Short Notes

A few short notes about what’s been happening as I didn’t really get the time to jot down recently.

I watched Australia the night before I left for Malaysia, a rather iconic (or ironic) coincidence, I find.

 I sat beside a Malaysian Chinese who married a Turkish and is now an Australian citizen. A rather motherly figure, we talked about what it means to be Muslims in a predominantly non-Muslim country.

Home and Again

In a larger schemes of life, I did not find myself lucky. But in many ways things which occurred to me I counted as blessings, be it from God or out of sheer harmonious outcome of universe acting out its role.

Now, to be in Malaysia - is one abundant glory.

Despite the contradictory environment to live in (for I certainly adore the clean, environmental, and liberal atmosphere of Australia), I find myself now exponentially inspired and considerably more driven -both in dreaming, writing, and reading - than I was in Sydney in the last few months.

I suppose it’s psychological, to live in a comfort zone is detrimental to my conscience.

Surely Australia is everything I aspire for, but it’s my country I have to work on.

Awkward Conversation

It happened again. It was during lunch this time, out on a sunny day. They brought up the recent incident - discussion, discussion, discussion - everyone threw whatever opinions they have in mind. These are people I know, these are among people I am most fond of.

I sat erect on my chair, cheeks burning and palms sweating. At a loss for words, fighting to surface, both from drowning in the debate among them and within myself.

Jane Austen/Little Women Type

There is a reason why I can’t watch too many movies at a time, which explains why I am so painfully mistimed when I talk about movies and books. Like, every time I open my mouth and mention a movie, people will look at me with the look in their face, as if asking; where exactly are you from?

It is because I tend to get myself caught up in the movie, sometimes for days, sometimes for weeks. God knows how many movies I’ve made my lifetime Bible.

So we watched a Russian film on Thursday, at the Chauvel Cinema located in the old but rather cozy Paddington Town Hall. Sitting at the balcony waiting for the movie to start with my classmates, I had a moment of reflection; I could’ve been anywhere for all I want and it doesn’t matter. There can be no moment out of place, because already we’re a mismatched ensemble.

The movie was titled “Letters from a Dead Man”, those who knows me well would say it’s a peculiar choice. But again, I was in there for the experience. Listening to my friend talking about post-apocalyptic movies she had watched, and another classmate who had read books written by the same Russian author which the movie was adapted from, it was my turn to say; where do you guys come from?

All in all, it was a day spent in good companies. I decided if not in the age of Jane Austen or Charlotte Bronte, I should be reborn at least 5 or 10 years earlier because there are the company I enjoy the most. But perhaps if I were, I would befriend people 5 or 10 years older all the same. Perhaps it’s simply me and my ancient soul, who despite these restless and rebellious soul and mind, is still in every way traditional and obstinate.

Like I told my friend, “I’m the Jane Austen/Little Women type.”

Crazy About Books

The City of Sydney Library is a class of its own. Maybe I’ve seen nothing yet, but coming from the country where its library is severely impoverished of books (fancy calling it library in the first place!), I was deliriously stunned at the extensive collection the library has I feel like shouting Eureka! as Archimedes did.

Basically every single book I’ve read, I’m reading and I wish to read can be searched and found in the library. Not to mention if I cannot find it in the Customs House Library, the city library has a network of ten other libraries across Sydney which I can easily access with public transport.

Now to think I don’t have to fork out any money to read that latest installments of the 44 Scotland Street novels I’ve been eyeing from the window sill of the UNSW Bookshop!

I’ve also managed to catch up on reading books I recently bought but couldn’t bring it with me (oh the irony of it!) like the Airman, the Time Paradox (both Eoin Colfer’s), Inkspell (Cornelia Funke), Sweetness in the Belly (Camilla Gibbs) - and guess what else, Pramoedya Ananta Toer’s and Goenawan Mohamad’s works!
I know, I am breathless with excitements. Books always do that to me.

Happy Birthday to Me

Happy birthday to me.

The day was celebrated modestly, for the truth is I had very little expectations. It’s a rather personal celebration too, because to me it’s another step of growing up and growing old, another step for overcoming all kinds of fears and taking my dreams in the grasp of my hands.

After the exam I stopped by at my classmate’s house, somehow I felt she must’ve detected the cloud passing over my face as I told her of recent news. She invited me to have lunch with her mom, and another modest and unexpected celebration ensued. I went to the Customs House Library afterward to apply for the membership. How I felt so small in the city! Compared to Coogee, which is peaceful and decent and so relaxed, Sydney CBD is a complete opposite. I am falling in love with the country more and more each day.

At home, a chocolate mud cake decorated with frozen berries greeted me. My kind landlady has prepared it with the help of my roommate, I blew a candle and made a silent wish. One of the boys gave me a chocolate, while the other who is studying for the exam at his friend’s house gave me a quick call. Another housemate, whom I am fond to call a best friend now, gave me a hand fan with the following letter which makes my heart grows larger:

Dear Ati

(Sweet Pie & Honey Bun & Sugar & Sweetheart)

I still have a fresh memory of the first day we saw each other: the first day we took a bus to the Uni (I didn’t know where the CLB is and you just directed me there, you know I was so grateful at that time). The first lunch we had in the student’s food court (Actually I just watched you eating and read your novel and asked lots of stupid questions). The first night we went back home together after class. AND…

I wil always remember the first days. AS WELL AS…

The evening we went to see the festival and had snacks in that cake shop (Do you still remember we decided to have that $5 cake the next time however we haven’t fulfilled our promise yet, and the ice cream shop as well)

The day for celebration of the end of fasting. Remember to teach me how to cook that chicken some other day!!… (Lots of other days and evenings)

I love your cookies. I love your brownies. I love all the other desserts you have made which I cannot tell the names.

But most importantly, I love being together with you. I admire the peace in your characteristics and the consideration for others. I always feel comfortable and relaxed and safe and even lazy!!! (Lazy to communicate in good English, because whenever I want to express something, I don’t have to say the whole sentence to you, you can figure out anyway even by my face expression, not with a word, sometimes!)

LAST BUT NOT LEAST,

Happy Birthday and Happy Everyday to My Dear Ati.

Yours,
Vivian Forever

I talked to my dad later, asking about mom. My little niece was there and I talked to her for a good ten minutes. She sounded so grown-up and collected I was choked to tears, I feel like I was the child talking to an aunt. My dad called again later, which I answered while struggling to stay awake as I had gone to sleep earlier, my mom was on the phone, her fragile voice roused fears in my heart, but I dismissed it and we talked as lighthearted as usual.

My best friend who had conveniently forgotten it was my birthday said hi to me, and again his smile warmed my heart. These people, these lights in my life will keep me strong, will keep my wobbly legs standing despite it all.

Happy birthday to me, and happy everyday to all of you - with the deepest love from me.

Cita-Cita Bangsa

Dalam hal itu, orang sering lupa bahwa bangsa sebenarnya bukan sebuah asal. Ia sebuah cita-cita—dan di dalamnya termaktub cita-cita untuk hal-hal yang universal: kebebasan dan keadilan. Bangsa adalah kaki langit.

Kaki langit: impian yang mustahil, sulit, tapi berharga untuk disimpan dalam hati. Sebab ia impian untuk merayakan sesuatu yang bukan hanya diri sendiri, meskipun tak mudah.

Sebuah bangsa adalah sebuah proses. Jangan takut dengan proses itu, kata orang yang arif. Tak jarang datang saat-saat yang nyaris putus harapan, tapi seperti kata Beckett dalam Worstward Ho, ”Coba lagi. Gagal lagi. Gagal dengan lebih baik lagi.”

Goenawan Mohamad, October 2008

I watched the news about the Bali incident on TV recently, which reminds me of the Dolphin memorial over at the Coogee beach (which is only about 5 minutes away from the house). Funny how news like this might not affect me as much if I am in Malaysia at present. We cease to care when we’re in our comfort zones.

There are times I cringe every time people look at my scarf, and asked ‘are you from Indonesia?’ - it feels like waiting for a death sentence. I know I should not feel like I am responsible, and far from guilty. But would it not be of indifference and arrogance if I try to dismiss it as nothing to do with my religion?

Imagining Happiness

(Now some people say that little Lucie had been asleep upon the stile- but then how could she have found three clean pocket-handkins and a pinny, pinned with a silver safety-pin? And besides- I have seen that door into the back of the hill called Cat Bells- and besides I am very well acquainted with dear Mrs. Tiggy-winkle!)

The Tale of Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle by Beatrix Potter

What makes me happy? So people ask. Walking alone in the quiet morning or burstling afternoon alike makes me happy. Ruffling my fingers through the fur of lazy cat bathing the morning sun makes me happy. A friend’s smile and a friend’s hug makes me happy. A sight of a lovely old couple holding hands walking side by side makes me happy.

But most of all, reading makes me happy. Books give me companies no man can. Books teach me new things, they take me to new places, they introduce me to weird but amazingly admiring friends. Books fill up times I’d have otherwise passed alone, they make me laugh, they make me cry, they make me shriek hysterically, they make me swooned with love.

It seems so far it was book which drives me to achieve my dreams. Books allow me to believe in myself, to express my own ideas and my owns words. Books let me see the world for what it is, not simply through the lens of authoritative people who wants to control other people’s lives. Books introduces me to similar others who struggles daily to let their voices heard, from around the world through different times. Books get me to where I am now and I am immensely happy with what I’ve achieved so far - the love of my family, the joy of friendships, the accomplishments of my passion. Now let me ask you a question, are you happy?

Content

“You are cold, because you are alone; no contact strikes the fire from you that is in you. You are sick; because the best of feelings, the highest and the sweetest given to man, keeps far away from you. You are silly, because suffers as you may, you will not beckon it to approach; nor will you stir one step to meet it where it waits you.”

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

It’s difficult for me to be disappointed these days. Perhaps the old age is catching up with me, in which a certain favorite author of mine has aptly described it,’you’re an adult when you know you won’t die out of heartache’. To which I find it rather amusing, to attribute my inability to feel (and sometimes to respond) to maturity and wisdom. A friend of mine, who one day stumbled upon me on my praying mat, voiced our her envy for the solace I find in religion.

