. . . . .
@ 15:01
Three more weeks to Sibu, Sarawak. Can't wait!
Labels: expression, friends, life, travel
Right now I feel like postponing my graduation. Yes. I can graduate next semester but do I really want to? I don't think I really live my university years. Haven't yet sort out any universities I'm aiming for pursuing my masters at, haven't sent out resumes, heck, haven't even prepared one. Not even have much to be put in it anyway. But my course mates ensured me that graduating early is the best choice. Taekwondo mates, in return, haunt me with inquiries: Why? Why early? What are you gonna do? Why the rush? Peer pressure, indeed making me dwell in this cul-de-sac. Next semester, short semester, the other next semester? Pick one or forever hold your peace. Somehow, a little part of me begs for a therapist. But that thug ain't gonna live with the choice made. I will. Istikharah prayer. Ok. Noted. But what else? Yes, I've listed the pros and cons of graduating early and later. None gave me a precise answer. Ya see, this has developed into quite a monster. Making me angry throughout the semester, feeding me frustrations and whatnot just for a single deadly choice. Well, not that deadly. To be honest, I really don't know what will happen ahead; after graduation. Answering What Do You Love Doing questions is easy but making the right choices isn't. The end of the tunnel is filled with vagueness. Like I'm disallowed at making a choice despite liking so many things. My soul needs to calm down. These pestering voices overwhelm, yes, so I need to calm down. Deep down, I don't want to graduate early. Graduate early, are you kidding me? My train just got off the track and at the moment, I'm still lifting the heavy wheels back to where they belong. The engine hasn't warmed up yet but I choose to get off of it and leave it there? No way. So be it I'm late at holding that scroll in my hands. At least I have more time to fill in the empty blanks of my will-yet-be-written resume. Oh great. I've made my choice. By ranting it out here, lol. And if I choose to finish in solid 4 years, I can add Creative Writing subject I've always wanted. Hooo Yeahhh!
Labels: disorder, gerascophobia, life, nonfiction, rant, time
Monday 24 December 2012 @ 03:05
Staring about the dragon-shaped cloud, long, spread through the light blue sky, I heard sighs from my tired father. The rest of us in the car were a bit quiet except for the loud Korean music from Asyraf's phone.
In another 100 metres, turn slightly right, says the woman's voice from Nokia Drive, out of the blue.
Hey ho! Hey ho! *foreign gibberish words*, barks the Korean singer.
I felt a little old, sitting quietly in the car, slightly irritated by the noise from the speakers. I wished for some classical music to match with the stream of trees outside the car window. The Dragon cloud was really looking all grand; its head on our left, its lengthy body curvy all the way to the front and elongated to the right side of the car. As if shielding us all through our long tiring journey home. It made me forgot about my fatigue days I've left behind. It made me temporarily deaf about the disturbing da-da-da-dum-cak-kala-dum-das-tas from the earlier speakers.
"Can you please turn down the volume?" Even asking this to my brother who's humming the unknown song made me felt old. Not sure why I asked him that when it didn't bother me so much then.
"Why should I?" He rebelled.
"I think you should quiet down. The song is..." Mama said suddenly and went back to sleep. Apparently she was too tired to finish her words. The music then played a humdrum tone.
Then, Nisah invited us to play the Only-Three-Words game. Despite the low battery life of our Samsung Tab, she touched the screen picking out Memo. She typed, Special Day, as the title and we began playing. Each of us got to type only three words and turned out none of our sentence made sense. It was easy to detect which sentence was whose. Asyraf's were full of weird animal characters. Nisah's were full of feelings and mispelled Mat Rempit-ish words. Mine were of more advanced vocabularies and those made the two laughed to teary eyes.
The day was about to embrace night time. Dusk it was when we were asked to stop our giggles.
"What did I said about laughing too much? It darkens the heart. Say Astaghfirullahala'ziim, now," mama ordered Nisah. I sensed jealousy from her for not being able to have fun like us three. But then I realised Nisah did laugh the loudest. Instantly, she recited the Arabic words. Repetitively, she recited it again to prevent her from being drifted away too much.
We continued playing until our story developed a very disturbing plot filled with neurotic characters; involving ants, elephants with four trunks, monkeys with four wings, a goat, a danseur grandfather and a mysterious narrator called "I". That "I" also turned out to be having a dilemma of either winning his incestuous desires or his unrequited love for ants. He was also obsessed by a goat who ate cabbages but wanted to eat rice instead. Overall, it was strangely hilarious. Since mama hated when we laugh Macam Orang Tak Ingat Tuhan, our laughter sunk to a whisper.
