets in defiance of legal thuggery as is apt to surrender to mindless support in the guise of ‘liberalism’ (and epistemology will be another lesson).

For what else is there to be said? It reeks of a bad joke; repeated once too often to have as much of an impact, and far too weak from the start to have any credence to it. When I first saw it on the news, I laughed out loud, before I realized it was serious. And then I laughed some more out of sheer incredulity.

It isn’t that I don’t have any sympathy for DSAI and his family. God knows what awful times they must be going through right now. But as an outsider to the family and for the life of me, I really don’t see how the people making/supporting the sodomy claim can expect themselves to be taken seriously. It’s all stupid, stupid politics. Sheer dumbfoolery, and one can’t help but feel this urge to say to the collective rakyat, ‘Tahniah atas undian anda’ regardless of who they voted for. We all saw change coming. I guess we neglected to counter in the drama we Malaysians are too ready to nosedive into.

That said, despite having DSAI on my Facebook friends list (like so many of my friends who suddenly grew a political neuron as the headlines flowed fast and heavy- congratulations and welcome, by the way), I am not his biggest fan. I’m not going to advocate his chase for the top seat, nor his calls for members of the coalition to sway allegiances. I don’t deny his ability to win the votes needed for a Parliament majority, but I do feel his efforts are wasted if that is all he’s focused on. That, plus the new allegations that bring to mind memories of 1998 and semen-stained mattresses (circled here, there and… there), threaten to overpower real efforts to fulfil promises made to the electorate. The major newspapers were busy coming up with new staple alternatives to rice, which was fast running out (although eating potatoes everyday might scar those from the WW2 era), and then a pretty boy comes forward with claims that seem to have been suspended allegations from 10 years ago.

But my words don’t do justice to the actual politics surrounding the spectacle. One might want to read this article, Why Anwar is faltering, which expresses my own views better than I can.

But I suppose Bukhari and Lutfi have it right. It does seem menial and petty to talk about one’s own emotional-spiritual digressions in lieu of everything that’s going on. Nobody wants to sound like an Australian newspaper. Nobody outside of Australian journalism, that is.

Filed under: Malaysia, blogger, cold, politics   |  Leave a Comment

ill.

28Jun08

Hati ini mahu

dipungut tidak sudi

diherdik tidak lali

bagaimana alam ini fana

begitulah hati ini

sakit….!

Tuhan saja yang tahu

kerana Tuhan saja yang dengar rintihan

yang tidak terungkap

sekadar termenung pada awan yang kian mendung

dan terpaku melihat dunia ini berputar

pada akal yang sudah tidak mampu mencapai

hati ini yang makin berisi

makin sepi

bengkak… terus membengkak

mahukan dunia

dada hilang ruang menaung

hati ini sekadar mahu, dan mahu saja

tidak pernah puas

masakan mampu dipenuhkan kata hati

yang diherdik tidak lali

dipungut tidak sudi

namun jasad harus terus bangkit

tangan terus menengadah

kerana yang menjadi saksi adalah mahsyar

dan Tuhan yang Satunya mendengar rintihan

tatkala mata berat melelehkan

kata yang tidak terungkap.

(Whoever’s up for it, minta tolong translate to English?)

Filed under: qalb, self-reflections   |  1 Comment

If equal affection cannot be

21Jun08

It’s past midnight, and too close to my final paper for comfort. A little rant – hopefully one less hyper and cringeworthy than the previous one – is only due.

I left Malaysia thinking nothing much would change. I started uni this semester thinking that my life would fall into routine – that it would be as it always were, marked by insignificant moments that engulf entire days with emotion, and epiphanies so wrenching and yet so brief that they go ignored.

And as always, God never fails to prove me wrong.

In the hope that my mother does not read this until years later, this semester has been my craziest and most disorganized. And yet I didn’t feel lost like I did in first year – alone most days and bored for the others. It didn’t feel new like last year, where I discovered so many things I ignored in lieu of comfort and routine the year before. This semester felt like rediscovery. In more ways than one, it felt like coming home. I hear echoes of everything my parents drummed into me my whole life, repeated in the mouths of others and reverberating in my mind, like some forgotten memory.

Old questions resurface for air, and I find my brain working harder and my heart grasping tighter to new words which name my deeper convictions and make sense of patterns, mangled before by rejection of that which was unknown and feared.

These past twelve weeks and some, I have made new friends, reinforced my relationship with old ones, and realized that the surface as a facade lies more than I thought it did. I feel like the bonds now forged are less forced, less trite than the ones made before, and it never did have to follow a pattern.

I am more willing now to look for the beauty in chaos, even if I ask that you keep that statement from my mother.

I’ve found people I can learn from and who are willing to let me grow.

I’ve found people who see me changing and are learning to let go.

I’ve found people I disagree with and yet who love me all the same.

I’ve found people who share my beliefs and my faith in the ability to trigger change.

I have found new thoughts to believe in and new means to understanding, even if they feel like they were always mine.

I’ve found that old friends – old acquaintances, rather – can turn out to surprise you in pleasant ways.

I’ve found trust and faith and patience and respect in the people who I now – too eagerly it may seem and yet never with sufficiently due honour – call my friends.

And then I remember than my finding them is only a parable for my having been given them; blessings from God for whatever they may give me and however they may mould my future.

Here’s to us sustaining the Now and the After, together. InshAllah.

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Whinge whinge whine boo.

10Jun08

Exams.

Time flies.

Like mottled moth wings,

Exams stink.

But that’s not the point. With all the calamity back home home from the rise in oil prices (‘We’re going to WALK,’ said Papa) and the many, many, many Earth-forsaken political whinings from within and without the government, I finally gave up and read that ultimate bias in media, CNN.com.