True, in many cases I find myself at peace with things around me. I am not afraid of getting hurt, I am not afraid of losing, I am not afraid of new things and the unknown. But is it not contradictory to derive my strength from God and yet be at odds with Him at the same time? It’s peculiar, but reassuring nonetheless. For this how I wish I could engage in conversations with God.

A Short Breather

A little elf came to visit yesterday, taking my time off work but giving me a bucketful of excuses to get good foods and a blast of time.

A junior from IIU, who has been spending her sweet post-graduation holiday in Brisbane, paid a short visit to Sydney. I’d have followed her back to Brisbane if not for the impending exam next week. Nevertheless, time is still plenty and my stay in the Land Down Under is to be lived fully each day.

Her visit was short, and our time spent was brief because she was visiting her relatives at the same time. I took her on a modest tour to the uni, having our breakfast at the library lawn and making avid observations to the campus life in Australia. We walked on my house afterwards, stopping at the Chish and Fips to get the infamous Lonely Planet reviewed fish and chips.

After lunch, we took a walk along the Eastern Coastal Walkway in time to send her off to the train terminal in Bondi Junction. Much to our delight, the Sculpture by the Sea began at the same day, so we had the pleasure of examining the artworks. To me however, despite all the sculptures, it’s the marble gravestones in Waverley Cemetery which never failed to take my breath way. Hundreds of stories are engraved on the stones, and I could almost feel the emotions invoked within it.

I met her again after few days, to send her off to the airport for Brisbane. I was glad with the short interim, I hope she is too. Thank you sis for coming!

Academic Reflections

Re-writing blog post is a good way to reflect, I think. The passing week has been splendid and full. Without intending to sound geeky, I had fun finishing the assignments. One was on the subject of river management, and another the historical evolution and philosophical framewok behind environmental governance in Malaysia. Uncovering Malaysian systems to me is a revelation in itself. Oh yes, tak kenal maka tak cinta applies rather appropriately in my case, I think the country now is growing dear to my heart.

Taking time to learn about the structure of our country, the progress it has made and the systems involved in achieving it is of particular importance to me and seeing it in light of international settings - I ardently hope we could learn more, because hasty judgments certainly do no good to me and my generation.

On a different note, I finally discovered a way to my friends’ heart - brownies. I suppose I had instinctively known it before, only I’ve never really applied it in the Land Down Under. While waiting for my group members to come in celebrating the end of our assignment, I took out a box of brownies I made and in a flashing seconds the walkway where I sat became a hub for lively discussion, not to mention an outlet for new friends and acquaintances as well, affable seniors who spent their time in Vietnam and Sarawak among many.

I love Malaysia for the tender abode it gives me, but I love Australia for the fulfilling life it allows me.

Eid Tales

I am long overdue for my hari raya stories, I know. School took off at full speed as soon as the break (which I had enjoyed only barely) was over. In addition, as much as the school works consume my time, and drain me of my energy to pursue personal cause - I am fully intoxicated by it.

Driven, single-minded, determined, workaholic, or simply, textbook - I rejoice in each and every adjective.

To cut a long story short, Ramadhan to me was short and far from being exemplary throughout my Muslim years. Eid, however, although short-lived, was well-spent.

I spent two full days cooking. My housemates had generously helped with the cutting of various ingredients, for we are unfortunately devoid of any blender. Thankfully, the chicken rendang turned out perfectly. We even made nasi impit the old-way. The kuah lodeh was a bit tricky, as too many stuffs had overloaded the pot, but the dried shrimps saved the taste and it was finished to the last bits.

The best part would be, of course, the myriad of guests which came to the house. A classmate I am most fond of, came with her husband and brought with her a sumptuous Indian dish. Another classmate from Massachusetts arrived with his girlfriend from Japan, bringing with him a panna cotta and his housemate, who happens to be my jovial classmate from London.

My father’s long-time friend came with his wife too, all the way from Campbeltown (Australia, not Scotland). In the dining table he shared with us his stories of my father, the unseen, the unheard of. Together the husband and wife had given us numerous advices on places to see, events to join and countries to visit.

The food, the conversation, and the companions made up my day, and I am myself amazed at the range of social circles I had accumulated. Not even in my dreams had I thought I would get to where I was, and yet there I was, there I am.

The Idea of Home

I missed going into the forest again. I am sorry the dancing class had ended and I am fully certain I am going to miss it sorely. I missed dozens of my books, sleeping by to the sight of them stacked unruly on the study desk, and waking up to the towering bookcase at the end of my feet and staring blissfully at the neatly structured ones, yet to be read, yet to be acquainted, yet to be discovered.

I missed my little nieces, a piercing shriek of one and a calm smile of another. I missed the smell of my dad and my brothers, a subtle waft of their clove-smelling cologne. I missed driving through the small streets of Kuala Terengganu, stopping by at the isolated Petronas service station and saying hi in Trengganu speak to the locals.

I missed the idea of a home, a family to return to. I missed the idea of a life, a splendid lived one.

Reminiscence

My heart is a bleeding sore. Not out of pain, not out of sufferings. But out of love, longing, and honour of a long-time friend. Of love and friendship so beautiful, so pure, so innocent. I can feel the bursting emotions, it takes my breath away, it constricts a knot in my stomach, it seeps away dizziness to my head.

My friend, my charming, precious friend - he brought a smile to my face today. He reminded me of stories from our past, stories nearly put marginal due to my eroding memory. I feel like an old maid made to feel young again.

Major weeper, Habib, and alangkah! cropped up in our conversation and brought me back to the times when we had allowed our imaginations roam free. Both writers, we teased each other with words as we speak. At times we amused ourselves as if we are characters in stories. Oh how utterly delightful!

Thinking Death

I could not stop thinking about the girl who fell off the cliffs last Friday. All of us in the house had heard the blaring sirens of the ambulance and rescue chopper the night before, and little did we know a life has been taken away at the very moment.

Even though I understand how calamity takes place all the time everywhere all over the world. The nearness of the tragedy to our place, the real-time of its incident, our hapless ignorance, and helplessness of the situation - reminds me initially of what Bill Bryson wrote in Down Under about the land’s notoriety - its dry and hot desert, its poisonous snakes and spiders, its shark and saltwater crocodile, or in our case, its high and rocky cliffs.

It makes me think, too, about the seemingly random ways death and fate pay a visit to each and everyone of us. It could’ve been me, it could’ve been anyone I know.

I thought about the girl’s last moment, the time she spent, the people she thought of. I wonder how other lives could go on when another life has stopped. I wonder at the unbearable pain suffered by those who loved her and how it could be healed again.

Questions plague me, and all I can do is pray for the girl to rest in peace. Ameen.

Eid Tales

A peculiar scene occurred to me in the first morning of Raya when a group of boys emerged from the stairs in John Niland Scientia Building - handsomely cloaked in baju melayu and seemingly occupied with trying to find the right angle for their photos.

There they were, soaked in the blissful joy of ‘Eid, and there was I in my shirt, jeans and backpack, filled with enthusiasm to begin again my day in the class taught by a teacher so amazing I feel almost disappointed now the class has ended.

The meaning of ‘Eid comes to me in a different package this year, the triumph of enduring Ramadhan was not celebrated with the usual new baju kurung, ketupat, and rendang. Oh yes how I missed all those Malaysian food, but things I gain in its place at the moment is no trade-off I wish to afford.

Ramadhan, with it came the confusions of things which need changing in my country, religion, and environment. Rendered helpless by the gigantic challenges, I was almost on the verge of burning out with the causes I am fighting for.

But Gerald Frape seems to come (or to be sent, as I prefer to see it) aptly at the right moment. Discussing about communicating democracy, driving social change, and influencing people behavior throughout the 4-day classes has given me a new sense of directions and power in controlling my life, things I can do and I can’t do.

Therefore in missing my family, my home, and our Malaysian ways of celebrating Eid-ul-Fitr - I am not devastated. By virtue of qadha’ and qadr (God’s plans), the old adage ‘as one door closes, another door opens‘ rings true. I’ll write about it soon, in the meantime;

Selamat Hari Raya Aidilfitri and Maaf Zahir Batin.

Too little time

We’re already reaching the third quarter of the school session, which means Spring Break (and conveniently, Hari Raya) is drawing near. Unfortunately, assignments pave ways for the remaining week following the 4-day intensive Spring Course I’ll be taking. I’m hoping to squeeze in a couple of lunches for family friends and classmates, which is all I can afford and the rest of the time will be spent at my working desk.

Nevertheless, I’m immensely enjoying my tasks at the moment. A complete break towards the end of the session is something I’m definitely looking forward to, but in the meantime, I’m not taking any chances. Previous assessments taught me what I should and shouldn’t do - and putting enough and early effort in my essays, I learned, is a must.

There’s nothing more disheartening than finding out that the mistake a person made after a certain point of time is that he or she could’ve done better. It is a disappointment to self, and a disappointment to the work itself.

The right teacher

A question was thrown at the dinner table today whether we’ve identified our favourite lecturer yet. I for one, already have the answer at hand. No, unfortunately it’s not a question of which lecturer has the most experience nor the highest amount of books written. It’s a pity is it not? When we put knowledge in the scale of numbers, and time. No wonder our society becomes an impossibly rushed society. Everyone is chasing digits.

For me it’s about the lecturer who brings out the best in his students. The type who could talk about his field as if telling stories out of a story book. The one who could casually sit in the class and let his passion clear to the students without limiting any conflicting ideas. What is knowledge anyway but information perceived by personal reasoning?

So, the lecturer who sits at the top of my favorite teachers list now - he brought with him a couple of video tapes to class this week. Carefully asking whether any of us have watched “Sixty Thousand Barrels”, he sighed with relief when we shaked our heads. I feel guilty playing this film in almost all of my classes, but anyway, it’s my film. He smiled whimsically at the end of his sentence.