The game slowly turned boring. Apart from the dying Tab, mama's phone, my phone, our tummy asked to be filled and our minds couldn't think of anything creative to be written. Ayah stopped by at a mosque for us to perform jama' ta'dim before finding us a restaurant for dinner.
While waiting for our six-year-old sister, Alesha to finish her maghrib, we reread the story and giggled. Despite the long journey, absurd short story written with the collaboration of a 21-year-old, a 14-year-old and a 12-year-old, I felt light. It's good to be reunited.
Wednesday 19 December 2012 @ 12:08
Ask the
world to feed you love
and the sun
will enfold you
its warmth
will remind you
of blankets
of the seas
the low tide
waves
soft
caressing your skin
comfort will
it bring
Ask the
world to feed you love
and the moon
will smile at you
its light
will guide your lips
from one tip
to the other tip
ear to ear
soon you'll
hear
crickets
sing
peace will
it bring
Ask the
world to feed you love
and trees
will embrace you
their twigs
will scratch the threads of your clothes
thrust into
your skin; from head to toe
blood shall
flow
still, the
leaves
will shelter
you forever
while you
stand beneath them alone
they'll be
the roof of your home
safety will
it bring
Ask the
world to feed you love
and
mountains will call out to you
their icy
tip breeze will eerily
echo a
powerful melody
of coldness
and agony
but dress
your mind with the garments of a king
and continue
climbing with arms reaching
one step
onto the other
your feet
will know no shiver
your teeth
will know no quiver
and when you
are up there
ask your
eyes to conquer
the every
delights of the earth
success will
it bring
Ask the
world to feed you love
and you will
find a coffee shop
its sensuous
design may tingle your heart
its
fragrance's divine; may toy with you mind
intoxicate
you to welcome yourself in
as lightness
dances all over your skin
and you will
float about
till you
drop on the floor
and you see
there before
your eyes
your ears
your nose
your tongue
a face
of a
familiar stranger
who rhymes
with your future
and when
both gazes meet
war will it
bring
sickness
will it bring
madness will
it bring
but so does
comfort
but so does
peace
but so does
safety
but so does
success
love,
will it bring.
Labels: bad poetry, earth, human, life, love
Saturday 15 December 2012 @ 22:09
I had had it listening to my peers ramble. With an adult nearby, I felt a little safe. Safe from misjudgements, from emotional rants, hatred etc. Adults might still judge me, especially Prof Ghulam, about my bad English, but he didn't. He was warm and his room was cool. I immediately felt ok.
@ 22:01
Dear, Allah S.W.T.
I may not remember all du’a
from the earliest Prophets,
may not remember how they sound like,
may not know how to recite them,
and what do they mean.
So, I’m here to make my own.
And that You listen to every word
from every language in the world.
My du’a is,
I believe still as honest
as the ones
from the most pious men.
Dear, Allah S.W.T.
Here is my du’a. The most humble du’a I can make.
But before that I need to tell you
something that I know You’ve known already
even before my birth to this world.
I have fallen for many men.
My heart has been shaken by them.
Sometimes they vanish in a flash.
But there are some who stay.
Vanish or stay,
this has ruined not just the walls of my heart
but also weakened my faith at large.
Dear Allah S.W.T.
I keep myself reminded:
Men are human,
with hearts that toss and turn
with faith that drowns and burns.
They soon will rot or be eaten
by insects of the deepest earth.
They die.
But whatever should I do?
I feel my heart goes vacant,
every time they are gone.
As if there is no You, too.
Blame me for being a fool.
Dear Allah S.W.T.
Please, please I beg You
not to take my precious faith away.
I just need a company, the one that stays
till the last of my breath.
I don’t want many
just one man
but not a man
if that man leaves me astray,
if that man pushes You away.
Dear Allah S.W.T.
I hope You’re still listening.
I hope You’re not yet bored
as I said my du’a is still
as important as the words
of the most pious men in the world.
Dear Allah S.W.T.
To tell you the truth,
I have fallen for someone, I do,
but I’m not ready to compete him with You,
as You should be put first
though he satisfies my thirst,
for human love,
for worldly life.
Dear Allah S.W.T.