And I found this article, which I thought was pretty cute.

I mean, granted, South Koreans can be a pretty heady bunch (for evidence, see: Winter Sonata), and sure, I may not fully understand the socio-economic importance of beef imports to the good people of the land, but my first thought upon reading the article and seeing the picture, I thought, ‘Now THAT’s more like it.’

Memories of taekwondo sparring matches and bowing to your opponent aside, I thought it was a pretty noble thing they did. The impression was marked; that of apologizing and admitting their mistake. How many people do we elect who have the gall to do what they did, in front of the entire nosy world? One need only look at the Clinton mess and the BushHead to see that South Koreans are way ahead when it comes to humility.

And then. Another thought struck me:

This was emotional blackmail. Plainly, obviously; oh my word they are playing the ‘feelings’ card!

I remember a conversation with Hussein about something like this, preceded by a rant by Emi. Funny thing, how alike married couples sound. Both denounced people who countered criticism (in which I played a part, but what else is new?) by saying that it had to stop, for fear of hurting people’s feelings. This was in relation to something that had happened – it was trivial, for sure, but so many people took things seriously, and whatever criticism came flying their way were countered with the words, by their supporters:

‘But these are real people’s FEELINGS we’re talking about!’

I understand the need for emotional sensitivity; I have been on both sides before, and unless you’re Olmert or some other good-for-nothing world-class twat, I wouldn’t want to hurt you, much less your feelings. And so I was very vulnerable to the ‘feelings’ card. I crumbled; I quaked and felt bad (boohoo). I’m sure I’m not the only one.

But after Hussein and Emi did their best to cheer me up, it struck me that it wasn’t just me – I mean, sure, I’m one of the bluntest people I know, but imagine if the top hats in Malaysia (or songkoks, I should say) were to use emotional blackmail as part of their political strategy…

… “Bye bye Songkoks. You gave us a good laugh. Good times, good times.” Haha. DSAI wouldn’t have to do anything.

You couldn’t LIVE in Malaysia if you couldn’t tolerate criticism. And WE’RE the nice ‘Asians’. Criticism is there for a reason – for one to learn, improve and grow. If I hadn’t learnt to buck up and take a punch to the chin, I’d still be in the kindergarten playground because of what the Recess Diva did to me at the swings.

If becoming part of a First World nation means I can’t take some lip, then give me bad roads and unsteady economies anytime. Someone obviously never got a good spanking growing up.

P.S:- Here there be good article as bequeath by Uncle Lut-Lut. He has his way with the search engine, he does. Papa, if you’re reading this over Amir’s shoulder, scroll down the comments on Dr Azly’s article and you’ll find a familiar name

Filed under: humour, pedas, randomity   |  1 Comment

I could quote your many wounds of battle.

07Jun08

I am more emotionally vulnerable today than I have been in months.

I had promised you, my reader, new or loyal or visiting, in so much as broken thoughts, a different take on things: stronger, mature, calm. But today the sky is grey and the wind is cold, and the Cavatina is re-establishing the fact that my heart is, temporarily at least, broken.

This will sound selfish, but I am in no hurry to let it heal. I find peace of mind in sadness. It grounds me and reminds me that my fortunes seem greater on the outside, and that I should feel blessed. Sadness reminds me that only God can ever relieve mine. And I look forward to every other second I am permitted on this earth.

In the bustle of exams and its ensuing stress, my friends have interjected with their lives and their anecdotes and their love. We ’study’ together – we laugh and joke and confess, and my heart carries all this with me when I plough into the inner workings of gene regulation.

The past three days have been so FULL of people. I love them all. But I work alone today, and I feel relieved.

Oh, it could be the stress of late nights in the library and trudging home with my laptop. I am such a weakling.

It could be that sometimes I feel I don’t deserve my friends.

It could be that sometimes I feel their pain and it kills me that my only comfort for them is in prayer, the best of comforts though it may be.

It could be that I feel trapped in expectations and waking up everyday, feeling like I fail everytime.

This isn’t depression – not the kind I felt in high school; the kind I joked about with Arv as we walked those early morning rounds in the schoolyard. It’s more of a feeling of early loss; I can imagine life without them, as inevitably will come, and I know that that day, I will wonder if I ever did them justice. I will wonder if I ever did right by them, or if my actions hurt them even more.

Ah, this will sound sappy as. But this is for every one of you who has been there for me this past month and as long as I can remember.

My heart expands and takes you in, and I will only be the better for it.

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Candlelight what –?

08May08

Vigil. A candlelight vigil.

For everyone who has dared to say the truth despite those who disagree.

I came back from a whole afternoon of mind-bending. First was the lecture by Prof Hassan Riaz (which brought to mind this Yes, Prime Minister clip when he presented his studies), followed by lunch with the newly-imported former La Trobeans and friends, and then dinner at Tiba’s, where we discussed further the idea of surrendering to the ‘white mentality’ and letting it dictate our paradigm for action/reaction.

And I came home mentally exhausted. Prof Martin and his explanation of the differences between the genetics of sex determination and sex development was put on hold when I.. fell asleep.

But then I got hold of Raja Petra Kamaruddin’s article, the one that bestowed upon him charges under the Sedition Act and three nights in jail (he finally agreed to bail but four hours ago).

So I dedicate this post to all those who vie to speak their minds, regardless of how much it hurts.

I’ve said this before; let me say it again:

‘Not scared’. Let’s put that on a t-shirt.

*Updated: RPK is now out and back in business. Check him out here.

Filed under: Malaysia, cold, options   |  8 Comments