Now, if you don’t know me enough - I am inspired by people who are doing great many things, I am appealed by the whole, organic, and fluid approach to career and profession. Someone who started as a geologist, turned a screenwriter, and finally a teacher in history and philosophy. Someone who worked initially in central banking sector, and end up becoming an international figure in transparency and government integrity. What it indicates is clear isn’t it? It shows you’re working with you heart set right in place. It shows you’re keen on what you’re doing, said Tunku Aziz.

Note: “Sixty Thousand Barrels” is a profound documentary about how Orica, a chemical production industry, manages its toxic waste and struggles to do it responsibly for the surrounding community. The highlight of the documentary is Nancy Hillier, a fiery 78-year old who leads the community action group to demand transparency and accountability from the company.


In Sydney Morning Herald, my lecturer talks about the art of imagining a greener future.

Deceptively reassuring

Australia, as it turns out, is notorious in deceiving us with its weather. One day the chill cuts through your bone as if telling you the winter is never going away, and another day the sunshine beams upon you like rain, its cheerful disposition deceives you to a short-lived euphoria. In time you learn to reconcile with its impudence, because retaliating against it only breeds disappointments.

Stuck in a rut

I was feeling helpless with myself. Concentrating on problems and feelings doesn’t seem to work out a better solution for my psychological being. I feel like I was stuck in a rut, in a state of environmental disempowerment. I feel like I should be learning more, thinking more, reading more, and doing more.

Admittedly, living green is not as difficult as it used to be. We carefully separate our recyclable items now, use of electricity is observed to the minimal needs, and I mostly opt to walk to school and never drive. All is possible given the current situation I’m living in; abroad.

Still there are a lot more to it on my part to keep up to, like enlightening myself with ample environmental knowledge on our country and globally and effectively passing on the information to others. Because in a society where there are so little rooms for personal expression; information is the key, knowledge is power.

Seeing what others could do, where things have gone wrong, and what is being concealed changes the whole perspective at which we see something; and I want to play a part to change it.

On the question of God

On the question of God - I am not exactly a decent model for piety. All my life I continuously struggle to keep my sporadic prayers in check, although I cannot deny in doing so praying has always given me a sense of great relief. In some ways I think I always relate personally to God - more in terms of a Creator-Creation relationship than Allah-Muslim-Islam relationship. I find it increasingly difficult to admit the ultimate truth and supremacy of Islam, because I am beginning to discover how faith is subjected to human perception, which makes truth too. If truth is subjective, so the truth out there can be plenty right? If God alone is enough reason for us to submit our inner self to a greater and divine force, so what significance is there in concerning ourselves with whose religion is holier than the other? Surely God’s presence and truth transcends all and any kind of spiritual realms.

Somehow I feel like I am stuck in some kind of a spiritual twilight, a vacuum of chaotic and disordered soul - the damned, the doomed, and the invalid.

Missing home

Spring is finally saying hello to the land of Australia. The sun is pushing through the cloud, eager to expose her burning rays. Days are longer, vibrant moods spread in the air. Winter on the other hand, is counting her last days, blanketing us with her remaining cold winds and soft showers - the dreaded farewell, the final parting.

The approaching weather, albeit warmly welcomed and aptly celebrated, reminds me rather painfully of home. The hot days carry a rather salty taste in the air, and it takes me back to the long stretch of beaches in Marang I often drove past on my way home and the smell of Teluk Chempedak and all its merry splendour. The taste of coffee in the morning, humid and wet, brings to me the times spent in McDonald’s and local kopitiam with dearest brother. Our long conversations - the shared memories, laughter and tears - anything which gives home its meaning. The fasting month too, with it comes thirst and hunger, and arrays of hallucination on Malaysian cuisines; karipap, bubur lambuk, and murtabak. Few times I stumbled and uttered Malay words to my Australian friends, only to find confused and appalled stares in response.

Home claws to me like roots, enveloping my core with its dusty and intertwining fibers. Without it I collapse, without it I decay, without it I am no longer a living, breathing, beating entity.

A Letter from Sydney

It’s mid-afternoon and the winter is at its end. Apart from the occasionally freezing wind blowing through the streets, the ocean is blue as the sky is clear, the sun is out and people wear shorts and thongs as if it is already summer. Mothers are sitting in a circle at one corner of the park, while a strong whiff of steak is distracting the passers-by as a group of youngsters are making full use one of the electric barbeques available for the public. Bikers, skateboarders, and casual runners keep passing by on the concrete pathway, and away in the sand a group of men are playing volleyball.


It’s 2 p.m. in broad daylight, it’s not weekend, it’s Australia – it’s my home for the time being and another fifteen months to come, and I love it to bits.

G’DAY FOLKS!

This is Ati, your book-loving friend writing from Sydney, Australia. I am at the moment completing my postgraduate degree in Environmental Management at the University of New South Wales (UNSW). Did I hear you said boring? Wait till you read the rest of my story!

Sydney is indeed a breeze of fresh air in comparison to Malaysia. The city is clean, the people are friendly, and nature is everywhere. When you look at the map and see how big Australia is compared to our country, believe me you’ll get the same feeling of wonder once you set your feet in this majestic country. I remember being swept away as my eyes caught the glimpse of Sydney Opera House from afar, its geometric roofs sprouted to the sky like a flower. You’ll be impressed with the Blue Mountains too; the vast sprawling forest covers spreads before you like a carpet, with a sprinkle of blue mist all over it. Oh and the beaches! I currently live in one of the Eastern Coastal Suburbs of Sydney, Coogee, and the beach is five minutes away from my house. The other day I was informed by my friend a mother whale and its calf are swimming leisurely in the ocean, meters away from the beach and I only had to run from the house in my flip flops to watch it. It’s like nature in my own backyard!

My dear readers, you’re already fuming with envy, aren’t you? I am not stopping yet! Australians, as it turns out, are quite big on sports and getting fit. That means plenty of pretty lasses and gorgeous blokes in their sports attire going around and about every day; running along the beach surfing in the sea, and coming in and out of the gym. In fact, if you look at the UNSW lifestyle centre (fancy word for gym, eh?), there are so many people in it made me wonder if these guys are doing their degree in getting fit or something. But eye candy aplenty nevertheless! People in Australia are extremely friendly too; only with a simple “Hi!” and “Good morning!” thrown out with a big smile, I could easily initiate a lengthy conversation with a stranger. Furthermore, they are so generous with kindness and affections, and to feel out of place in Sydney is definitely out of question. In fact, I think it is impossible not to go through the day without a slightest feeling of confidence and optimism about life once you encounter Australia and its people.

Now to the question of yours-truly, I must’ve written with enormous exuberance you might think I am not missing Malaysia at all. You’re partially correct my dear friend. If we’re talking about food, thanks to my culinary skills and the Kipas Udang soy sauce which I can always buy from the nearest oriental market, Malaysian food are always only a kitchen away. Recently I realized how simple yet creative our ancestors had been with the creation of food; the other day by using the same ingredients all over again, I was able to make buah Melaka, kuih koci, and tepung bungkus!

What about nasi briyani, roti canai, ayam tandoori and all those mamak cuisines I had always been so besotted with at home? No worries mate, did I tell you I am living with three housemates from India who are all exceptional in cooking we end up talking about opening a restaurant in Sydney instead of finishing our Master’s degrees. Fasting? Apart from occasional envy I lashed out at my brother for bragging about the lots of nasi dagang and satay he was having at home, the day ends as early as 5.30 p.m. in Sydney (and 3.30 p.m. in Malaysia, giving me a tons of reason to get back at him), so it’s not too bad at all.

Food aside, I am happy to let you know that I am indeed savoring my time in Sydney. The openness in which Australians practice in their discussion in particular allows me to express my opinions (and confusions) rather freely compared to what I had experienced at home, and it consequently gives me more room and courage in tackling the issue head on instead of keeping it boiling inside me. Nevertheless, as I had left Malaysia with the sole aim to untangle various confusions I was experiencing in relation to my religion, culture, and society, I am certain as much as I am enjoying my time in Australia, I will be looking forward to go back. Like the last time I attended a Malam Gema Merdeka organized by Malaysian students in conjunction with our National Day, I couldn’t believe myself as tears welled up in my eyes upon hearing M.Nasir’s Mentera Semerah Padi. I knew right then and there although sometimes there are so much I am unhappy about the current affairs in Malaysia, the country is as close to me as my own blood.

In the meantime my dear readers, I have fifteen months left and I am going to Fiji soon!

Your spirited book-lover, ATI

Drifting apart

These days’ talking to my friends is becoming a source of frustration for me. When I was in Malaysia, expressing a different mindset was only limited to the way I read books, the way I write, and the way I carry myself in my own world. Apart from all of it, we still share our time together, our common meals, cultures, and familiar society settings. Now I am in Australia, living a different life, and in a way living and expressing my mind - we become as different as summer and winter, as water and oil, as heaven and earth.

On the contrary to how my friends might view it, my departure is actually beyond what was simply a step forward befitting to my professional and academic directions. I had decided to leave, not to go to. I had decided to fled, not to be momentarily absent. I had decided to leave what was left of me, and to become whatever I was meant and dream to be. When I step my foot on the plane two months back, I did not plan to return and still be the same person I was.

How would I tell them about my changing and convoluting inside, about my enthusiasm of exploring the world, pushing the boundaries to the limit, questioning anything which is ambiguous, and never taking on the blind faith, how would I tell them and make them see?

Antonyms

I am a contradiction of emotions, I am a paradox of life, and I am the irony of how human beings, in all its splendour and wealth of companionship, can still be reduced to the core and crumble to dust.

In one moment I could stare in wonder as the tiny garden gnomes are peeking at me from the tree, in one moment I could shriek in delight at the warm hug a friend offered me, in one moment I could giggle and happily wave at the sight of a neighbour from the window of his house, in one perfect moment I could feel like I am at the perfect place, at the perfect time, where I want to be.

At a sudden turn of event, I could feel as lost as I could be in a void space. I could feel like I am staring into darkness, stepping my feet on the nothingness of uncertainty. I could feel like I am floating away from the continent of familiarity, my being shrunk to minute particles, invisible.

I am lost as I am found, I am fragile as I am strong, I am undecided as I am confident. I am a the master of my destiny, as I am a servant of God.