If this man is the one who is true,
the man who will remind me of You,
who without further ado,
fearfully will seek for You,
if both him and I forget,
if both him and I neglect,
if both him and I restrain,
if both him and I disdain,
in a way that displeases You,
make my love to him stay
make me feel it is okay
to make bond with him a delay
till You say it’s time
to tie the tightest knot
if by then I own no dime
or develop a second thought
Confirm my heart that he is indeed
a gift to me from you.
But, dear, Allah S.W.T.,
If he’s a mere test
please, put my heart to rest
I don’t need another pest,
don’t need my heart to go west.
Labels: Allah, bad poetry, free verse, love, rant
Afiqah in Russian.
Friday 7 December 2012 @ 16:04
i hear about human with ears that cannot hear
i talk about human with tongues that cannot talk
i touch human with skin that cannot feel
i smell human with noses that cannot smell
Labels: bad, family, human, misanthropy, poetry
Tuesday 4 December 2012 @ 11:59
.gif)
mama.
I love you, and thank you very very much.
Labels: death, family, gif, love, nonfiction
Monday 3 December 2012 @ 18:35
Love him
Fullstop.
- - - ok not yet.
He's basically a stranger who posts wise words that in return, lift my heart to a level where I believe, yup, his blog, gonna be my Motivational Booth.
Stopping by reading his answers to people's inquiries, posting bout his thoughts on things,
I just find them calming.
Labels: nonfiction, peace, rain
@ 14:40
I want to keep him near. Though my body pushes him away, though my
heart resents him, though my mind wants to block him from poisoning it even
more, though it made me decline others who want to love me, I don't want to ever
be apart from him.
It is said that sometimes you can't let go off love
because it is better to hurt than to feel nothing. Yes. I am scared of feeling
numb. It felt like death except it isn't cold. No anger, no sadness even. Just,
nothing. Like I don't exist, even so, I’m just a thin vapour in the air.
Floating about like an insignificant mist.
I don't want to not to like him. I want to like him. Because I don't have
anybody else to like. And I just don't like anybody. I like him. I want to like
him, in the most possible way of normal people liking another. I don't want to
let him go. I don’t want send him away. I want to like him and I want to keep
him near. Maybe not too near but I want him here in a space where I know I can
feel him though having not to see him, touch him nor talk to him. It felt
selfish but I do, I like him because of me. I want to feel the feeling of
liking other. And I just can’t stand the feeling of numb.
Yesterday I searched for The Great Gatsby like a pirate on a treasure hunt. Soon I discovered
that the gold were buried somewhere in the Leisure Reading room. The map was an
easy read but the gold was limited. Forgetting the serial number of the book, I
went shelf by shelf and there were about ten or more there but I continued
searching. I felt like a lost wild animal. I told myself that I am not to leave
until I found the book. At a brink of giving up and the library was about to
close, I turned on my laptop, logged onto the library search engine and began
searching again. Though at the verge of my weak battery life, I did it I
searched for it. And there was only one copy left according to the results. The
others were either on loan or borrowed by unknown Fitzgerald’s fans. I admit I am
not a fan. I don't know whether or not I will like Fitzgerald. But I wanted the
book so badly because it reminded me of him. It made me feel like if I read it,
I’m looking at the words he used to look at, understand and felt the joy of
reading as he used to feel. So, yes, the code was lrPR6057A319S66. I put my
laptop aside and looked for the shelf aforementioned. Why, bless my soul! I was
sitting next to it all along! And there it was, the book, the ONLY copy left unborrowed,
sitting there nicely waiting for me to grab onto it. I snatched it quickly as
if there were thousands of jerking hands reaching for the book too. I looked at
the row of books. Yes. It was the ONLY copy left and I got it.
Boy! Wasn’t my smile broad and I swore my eyes were
holding back joyful tears for I had grasped onto the remnants of him. He was
slipping through my fingers but I managed to get a hold of him though with just
a finger, I had him. And he felt near. I felt win.
Back home, I realised that I was to return the book
in a week. So, I should be reading it by now since it was quite thick and I was
poor at reading. Staring long onto the front cover, I waited for the drums of
my heart to roll. None was felt. So, I flipped the first leaf, and read…
Chapter 1
In my younger and more vulnerable years my father
gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since.
Still, I felt nothing.
The words meant nothing to me. So, I closed the book, lied down on my bed and
stared out to the ceiling.