Love is subjective

What is a home - is it the warm feeling you get at the sight of dear ones, is it the laughter you generously give to the silly jokes thrown out in the air, is it the constricting twist in your chest with the lost of memories once treasured, is it the first smile of the day you get after waking up, is it the tinge of bittersweet pleasure at the remembrance of someone faraway yet close at heart, is it the sense of amazement and wonder at the smell of salty sea, the taste of bitter leaves and sweet flowers, the rhythm of chirping bird and barking dog, together with the embrace of your loved ones make you feel complete and whole. What is a home - exactly?

If happiness can be transient, so can home. If you can find happiness anywhere, so can you find where you truly belonged no matter where you go. If you can lose happiness at the grasp of it, so can you lose your home without ever once leaving it.

Happiness, home, love - are things you crave to validate your existence, to prove the worth of your pumping and bleeding heart. If you no longer present, and if your heart stopped beating at the touch of emotions - happiness, home, love; they no longer matter.

Lessons from dancing

The poetic thing about dancing is how it homogenizes the basic instincts of human nature all at once. The ability to allow our body to be simply guided by the flow of music, while still keeping our conscious mind awake to the presence and motion of our partner and ourselves The idea is to let music soothes us, and our partner guides us.

The beauty with dancing lies in the way we exude our femininity while still preserving our control, and the way our partner has to dashingly guides us on the floor and yet be gentle enough not to over-exert his dominance on us. We must never be afraid to let go, and he must never hesitate to guide. How the beauty of ancient grace and chivalry takes over both of us and the chimes of pure romance takes hold.

Dancing requires trust and faith, dancing requires confidence, humility, and chastity, dancing requires respect, love, and affection. Dancing is itself, the most truthful depiction of basic human nature. Learn to dance, and we learn to love.

Celebrating independence

Malam Gema Merdeka (Malaysian Independence Night) reminds me of several things about Malaysia I would love not to forget while in the Land Downunder.

Like the way Malaysian men pretend to look past me in shyness, they look so remote, vulnerable, and yet appealing at the same time. The moment I put out my hand, playing damsel in distress, they will look at me, as if surprised and yet proud at the same time. Admittedly mischievous, I am unfortunately spontaneous in teasing people.

Like the way I could wear my baju kurung (traditional dress) and feel so beautiful in it. Despite my preference in putting on my casual shirts and long pants, embodying a picture of the journalist in me, I know I can always reach my dress in any day and wear it without hesitation and be proud of it.

Like the way I hear Malay songs, poems, and fables and not only I could recognize it, but I could feel a surge of pride, excitement, and devotion well up in my blood for my country and for my people.

Somehow along the point, I think our love for our country, for our land and our home, our love for our people - is something as natural as the blood itself, seeping through our flesh, across our heart, passing by our bones - every drop of it mark our yet living self.

Restless

I am obsessed with information, and I am unfortunately appealed by the least popular ideas. I’ve been labeled as the lefty, the liberal of the sort, the challenger of the public. I am beginning to think I am wrong to treat environmentalism as akin to other field of knowledge I have been wanting to learn for so long; history, psychology, philosophy – because I now find its fluidity and organic volatility as so perplexing I rather revert back to studying biotechnology; technical, finite, and empiric.

Disturbed inside

Have you ever feel like there’s something inside you, buried deep beneath like a fluttery butterfly coming out of its cocoon? Its repeated echo is tapping on your conscious mind, repeatedly and persistently until at one point you can no longer pretend to be invincible to its acute presence.

Reading Ahmad Wahib’s Pergolakan Pemikiran Islam and listening to Butterfinger’s Mati Hidup Kembali (Alive After Death) at the same time takes me back to all those times of questioning and pondering. The days of not knowing and being frustrated at knowing I’ll not always find the answer. Despite all the confusions, I never want to get so caught up with my ordinary life and forget those moments. The moments which shaped my choice, my turn of events, the metamorphosis which brought up my being. No, I never want to forget it, I never wish to leave it. I want to be the adult who still questions, the old who still challenges.

Today I discussed about God’s presence with a friend, oh how sometimes I am scrambling in the dark looking for His hands. I feel so close yet so distant from Him sometimes. I feel like I am being held at an arm length, touched by God but never fully embraced by Him. It’s a question of faith, a question of me believing in His nearness. It’s the question of my chaotic soul.

The perfect night

It was the perfect night. The perfect dinner, the perfect coffee, and the perfect companions. It was like the perfect epiphany for me, a sudden moment of final realization how my presence in this land is complete; my heart, soul, and body are now soiled with the dirt of Australia. It has made its mark on me, stamped and tattoed, and it will forever leave its stain.

The popia (spring rolls), sayur lemak (vegetable stew in coconut milk), and ikan bakar (grilled fish) turned out perfectly. Everyone loves it. Not being a self-proclaimed avid cook I am, I nevertheless pride myself at being able to enjoy cooking as I do writing. It is a process of breaking up a tangle of complex information, putting it together again in a way which I understand and voila, the product.

Yes, I am unfortunately compulsive in disrupting and re-arranging a complete system and build it again in ways I see fit. It explains a lot of things though, isn’t it?

Not feeling womanly

Sometimes my period cramp makes me feel like less a woman, sometimes it makes me think my inside is somehow broken, unfit to carry the flag of being a whole woman. Everytime it plagued my body, I am torned between the feelings of destitute it causes me, and the need to sustain my independence by extinguishing its visible pain. Neither do I always succeed to accomplish any of it, because by the time I realize the pain is gone someone kind who noticed the lines of excruciating pain on my face had already offered their help, or out of helplessness I simply reached the painkillers I keep in my study and put myself to the obedience of sleep.

It is the pain, the obligatory kind. The type which stays inside you no matter how far you go, as long as you are alive. To put a stop to its flame is to put a stop at your fire, and it kills you with its death.

Rediscovering books

“I believe now that the bones which formed me physically formed me in other ways too. Many people who grow up into writers experience themselves as different, left on the sidelines by illness, physical uniqueness, tragedy, some profound notion of their own solitariness. Only children often become writers, children from toxic marriages, children whose interior worlds somehow became more radiant than the regular world witnessed by eyes.”

A Better Woman; A Memoir by Susan Johnson

Books find themselves in me again. I find myself in books again. After a long hiatus, forcefully and unwillingly embarked upon a change of heart, a change of scenery, a change of place belonged to. We finally find each other again.

I stumbled upon A Better Woman while I was aimlessly wandering in the library, looking for solitary place to hide from the demeaning lunch crowd. Thankfully, the school library is well-stocked with books, giving it a damp smell which so often associated with my imagination of books. The racks are wall-to-ceiling high, and books fill every inch of it. One would definitely not call it human-friendly, but book-lovers will rejoice in its solitude embrace. As I counted from one to hundred, my fingers ran through the spine of books at one of the sections for parenting and family issues. I keep picking up one book after another, opening at no particular page, and reading it until it grew weary of me. A Better Woman, which is poignantly written on the subject of being a woman; a mother, a lover, a writer - without question immediately chose me as its reader. The writer vividly resonates my many thoughts, feelings and experience, and in a way, its reflective nature brought back to me the long suppressed impulse for endless (one might call it excessive too) thinking and writing.

The book got me started, it marked the beginning for the unfolding of the writer in me, and the cyclical process of reading-thinking-writing will stay for a long time now until the next hiatus. It is a lonesome life, albeit a prolific one.

Green questions

The class today was engrossing. The emergence of green radical speakers as opposed to the rationally sustainable group is beginning to spice things up a bit, and as usual, I remain an enticed observant of the crowd. The subject of environmentalism haven’t ceased to blow my mind, its intricacies, when considered alongside other aspects, i.e., economics, social and political systems, is still beyond something I am capable to comprehend.

The extent to which how social systems influence our environmental behavior makes me think how it is going to be a major reform in Malaysia if we are truly ever becoming a green society. Apart from the influence of market and trade, we are essentially governed by our religious and racial/cultural values too, and sadly, it does not necessarily mean a good thing for all of us. Behavioral change, at its best, seems to face a stonewall resistance when it comes to us Malaysian lots.

Despite our aggrandizing slogans of conserving our nature (and repeated mentions of how we are one of the mega-biodiverse countries of the world), our failure in integrating ourselves with each other remains as a dark shadow lurking behind our every moves.

Head over heels with down under

What I love about waking up in the morning in Australia, is how the picture perfect scene I wake up to everyday seems to depict everything I ever dreamed how my life will take place in the future. The majestic palm tree in backyard garden towers other plants around it to greet me every morning as I slide open the curtain, and the bright pink flowers flutter slightly, and rhythmically to the cold winter breeze, as if smiling at the sight of me. I love the way I could walk down the stairs and greet the vast international citizens living in my home who are sometimes occupied with their amazing works; a future and innovations consultant, an architect, an industrial biotechnologist, a financial accountant, a human resource management student, and myself a self-proclaimed environmentalist - all under one roof. Making breakfast in the kitchen is my all-time favorite; it could be a quick boil of the oat porridge which I’ve come to like with a splash of milk and a dollop of honey, or it could be a hearty omelet sprinkled with mushrooms and tomato, or in my sweet-tooth days, I would be shaking up my pancake with sauteed banana and the scrumptious maple syrup. All taken with a glass of breakfast juice, and slowly ended with a quick bite of a banana and a mug of coffee upstairs while I am finishing my works and readings. It’s the perfect beginning to a projected perfect day. My life is as close as it could get to the life of Isabel Dalhousie, where she finishes her editorial work in the morning, walks through her neigbourhood in the afternoon to see her niece or whoever new acquaintance she has made (walking to the university, in my case), and returns to a quick dinner and drink in her home in the evening in the company of her close friends and family.

A rather solitary life of reading and writing in its essence, but filled with a mosaic of varying social life on the outside. The kind of life I love, and always enjoy.

18 things to do in Australia

The best thing I find about making up lists for myself is the freedom and opportunities to dream big, wonderful and beautiful dreams. Life is about what's immediate, and what we can do with the present.