Slowly,
vivid images of February 1988 appeared before my eyes, echoing voices filled my
ears, later, smoke were forming colours and shapes and I saw him. He was smiling
right at me. He looked healthy and for the first time, he smiled. In an
instant, he was like a tease. He was standing at his window looking at me. He
looked very calm and happy, inviting me to pull him into my arms and not know
of me why I wanted to do that. He gazed at me with love and I want to grab onto
him but I couldn’t. Then, the chilly winter wind lovingly stroke on my cheek. Tears
flowed from the tips of my eyes and my vision became a blur. I cried for hours
and cried some more till it made me want to vomit.
I
hadn’t shed a tear since the evening I fell off my bike.
“Are you OK?”
He was my neighbour. The only friend
I knew. I was quite shy and he was quite sickly. That evening, when he asked
whether or not I was hurt, it was before his sickness worsened. Then, he was
never at school. Mum said he had contracted an incurable disease. It made him
bedridden. Often I just peeked through my window to look at him. He was always
on his bed with a chess set but mostly, with books. I only spoke to him once.
That was when my family paid him a visit and I remembered him reading The Great Gatsby. He said it was a book
for the big kids. And I was too young to understand it.
I never knew his name, or maybe my
mind had deleted him from my memory. I never knew how old he was from my age,
nor his favourite author. The only thing I knew about him is that he was the
person that I like. Day by day I started to forget about him. It made my heart
grew pale. I don’t want my heart to feel that way. And liking him was the only
way to stop my heart from feeling nothing. So, I don’t want to forget about
him. I don’t want to not to like him.
The next morning I woke up feeling
fatigue from too much crying. Weakly, I reached for the book on the bedside
table where I put it last night. This time, looking at the front cover gave me
a flush of anger. Suddenly, I was incandescent with rage and I wanted to tear
off the pages but I couldn’t because the book belonged to the library. I was so
mad at him, so mad for his weakness. Yes, the disease had eaten him up. He had
lost his strength to move but did his spirit to live, too?
Every
day I peeked through my window to make sure he was still breathing. Every day I
smiled at him wishing he would smile back. But, no. He was too weak to even
smile. He had surrendered himself to his sickness. He let them ate him bit by
bit. I knew that he would die from his disease but ironically, no. He was
perished in a fire. A fire ate his house in a gulp just like his disease eating
him. And I witnessed his ironic death. It was a cold night where I was awakened
by a flicker of light like a star in the sky. Then I learnt that the light was
coming from his room. I got out of bed and later saw a plume of smoke billowed
from his house. The blaze had burnt half of his house and was going for his
room. I mostly remembered that he was staring at me from his bed as I stared at
him from my window wishing he would save himself, wishing I could save him from
that fire. His face that night was calm as ever but he wasn’t smiling nor did
he wave at me. He was just blankly staring straight at me as I witnessed the
fire consumed his whole body.
Death
had taken him from me. Death had taken my warmth, my companion, my shelter, and
I was hard-bitten since.
I
looked at the book once more. I turned to the last page and I read the last
paragraphs,
…the orgastic future that year by year recedes
before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter—tomorrow we will run faster,
stretch out our arms farther…. And one fine morning——
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne
back ceaselessly into the past.
THE END
I closed the book as
if I have finished reading it.
Numb is certainly
something even scarier than death. Numb is what has frightened me. Numb is what
has consumed me and driven me to always look for the remnants of my past; the
remnants of him. Funny how the remnants that I found numbed me. yes, I felt numb.
I will have to return the book next week but then I chose to return it today. A book or no book, he shall never return. He shall never return even to my heart. He's dead. And so did my feelings for him. Why linger? Isn't it nice to just go with the current and see for yourself what you'll discover? Yes. I chose to just go with the flow.
After putting on my best clothes, I walked to the library. I returned the book. The librarian smiled at me. And I smiled back at her. Leaving the library that day, I suddenly saw that there were trees behind the park opposite to the library. There was a new waffle and hot dog stand in front of the post office. I looked at the people around me. And walked home that day believing that as long as I am attached to these, I could never feel numb again.
I will have to return the book next week but then I chose to return it today. A book or no book, he shall never return. He shall never return even to my heart. He's dead. And so did my feelings for him. Why linger? Isn't it nice to just go with the current and see for yourself what you'll discover? Yes. I chose to just go with the flow.
After putting on my best clothes, I walked to the library. I returned the book. The librarian smiled at me. And I smiled back at her. Leaving the library that day, I suddenly saw that there were trees behind the park opposite to the library. There was a new waffle and hot dog stand in front of the post office. I looked at the people around me. And walked home that day believing that as long as I am attached to these, I could never feel numb again.