Nearly 25 years of living, I've beginning to learn about taking up a journey with God in mind, and I didn't really mean it in the religious sense of doing things in the parable of His words. What I meant is charting my own course with a free spirit in mind, knowing at best if anything happens - God alone judges me whether I've made my race or not.

After Lanchang, the first time I discovered the beauty of unlayering God's mysterious works in my decision - Australia is my journey to find where I stand before God, my country, and two people who conceived me. A journey to break free, a journey to let go of the pain which binds me to the past, a journey to discover what's real and beautiful in the world. In doing so, I hope the following 18 things help me:

1. Swim in the Australian ocean
2. Climb the Sydney Harbour Bridge
3. Volunteer with the locals. I guest blogged at the Live Futures 2020 last year, which was an awesome experience of getting to know magnificent people working as futurists. I was also introduced to the World Future Society, which I plan to become a member of once I started earning. I've also volunteered for the Australian Youth Climate Coalition by calling 80 people to get them registered for Power Shift. The highlight of the call? One guy had his answering machine answered the phone because he was in Pakistan. Magnifique, magnifique people. 
4. Attend a concert in Sydney Opera House. In the first and the only concert I attended so far, Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova's performance grew to become a spiritual experience for me. Having watched the movie ONCE when I was in Malaysia, and loved it entirely - the concert gave a real finishing touch to my experience. To me, it signifies how magic is real and how magic is something we all can find within us. I made it real, I made it happen before my very eyes, and it was Glen and Marketa who did it for me. 
5. Visit Australian cities. Apart from Sydney, I made it to Canberra and Melbourne. Although the trip is short, I am content to find I've covered the essentials for both cities. The itinerary for 48-hour trip in Canberra was immensely useful, and the presence of merry companies in Melbourne made the trip memorable. 
6. Camp in the bush. Firstly, we camped at the Basin in the Kuringai Chase National Park, which was inherently natural. The beach was secluded and amazingly picturesque, we bushwalked to trace the Indigenous arts etched on the rocks, and it was freezing. Then I went camping by the beach with a family friend. It was revolutionary as I get to ride a bike along the coastline and get along with local communities. Finally, we camped at the Cockatoo Island, which was entirely a novelty. Imagine setting up the tent by the water facing the Sydney skyline? It was wicked. 
7. Explore Sydney like a local. 
8. Take the Great Ocean Road Tour 
9. Complete the Classic Bush Walks around Sydney and New South Wales 
10. Row in a boat 
11. Experience local customs. Australian BBQ? Check. Australian pub? Check. Australian movie? Check. Australian horse race? Check. Australian church? Check. Australian camping? Check. What else? 
12. Learn many new things 
13. Take the overland trip. I traveled to Canberra and Melbourne by bus and train, even though I had to cringe with determination when I watched my money flew. Apparently, it's a lot cheaper to go anywhere in Australia by flight. Nevertheless, it was an awesome experience. In addition to saving myself from the guilt of piling my carbon emissions, the overland trip was an irreplaceable joy. Stopping by at the local bus and train stations, eating sandwich and coffee alongside the elderly and rejoicing in their admiration of my differences are definitely something I don't mind repeating again. 
14. Eat local and home-made foods. I think a large part of what is going to remind me of Sydney is the amount of time I spent with friends cooking, eating and sharing our stories together in our homes. The food was nothing extravagant, sometimes they are simply a concoction of whatever we can find in our fridge. But sitting together, feeling safe and secure and grateful for the roof over our head, the food on the table, and the warm companies is something we enjoy beyond relief. 
15. Find myself a kindred spirit 
16. Watch a footy game 
17. Buy an opal. I wanted something simple for myself which I've never had. Seeing as opal is my birth stone, and I've never bought myself a jewelery even when I was able to afford one, I thought an opal ring is befitting as the souvenir for myself when I visited Melbourne. It was also a mark of myself embracing my womanhood. 
18. Do something unique which reminds me of Sydney

The departure

The day has finally arrived! Although it’s understandably imaginable, the truth is I never could really grasp the reality of actually leaving my homeland for another country until today.

After a short months of pondering, planning, and getting my nerves put together to make today works, only now I find myself giddy with excitements, fears, and anticipation. Looking back, pushing through from March until July, I had undergone many different events, incidents, and experiences which I think worth more than a lifetime.

Living a life after graduation is in no ways equal to the life before, these days all it takes to run my own life is myself; making decisions, executing it, and sticking to it. It could either go in two ways, whether I simply sit back and let fate runs its own course, or I take charge of my life and live my life to the fullest.

I choose the latter.

Oh, the price I have to pay. The sweats and strength I have to muster, the pain and scars I have to face, the fears I have to conquer. But if it means living my dreams and being with my loved ones - I may only say, come what may.

Throwing stereotypes out the window

We quarrel, we agree; we are friendly, we are not friendly. But we have no right to dictate through irresponsible action or narrow-mindedness the future of our children and their children’s children. There has been enough destruction. Enough death. Enough waste. And it’s time that, together, we occupy a place beyond ourselves, our peoples, that is worthy of them under the sun, the descendants of the children of Abraham.

King Hussein of Jordan, 1998

“You should watch A Mighty Heart, it’s a great film.” I prompted to a friend once as we were finishing our works in the lab. She didn’t look up from her notebook, but asked, “What’s it about?”.

So on and on I talked animatedly about the true account of the journalist Daniel Pearl who was kidnapped and killed by terrorists in Karachi, Pakistan.

Amidst my talking, my friend suddenly hopelessly exclaimed, “Oh, it’s always our fault isn’t it?!”.

I remember feeling so overwhelmed by her reaction. It felt like an instant rush of blazing blood ran up to my head, and being taken over by a feeling so powerful - anger, fury, and dismay - it caused me to feel as if I am capable of strangling my friend’s neck and make her done with it.

Thankfully, I didn’t. But I did throw a fit it made my friend recoiled with surprise. I wasn’t angry at her, it’s her reaction I’m frustrated with. Coming from a friend I’ve shared countless debates and dialogues with, her remark wasn’t something I had expected.

It’s simple thinking

We’re living on shaky grounds these days, aren’t we? As young adults, we are facing numerous grueling issues which needs our attention and principles to stand up for. Everywhere we turn, expectations and judgments are posed to us, sadly, with the ultimate pressure coming from our own crowds.

It is undoubtedly difficult trying to establish our own foundation and still hoping for security and approval at the same time. Sometimes it is easier for us to adopt simplistic approach towards certain issues. But as put aptly by writer Walter Lippmann, “when all think alike, no one thinks very well”, we simply skip the laborious thinking process and pick up someone else’s ideas on the road to shed some light to our problems.

The result is continuing cycle of blame and endless attacks to which we contribute no fruitful solutions but empty rants and grandiloquence.

Still, we wonder from day-to-day what a living hell the world is, without realizing we are one of the agents fueling it!

M. Scott Peck in his Road Less Traveled series describes few possible reasons for us to opt for simple thinking.

It could be due to our grave need to preserve our sense of self-identity, in the case where one has always to be right.

Those of us who tend to see ourselves always as a victim, simplistic thinking become an escapism from being responsible for our own choices.

Meanwhile, there are lots of us too who are simply incapable of thinking in perspective to account for the consequences of our actions.

All of the above considered, it’s blatant narcissism.

Carving our own path

What if we create the world of our own ideas and traditions?

What happens if for a second, we forget about stereotypes, labeling, and assumptions - and begin to look at the world in our own eyes. Unpolluted. Remember how we often see the twinkle in a baby’s eyes, and their unassuming smile?

Somehow going for our dreams becomes easier, once we disregard our worries about the judgments people passed to us. Somehow finding beauty in the world is effortless, because all those labels people branded on things no longer matters once it’s our own eyes, our own heart, our own comprehension, we are using to see.

I remember a secret a fox whispered to the Little Prince - ‘very simply; you can only see things clearly with your heart. What is essential is invisible to the eye.’

Nevertheless, opening ourselves to the world requires dedication to readily accept (or rather, to deal with) truths.

It’s a rollercoaster journey to our understanding of the world.

Sometimes it contradicts us, it pulls us to the bottom pit of denial, it challenges us personally and forces us kneeling down to admit our mistakes and change our views. Sometimes it swells us with joy and inspiration, it proves to us our nudging conviction all along and finally allows us wings to fly our dreams.

No more instant excuses being thrown at problems we refuse to be a part of, no more scapegoating others for issues we know we are capable of contributing to, no more wallowing in self-pity and habits of falling victims to petty troubles we recognize are not worth our attention.

Looking at the world using our own eyes means learning to be ready to accept full responsibility for our existence on earth and be accounted for it.


The entry is inspired by Queen Rania’s project on YouTube, “Send Me Your Stereotypes”. Queen Rania recently launched her YouTube channel to invite dialogues between all citizens of the world to discuss about stereotypes on the Arab and Muslim world.

The Jane Austen Book Club

The Jane Austen Book Club
By Karen Joy Fowler
Penguin Books, 288 pages

If you’re the type who read books for the love of life and cherish the ambiguous humor and paradox the life has to offer; The Jane Austen Book Club is for you.

The story, as its title suggests, revolves around the celebrated six Jane Austen novels and how each stories are interconnected with the five women and a man of the Jane Austen Book Club members.

Set in Sacramento Valley, a university town in California, the book club was initiated by Jocelyn to act as a distraction for her close friend Sylvia, whose husband recently decamped for a relationship with another woman. An expert at getting people together (Sylvia’s husband Daniel was Jocelyn’s boyfriend in high school), Jocelyn considers herself as the “Jane Austen who wrote wonderful novels about love and courtship, but never married”.

Grigg, the only male member of the all-Jane-Austen-all-the-time book club, was initially invited by Jocelyn as another of her matchmaking attempt for Sylvia. Originally an avid fan of science fictions, Grigg on the other hand has a different idea on whom he would like to court.

The other three female members of the club are Allegra, Sylvia’s sensitive but gregarious gay daughter; Bernadette, a witty sixty-something veteran who has seen it all; and Prudie, a fragile high school French teacher who always seem to be seconds away to breaking down due to memories of her neglectful mother.

Playful and observant as Jane Austen herself, the lives of the members of the Jane Austen Book Club is narrated in parallel to the Austen six novels where the members take turn to host discussion of one novel in their house every month.

Six members, six months, and six Austen novels.

Instead of a novel with a plot, The Jane Austen book Club could be seen as the author’s fun attempt to explore character’s lives through the plots in Jane Austen novels. Quick-witted and funny at times, each character seems to have their own valid cultural observation on the world of Jane Austen in relation to their own. Sylvia for instance, in the event of her daughter accident, asks Jocelyn “Why should unhappiness be so much more powerful than happiness?”. She believes herself as the practical Jane Austen who was a daughter, a sister, and an aunt, without the happy ending.

I had read The Jane Austen Book Club way before I watched Pride and Prejudice and read Sense and Sensibility (the only Austen novel I had gotten over so far). Besides, I had read it even before I could grasp the power of being “an acute and nonpartisan observer of people” I didn’t remember whether I had enjoyed reading it or not. These days, as Jocelyn “who could have all kinds of hobby she wants because she is never married”, I read the Jane Austen Book Club again in conjunction with its newly released film and I find myself laughing out loud despite myself.

As put aptly by the producer of the film version of The Jane Austen Book Club, you don’t have to read Jane Austen to read the novel. Instead of a mere replication of Austen novels, Karen Joy Fowler managed to put the stories of the all-the-time-all-Jane-Austen book club members to stand on its own any Austen virgin could enjoy it.

If you love life and are capable of laughing at its apparent incongruity, that is.

Sense and Sensibility: A girl's guide to friendship

It took me a week to finish Sense and Sensibility, my first Jane Austen’s novels.

Watching the 1995’s version of the book at the beginning wasn’t helping. Because Austen’s detailed description of her plots and lengthy dialogues sometimes drained my patience, and having known the ending to the story added the labor.

Nevertheless, Austen’s meticulous and sometimes ironic observation of her society kept me glued to the book through to the end. Although many who hasn’t read Austen would quickly assume her novels are about romance and the pursuit of marriage, which is correct in a sense. But in Sense and Sensibility, the plot is not as important as the picture depicted by Austen about the 1800s’ society’s manners. In a culture where single girls’ ultimate job is being pretty and getting married, Austen women shines through as witty and intellect persons.

Marriage and courtship aside, what struck me most with Sense and Sensibility is how the relationship between the female characters was portrayed. The dynamics behind relationships of each character posed an uncanny resemblance to my personal experiences and observations of today’s women.

Sense and Sensibility tells the story of Dashwood sisters, Marianne and Elinor, who are naturally opposites. Cautious Elinor believes in careful discretion with others, while Marianne is fiery, as she doesn’t believe in concealing her emotions.

After the demise of their father, the Dashwood sisters, together with their mother and another younger sister, Margaret, was forced to move out of their house in Norland Park since by inheritance, the house falls to their half-brother, John Dashwood, whose wife Fanny, is as cunning as her proud mother, Mrs. Ferrars. Through a brief encounter with Edward Ferrars, Fanny’s brother, Elinor was believed by her mother and sisters to have gained his affections.

The family moved to Barton Park by the kind offer of the Dashwood’s cousin, Sir John Middleton. At the Barton Park Marianne’s romance began with Willoughby, and Elinor was surprised with an engagement news of Lucy Steeles to Edward. The sisters rollercoaster pursuits of love took many surprising turns where in the end, cost Marianne her health.

Although the main plot was about Elinor and Marianne’s journeys towards marriage, Sense and Sensibility talks about the characters’ relationships with each other in depth and almost with similar weight. Given that almost 80 percent of the characters are women; five Dashwoods, two Steeles, a Middleton, a Jennings, a Ferrars, the story centres around the relationship amongst these women, and Austen description of her characters is so sharp we could share their passion and sometimes feel their cunning motives.

Frank vs. Prudent

Having received their education from independent readings, both Elinor and Marianne are individuals of their own opinions. Even Margaret their younger sister, adores Mrs. Jennings, Sir John’s mother-in-law, because she talks about things and not just the weather.

However, the manners which two sisters carry their opinions are different, as Marianne prefers to let her opinion heard and her feeling portrayed. For example, her acquaintance with Fanny and Lady Middleton, Sir John’s wife, was never tolerated because she couldn’t stand the rudeness and insipid selfishness on their part. On the other hand, Elinor, although having different ideas to her counterpart, she often act primarily to their interest. Like when Robert Ferrars, Edward’s brother was talking narcissistically about his plan and love of cottage, Elinor simply agreed to him because she doesn’t think he deserved the compliments of rational opposition.

Marianne’s approach could easily cost her company, because demonstrating disagreement with someone’s personality would discourage any friendly attempts on his or her side. But having Elinor’s prudence, on the other hand, means to tolerate bland conversations and company made for sheer reasons of flattery and insincerity.

In want of understanding

One of the reasons which makes Austen’s characters outstanding is it seems each one of the women is making friends with the other for their personal reasons. Perhaps it can be viewed as opportunistic, but I rather see because these women, in the company of each other’s comfort, need an understanding which validate their characters. For example, Lady Middleton, unlike her mother and husband, is a lady of elegance and very little words whose comfort seem to be found only in her children. She is uncomfortable around the Dashwoods, because she was ashamed of doing nothing before them. Though she was pleased with Fanny, as there was a kind of cold-hearted selfishness on both sides; which mutually attracted them.

Meanwhile, Lucy Steeles, to whom Elinor is her bane of existence for obtaining Edwards regards. She was henceforth determined to demonstrate their close engagement by insistently talking about it with Elinor, in agreeable manner, which in turn makes it difficult for Elinor to refuse or ignore.

Austen’s guide to friendships

As simple as it is, and as anybody in any field would recommend it - being confident with ourselves and having a life of our own is the only key to great friendship with our female counterparts.

Elinor and Marianne surpassed the superficiality of Lady Middleton or Lucy Steeles because both of the Dashwood sisters understand their own strength and weaknesses and respect each other for it. There was no attempt to conceal their opinions from each other simply for acceptance or in the act of kindness. Meanwhile, by being grateful with what we have and pursuing our dreams which make us whole, we’ll be making friends with people of similar goals who could offer us momentous inspirations. Instead of, God forbid, making friends with people whom we need approval from for the lack of our drive and dreams.

Perhaps it can be argued Elinor and Marianne is the best of friends because they are sisters. Not entirely true. Because I never had any sister, but I do have friends of the same credibility as both Elinor and Marianne, and all of which are as independent, strong and expressive.

It is true too, usually my closest friends are the one I am harshest to, while others to whom I didn’t offer my two cents, perhaps because I don’t think they deserved the compliments of rational opposition.

Tudung: Beyond Face Value

Tudung (Hijab); Beyond Face Value
By Salinah Aliman
Bridges Books, 100 pages

I read once about the guy around the block, a term coined for a man encountered by a woman more than once in her life as a partner during a separate time in a different life.

As such, this book is therefore the book around the block for me.

The thought-provoking title of the book had caught my attention while I was in Dar-ul-Kutub (The House of Books), the university bookstore when I was a freshman. I had bought and read it with a sense of pride and entitlement of a lifelong hijabi. I hadn’t read it with the intention to learn, but simply to affirm and decidedly prove what I had already believed in.

Simply put, the book was taken for granted. Now the book sits silently, its spine fought itself to surface amongst other books covered in dust.

A couple of weeks ago, I received a gift from my blogger friend. As the gift arrived while I was in a rush to leave for official matters in Kuala Lumpur, I took the package with me partly hoping to open it somewhere on the road, only to bring it home yet untouched.

I opened the parcel excitedly the following morning, as the book cover made its way through the torned package, I felt my breath hung in the air. Ever wonder how it feels like to meet the ex-boyfriend on the street, only to fall in love again as if for the first time? Oh, you know the drill.

The coffee table book was published in Singapore, it features a calm and thoughtful reading on the issues centering tudung and those who dons it. A collection of articles presented are adorned with articulate and meaningful photography, and written by authors ranging from knowledgeable Imaam and religious scholars, to freelance writers and filmmakers, to women of different professions; doctors, software engineers, and proud mothers.

In the book, tudung is aptly introduced in the first chapter in relation to its status in Islam and how it is significant spiritually and socially. The inter-dependent relationship between faith and modesty was explained, hence putting hijab as one of the important benchmarks in Muslim women’s life.

Reading Tudung:Beyond Face Value again allows me to finally relate to and understand the experiences of being a tudung-clad woman as portrayed in the articles. Despite being a religious conduct, donning hijab in Malaysia (as in Singapore and other multiracial countries) can be a cultural practice, which is not at all wrong for it helps with nurturing the practice. But in the end, embracing the spiritual meaning tudung entails to its wearer is undoubtedly a personal choice and responsibility.

I particularly love the articles in the final chapters where female writers themselves conclude tudung is but another article of clothing taken out of deliberate choice. A woman’s true value and beauty is to be seen beyond her outward appearance. Ironic as it may seem, but it actually applies to every woman out there of all races and religions.

While a Muslim woman is not to be judged as being oppressed when she put her hijab on, she herself is ever more encouraged to look beyond religious and cultural differences to bridge mutual respect and compassion to everyone in the society.

Tudung:Beyond Face Value is a great source of reflection for everyone from all walks of life, its contents are especially befitting to a multiracial and diverse country like Singapore, Malaysia, and Indonesia. In fact, the term unity in diversity is portrayed accurately enough in the book where I think we Malaysian lots have a lot to learn from.

Much ado about works

How many of us today stands in front of the mirror and consequently feels proud of what we are now, without a hint of regret for not following our young dreams we had once upon a time?

How many of us today are still wondering why, for the love of God, are we still putting off those wishes we intend to pursue one day?

How many of us today are going to work simply because it pays?

It’s not easy making decisions for ourselves these days as a young adults. Because everyone in the world is ever so prepared to give us their two cents worth of advices of how things should go from now on, having finished the excruciating university years and holding a degree in our hands now.

It’s suffocating too, sometimes. Because all you get upon greetings by former teachers, long lost friends or distant relatives is so, what are you doing now? It’s only been a month since we finished our bachelor’s degree, we haven’t even had our convocation ceremony yet! Still, in no time we are being landed (forcefully or not) on the tracks of the rat race.

I have the chance to encounter several people in different lines of works which I took advices from on the career path I’m going to take. A lot inspires me, a few are merely sensible, while notable ones are, sad to say, downright ridiculous. The following I already put in a different categories:

1. The academia lots.

I stumbled upon a relative, who is seemingly a successful academician with big cars and a large mansion. Admittedly an expert among students, she asked me what are my plan after graduation. I answered simply, light as a day without realizing I had mentioned about declining an offer to be a lecturer. To my surprise, she suddenly broke into a fit, saying I had thrown a good offer out of the window. To add to the grievance, she confidently mentioned about how slim my chance is to get the scholarship I wanted for my choice of study.

I might risk a confrontation by saying it, but few of my lecturers are not quite different too. It shocked me to see how pathological the drive of certain people to step up the academic world. It’s barking mad!

Fortunately, a lecturer or two are clearly passionate with their subjects. Like Mr. S, whom with confidence had defended his subjects with a great stance of at least if I die, I can say I had learned about the world a little bit more than others. It was about the only time a profit-driven bioprocess expert earned my admiration.

2. The survivor lots

We might have chosen different things to prioritize in life. Some chooses family, some chooses career, some chooses religion. Different as it may be, each of us have a reason to inspire, as long as we are doing things we deserve to do. I talked to a TUNZA journalist I had met in Cologne. Affable but composed, she told me about how she wanted to write. As she had studied poetry in college. But as she had her baby, she had to work for something more tangible. A friend of mine is eager to start her family, right after graduation. Two are already engaged and soon to be married. For my friends, the foundation for their cause would be their family and how they want to build the foundation.

Oh, how it would take a lot of guts, and it offers every reasons to inspire. Setting yourself aside for others, practicing for altruism and philanthropic world? Family is always a good place to start!

3. The passionate lots.

These would be of those who started off doing something and ended up doing something else, and those who is simply inspiring in their everyday job, no matter what they do or how they do it.

Mr. Songpol, with his calm demeanours and smiling face, had easily chatted to me while we are waiting for our servings at a brauhaus in the cold city of Cologne. An engineering graduate turns news editor at the Bangkok Post, he assures me how a journalist doesn’t actually need to be all rapturous and vibrant, because it’ll defeat the purpose of observing people and turning the live situation into words later.

My female icons are endless, each with her own strength and beliefs in her advocates. Be it in women right, environment, or humanities. A supervisor who took me under her wing during my internship is one such individual, I am still scared of her (but inspired, nevertheless), sometimes.

I recently learned about Zainah Anwar, and decided to take after her in certain things. Chong Sheau Ching is still my favorite author, for I share similar academic background and working aspirations as she had. Kathleen Kelly, Celine, Maddie, and Tessa, all are my favorite characters I base my dreams on.

My mother had asked me few times about what I actually dream to work as, I could not really give her a straight answer. For I can only take one step at a time for now, each step I intend to take me closer to my dreams. As any other youth, I want to believe I can trust in my dreams, and I wish for those around me to have faith in my dreams. If we want a freedom to make choices, we believe the freedom to make the choice is now. All we are asking for is faith, a faith in these young hands to carve their own future.

To my friends, I know it’s not easy to make the decision on our own sometimes. But stand up for what we believe in, and people will see how trust can be put upon our shoulders. Read, go out, get to know more people - it will make you see how those dreams, stored at the back of your minds, are all made to be real.

So, are you today where you want to be?

Rules of attraction

It starts with a chance encounter. The element of surprise would always give you away, after having done all the mundane routines; going, waiting, and returning - his sudden presence at such unexpected times comes almost as a gift, a present for you.

The scientific laws

Next comes the impulsive sizing up of the choosy female in you. Your eyes fell ultimately first on his strong jaws and prominent brows. As he curiously searched the crowd, and finally stopped to catch you in the act, your heart skips a beat, until his serious face breaks into a wide grin, obviously amused. You smile back, warmly, seriously, as if being kind instead of shying away.

You do not proceed to think of anything at first, because throughout the course of twenty years of your life, you have decided to put forth self-respect and dignity above everything else. You accepted the existence of boundaries between yourself and the surrounding males, which if penetrated with selfless acts could leave a mark so deep without you ever intended so.

Until of course, a friend approaches you to say hi with the very object of your esteem by his side, you could not help but be glad to find his broad shoulders and narrow hip so easily cloaked with his white t-shirt and blue jeans. More so as he look at you, evidently surprised at such trite coincidence. Having shared a little secret now, both of you nod and smile at each other with a twinkle in the eyes.

It’s good to know you too, your heart secretly wished. You smile to yourself, regaled by the sudden emergence of the cheeky voice in you, which you know often indicates trouble.

Subjective reality

Subconsciously, you begin to realize the opportunity presented to you at the moment. The thoughts you have always dream about; the whats and hows of your first meeting with the significant other starts to find a way to manifest itself.

Eager to project a strong persona, you sit up straight and lean forward a little, asking him a few questions about himself. He answered sweetly, and ask several questions in return. Both of you would have continued to talk had your friend not interfered. Affectedly bashful by your interest and your friend’s teasing remark, he smiles at his drink. You throw a shot of look at your friend, silently asking him to be understanding.

As you do not want to be too intrusive, you retreated. Resting yourself against the chair, you retired to become the observer of the conversation among the two men. An admirer from afar. You laugh along their jokes, throwing in a comment or two. The situation did not permit for anymore revelation of his personality, as much as you wish to know. But you did share a number of glances with him, and hoping it would flourish into something.

There are times you feel like giving in to fate. Because sometimes the world seems to work in random and reality is out of your control. What if he is simply one of the many men to appear in your life, but who is not supposed to leave any mark? You surely know how bleak is the definition of love at first sight given your previous failed (or rather, faux) experiences.

Alas, you are a person who knows herself, and the power of believing in the beauty of her dreams. You do not fear failure or disappointment, hence you are always ready to enjoy things while it last. You assume responsibility of your actions, and therefore you possess the power to create and channel the reality to become your dreams.

So you continue to enjoy the conversations, even at times only indirectly. You give him the occasional discreet look, the secret smile to say I am here. A few times your friend caught you in the act, you had to casually laugh it off.

Lowering the love costs

Soon arrives the time to part, and you are keen not to leave things hanging. Especially after he had walk especially towards you to say his goodbye. You are frantic at the forced separation. You look at your friend, attempting to make it looks as if you are handing him a few stuffs, while mouthing to him playfully, I like your friend. You sure hope he gets the message, because guys are known to be hopeless at such things.

As you walk home that day, you are giddy with confidence and hope. Though with time a realization dawn upon you how unlikely it is going to work. You had to cross proximity and meeting frequencies out of the possibilities of bringing the encounter to the friendship level. You nearly cursed at no longer having your Friendster account, because otherwise you might be able to dig up something, whatever his name is. But you eventually laughed at the ridiculity of it; you cannot be the young girl with her fancy and delicate relationship game anymore.

You are a grown-up woman now, with strength, passion, and independence only a select few are able to see. You do not wait for love to come around, you live because of it. As much as his sweet smile and deep-set eyes intrigued you, you put him at the back of your mind. Not forgetting him, but not waiting for him either. You return to your friends, talking and sharing with every single one of them. You sit with your family, savoring every moments you could. You read, you sing, and you dream.

So you do what a woman you always envision to be does. You silently wish the best of happiness to your new acquaintance, and convinced nonetheless at the share of your bliss however it may be. You want him to live fully, as you do. Because if chance permits another meeting, both of you will be ready with a cupboard full of adventures to share. But if you are not meeting him again, both of you will surprise another new friends.

The trick is to live the best you can.

Reciprocal liking? You smile at the thought of it, because you are certain there is a tiny glitter of possibility.

Foibles and follies of life

Failing of character, I mused to myself as I was standing in the kitchen, stirring my cup of coffee. My sleep nowadays are filled with long tiring dreams. I wouldn’t call it nightmares, necessarily, but the dreams are intricate nonetheless. I am a believer of how dreams reflects our states of mind, but these days I find it too tiresome to bother.

I wonder, if I write stories based collectively on my dreams. How apt.

As I walked through the hallway, stopping at the large window, I looked out to the street. The street which is never silence. I smiled at the thought of calling the soil my home, not now, not for long.

I suppose the types of people in life are either who makes anywhere a place their call home, or who hardly consider any place close to being home, even their own home. I fall to the latter type, the fearer of emotional claims. A close acquaintance said I ought to be a politician for it. I laughed.

The dishes on the table has already been reduced to sheer scrapes on the plate, I chuckled as I remembered the looks on my brothers’ face as they devoured their lunch; burning hot. I am not a fan of chillies myself, but alas, one tends to underrate oneself.

I winced, a sudden tang of pain shot right through me at remembering the nearness of someone close, at yearning of another comfort company.

It’s certainly difficult to see why a certain somebodies who enjoys the presence of each other can still choose to be happy far apart. Life has a way of expecting different things from us, within minutes we no longer see eye to eye on things once cherished together.

I suppose the difficulty lies there, at how we no can no longer include the person, once in every part of our lives, in decisions we are making for the future. It can easily be overcame, of course, but who on earth today like to talk about these things? People move on, they look forward now.

The cackling laughter of my 2-year old niece suddenly broke the silence of hot afternoon, I walked to the door with a smile I couldn’t usually pull off when I’m around adults and put the thought away at the back of my mind.

Hot weekends like this, who needs gloomy thoughts?

Why change is scary

Because it’s telling us why it matters.

I used to be a spoiled and doted daughter whom everything is taken care of. Once when I was 7 years old, I cried and kicked the bedroom window because my brother didn’t want to help me with my school homework. I suffered two inches scar on my left foot and enjoyed two months breaks from school. My habits continued until after high school where I was incapable of doing things on my own without the presence of my parents.

All it takes to change me was the news of my dad’s second marriage.

Perhaps my example is too harsh, but forceful or voluntary, changes in our lives are inevitable. Whether it is decided out of our self-introspection or due to life major events, change will always comes knocking at our door.

Deciding to change

Andrew Matthews, the author of Happiness Now puts a funny metaphor to life where we tend to be comfortable with the way things are around us even when it’s not good. It’s like getting into an initially smelly bathroom and after a while sitting in it, we ask, what smell?

Which is why it is important for us to change while we are still aware of things that bother us.

Dreaming of studying that one course? Find a way to do it! Having been in a negative relationship for far too long? Leave it! As for my case, I had asked myself four years ago, do I still want to count on dad when he might have another daughters and sons he cares about? No, I’ve got to take care of myself now!

Change is bold, change is daring, change is adventurous. To change means to put a break to our moving lives, to stop and think about it, and finally to change the course of our direction.

Hardly easy, right?

But it’s how it is. However, I assure you, once we get around to it, things become easier and easier. Once we accept changes are only a part of life, and we learned how to deal with it, it doesn’t matter if the change is difficult.

Why change is scary

So what makes changes scary? Deriving from personal experiences, I recognize several fears that are holding us back from taking that first step.

• We’re afraid of our own potential. 

‘Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure‘, so wrote Marianne Williamson in her book, A Return to Love. Once we decide to realize our potential, the bar for our standard will be heightened and we have to act accordingly. It takes willingness, discipline, and a lot of courage. Which explains why most people opt to stay in their comfort zone. Because it sure sounds like a lot of hard works to me. 

• We’re afraid of failure and disappointment. 

Starting a new thing doesn’t guarantee us immediate success or results. Not knowing itself is scary. Changing puts our present status quo at stake, and we are not willing to feel inferior again (remember our first day at new school?). Thinking about the what-ifs and the future makes us anxious and uncertain to pursue it. Why sacrifice what we already have now for something we are not sure of in the future? Regardless whether now is helpful enough or not, at least now we have something!

• We need other people’s approval. 

I think the biggest challenge of all for us to change for the better is because no man is an island. Consciously or subconsciously, we live with a sense of belief that our worth is dependent on other people’s approval. Often it becomes our excuse for not doing anything, because we don’t want to disrupt the established status quo we have in our social circle. To change means to step out of our character, to manifest our beliefs which might contradict others’ ways of life. In the present society where conformity is important, unless you’re a born loner, you definitely don’t want to stick out like a sore thumb among your peers.

But changes are still necessary, right?

Changes come in our life as opportunities, emotional pains, physical trauma. It sends a message to us to re-assess our life, and change our life patterns. To change means to evolve, and to evolve means to progress. In addition, no one is responsible for our personal growth but ourselves.

These fears, as intimidating as they are, are opportunities to build us. The key is to take time to learn about it, face it head on and use it to our advantage.

Remember what Tsun Zu said, keep our friends close and keep our enemies closer.

A certain sweet experience

I hadn’t look forward for the trip home, dreading the 8 hours journey through the suburb areas of the east coast. It wasn’t the scenery I loathed, for I had ardently enjoyed my trip going back and forth through the states before - I was driving on my own, singing out loud to the maximum volume of the radio station and cussing freely without offending anybody to whom I intended for.

It was the cruel incumbent requirement of sitting still on my number 1A seat, right behind the bus driver, the limitation of not being able to speak out loud to my desired judgment, and the restriction on my singing needs - despite my actual ability (or, inability) to sing.

Rather pessimistic, I vowed to myself not to have any expectation for the journey - I shall be content with the passing of time until I finally reach home.

Until he climbed aboard and sat beside me.

I was working on my sudoku puzzle, with the TIME magazine on my lap - two actions which I know would immediately drive any man my age away. Learning from my personal experience and close observation of my community members, I realize that seriousness and maturity is not very popular in the romance industry - which, believe me my readers, I am one expert at.

Stealing a quick glance to my left, I made a full first impression of his physical appearance - striped t-shirt, jeans, a pair of boots, and a backpack. I scrolled down through my interpretations - already working, slightly settled with himself, but not confident enough with how his life’s heading so far.

He picked up his phone, and talking rather sweetly to the caller - taken, I decided. I smiled to myself, returning to the singing of Michael Buble in my head. I could easily ask his destination, and his name and what he’s doing. Because despite my introvert nature, I approach stranger rather easily as I willed. But given my recent miscalculated events with not one but three guys, I pushed away the thought of even trying.

(Now, I am NOT going to write about my one pathological need of making a version of my perfect guy out of every man I met)

So passed half of our journey with me from time to time leafing through the magazine, working on my puzzle (I managed to finish two sets), and singing casually to my phone. I walked pass him with difficulty as I was rushing to the restroom and him still sitting rather sleepily on his seat, and we had exchanged a quick stare while buying drinks in the restaurant, obviously checking out on each other.

Why, you cannot deny nature - opposites do attracts. Man and woman - the ultimate yin and yang.

So on the next half of our journey, he began our introduction by offering me his set of sweets - which unfortunately I am not a fan of. But I had returned his kindness with simple questions - of his destination, his job, and the place where he studied. A quiet guy, and definitely not a sweet-talker - but suited enough for my casual interest. He made a comment on my lack of east coast accent, and I had happily explained the twist of my nationality and birth place. Talking and talking, rather relaxed and unfazed, we laughed, and receded back to our silent self to enjoy the rest of the journey.

Carefully, we managed to avoid the dangerous waters.

He had to part at the earlier destination, and both of us sighed with relief at the obligatory separation - as if there was a silent pact between us, we are not going to tread the unthinkable. So, as he jokingly invited me to join him and I declined his offer with a laugh - we said our goodbyes.

We did not exchanged names, more so our phone numbers.

Reaching home, I stepped out of the bus with a smile on my face, triumphantly rejoicing the success of avoiding the temptation to create another chapter of disaster in my life.

This one, this story, this journey - is going to be the sweet filler.

Being green is difficult

I once proposed a suggestion to my friend as we got ourselves drained in a heated debate about global warming and the fate of environment in Malaysia. I asked, what if all these conflicts are simply a cycle every nation has to go through? What if it is a necessary hierarchical development for us to climb; from being a war-torn and illiterate, to industrialized and finally an eco-concious country as a result?

What if right now we are simply not there yet?

I had, of course, concluded my idea with a hint of sarcasm and defeat, in submission to our failure of contributing fruitfully to environmental cause during our student days.

So, imagine my surprise to find the idea being supported by a Dr. Ulrich Bornewasser during his talk about the evolution of clean industrial process in Germany. Perhaps not in its entirety, but as Dr. Bornewasser describes about how the Germans tolerated the toxic-laden Rhine river in early 70s because the issue of environment was not as important as how industries provide the nation their bread and bacon, I tried to match their condition to ours. A question arise in my mind, are we Malaysians today where the Germans were 50 years ago?

If my theory is correct, it means I can only see Malaysia the way Germany is now when I am almost 70 years of age!

Despite our enthusiasm towards being environmentally-sound citizens, living green in Malaysia is still difficult. Conventionality, convenience, economic - the reasons to resist our effort in being eco-conscious are manifold. Changing our habits is one thing, encouraging others is a different challenge altogether. Separating the garbage in my house for instance, requires additional chore on my part, because I would be grateful enough if the leftover foods on the table go straight to the bin or it becomes my duty to dispose the fermented variety if I come home later. Composting? Our house doesn’t have a lawn. Cooking organic food and fair-trade ingredients? Only if we get lucky, because in my family, cooking at all is considered festive. Plastic bags? Mom says there are thousands use for it as a reason for us to hoard the plastic bags at home after our grocery shopping, only what the use are, I suppose mom never really finds out (she suggested once, I could make a coaster out of the colorful plastic bag, I forgot to answer her, mom, we don’t use coasters in our home).

I am talking still about trying to save the world in our limited personal space, not yet touching the issues of nature conservation and fighting for the cause of threatened species. My brothers spends their free time finishing the last bits of electric power to win their Need for Speed match, mom and dad works almost 24/7 in front of their little notebook. How on earth could I ever persuade my family to spend a screen-free weekend camping by the river? Only if I rich enough to sponsor everyone to experience the soothing dawn with the hornbills at Taman Negara, but the last time I volunteered, I burnt a hole in my scholarship pocket money and my Kancil tyres suffered a considerable injury after a proud attempt to follow the PERHILITAN’s four-wheel drive vehicle up the hill of Genting. As of now, I am broke, jobless, and severely anxious for not being able to live up to my green living expectations. At the rate I am going, being green seems as far unattainable as living luxuriously celebrity-like. Then again, who drives the hybrid Toyota Prius and supports the use of solar energy but the likes Leonardo DiCaprio and Edward Norton? Enough said.

Moreover, it is not helping that green living is not endorsed by our system. Imagine going to a supermarket where no plastic bags are given out (like the moment I fumbled at a grocery store in Cologne for being so used to plastic bags, I was embarrassed but glad!) and where our garbage will only be collected if they are separated according to their material types, surely it would make me feel a lot better. Imagine the kitchen basin with a complete grinding system for organic waste, which will be flushed straight to the composting system. Imagine!

So, I am honestly partially glad at the news given by Dr. Bornewasser, I try not to feel too bad and too guilty for living like a bum at home for now. The fault couldn’t be mine alone. I certainly hope, as Germany 50 years ago, Malaysia right now is moving ahead towards equipping herself bits by bits, to be a sustainably-developed country. Perhaps it’s unfair, to expect things to be done all at once. Even human developed progressively, even Rome wasn’t built in a day. We are, all of us, I hope, moving in the right directions.

The time will soon come, when I work with the United Nations earning a five figure salary, dividing my time between my homeland and South Africa, working on various conservation and community projects. The time will come, when I am engaged with my comrades from other countries, the way we were acquainted years before, fighting for a cause we all believe in. The time will come, when I pioneer the practice of nationwide domestic recycling and composting in every household.

For now, forgive me - for dreaming excessively - because living green is difficult.