I woke up in the morning, hit by one powerful realization. Whether it was timely (it has been exactly a month since I returned) and I am due to move on with my life, or it was simply a serendipitous coincidence - I don't know. But for once, after a while of drowning in the stupor of grief and resentment - I feel like my vision is clear and my enthusiasm to live has sprung to life again.
A couple of days ago, I was scheduled to be in KL reuniting with my friends and catching up over our times shared together. But I didn't make it then. For some reason, I believe my absence was meant to be. I don't think I was ready to build the bridge connecting my old self - the one my friends knew so well - with who I've become today. The truth is, I wasn't sure if I am ready to plunge into the new life yet, one with the currents so strong it might wipe away the core of my being.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Friday, December 18, 2009
Unnecessary disappointment
What is better to fill a holiday than Andrew Bird and Louisa May
Alcott? Andrew Bird's raw voice is intoxicating it lifts you up into an
altogether different universe, while the story of Jo and her sisters are
refreshing enough it keeps you grounded in the reality of life.
There is little about the life of unemployment to be recorded nowadays. Apart from the usual reading, writing and pondering, I do nothing else to qualify my stories worth writing about. I wanted to write about the past, but the cheerful thought of them is tarnished with the grim prospect of my life at present - so I chose to preserve them where they belong. When I'm in a better state of mind, I'll revisit them again.
As for the future, although they warrant the most sparkling enthusiasm - I am reminded to be careful of unnecesary disappointment. The application is nearly complete, and I've begun to read and write for the proposal. However, since my life at the moment seems to move at a rather slow and disconnected pace - believing in possibilities is proving to be difficult.
There is little about the life of unemployment to be recorded nowadays. Apart from the usual reading, writing and pondering, I do nothing else to qualify my stories worth writing about. I wanted to write about the past, but the cheerful thought of them is tarnished with the grim prospect of my life at present - so I chose to preserve them where they belong. When I'm in a better state of mind, I'll revisit them again.
As for the future, although they warrant the most sparkling enthusiasm - I am reminded to be careful of unnecesary disappointment. The application is nearly complete, and I've begun to read and write for the proposal. However, since my life at the moment seems to move at a rather slow and disconnected pace - believing in possibilities is proving to be difficult.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Spicy curry and heart-stabbing smile
Sometimes I could taste memories. The frothy cappuccino and our hearty laughs. The salty sea and the trickle of our sweats mingled together. The spicy curry and a heart-stabbing smile. The refreshing mints and the sound of the beautiful song. I swear sometimes I could taste memories.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
A vagrant's friend
My head was lolling to the music when he came, I was partly drowsy
with sleepiness - battered from the 10-hour journey from Down Under, and
partly anxious at the thought of seeing him after all these while. But
when I faintly heard my name and I turned around to see his face
breaking into a big wide grin - I felt light as a feather.
Friendship is a strange thing, I must concur. It grew from the least expected, and sometimes against the continuum of space and time. People always say the best of friends grew out of thick and thin, for better or for worse. But sometimes magical moments sprouted out of the driest and the barest of all lands. Sometimes an utterly honest manifestation of what a soul is capable of can only be seen in one spontaneous second - unplanned, and uncharted.
I am a wanderer, a gift of friendship is something I don't have at my continuous disposal. A floating and an aimless vagrant, I hold on to the memories of beautiful moments like a tramp hogging bare shillings on the floor. Like that one perfect morning in the terminal, they're hard to come by.
Friendship is a strange thing, I must concur. It grew from the least expected, and sometimes against the continuum of space and time. People always say the best of friends grew out of thick and thin, for better or for worse. But sometimes magical moments sprouted out of the driest and the barest of all lands. Sometimes an utterly honest manifestation of what a soul is capable of can only be seen in one spontaneous second - unplanned, and uncharted.
I am a wanderer, a gift of friendship is something I don't have at my continuous disposal. A floating and an aimless vagrant, I hold on to the memories of beautiful moments like a tramp hogging bare shillings on the floor. Like that one perfect morning in the terminal, they're hard to come by.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Re-acquaintance with home
There is a strange associated lethargy when I walked through town yesterday. It was the first time I stepped into the shopping complex since my return, and as usual the complex is packed with young people. Most of them just hanging about in groups.
It's been more than ten years since we moved to Kelantan, and somehow throughout all these years I'm yet to fall in love with the state. I've never really had the time to get acquainted with the city. I spent most of my teenage years living in boarding school, and then I went off to college. Until now, I've fallen in love with many cities and make them my home, but somehow Kota Bharu never made the cut.
In bleak comparison to Randwick, let alone Sydney - the sight of litters, roadkills, and lousy drivers are growing to irritate my presence about the town. Daily survival is becoming a trial nowadays. I woke up full of hope one morning and determined to start the new chapter of my life with enthusiasm and productivity, only to find my optimism diminishing to bare minimum at the end of the day. At night I dream of my life in Down Under, and sometimes the thought of what was once mine made me clench with bitterness and despair.
It's been more than ten years since we moved to Kelantan, and somehow throughout all these years I'm yet to fall in love with the state. I've never really had the time to get acquainted with the city. I spent most of my teenage years living in boarding school, and then I went off to college. Until now, I've fallen in love with many cities and make them my home, but somehow Kota Bharu never made the cut.
In bleak comparison to Randwick, let alone Sydney - the sight of litters, roadkills, and lousy drivers are growing to irritate my presence about the town. Daily survival is becoming a trial nowadays. I woke up full of hope one morning and determined to start the new chapter of my life with enthusiasm and productivity, only to find my optimism diminishing to bare minimum at the end of the day. At night I dream of my life in Down Under, and sometimes the thought of what was once mine made me clench with bitterness and despair.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Addicted to change
"People are always saying that change is a good thing. But all they're really saying is that something you didn't want to happen at all... has happened"
- Kathleen Kelly in You've Got Mail
I've an affliction with changes. At times I'm allergic to them, I grew agitated with new environments, I became restless at spontaneous change of course. But almost every time I'm addicted to them. I move on before everybody else, I take on a new course when no one else dared to. It's as if when god created me, he made the perfect concoction of contradicting forces.
Speaking of changes, I've learned empathy is a skill learned and earned. An offer of advice, when given duly out of desperation to escape from continuous rambling of self-pity, can come across as insensitive, or worse - insulting. What I learn when I don't know what to say, is to listen.
We spend a lot of time moving on a fast and continuous pace nowadays - sometimes stopping for a while, and listening in return - are all we need to slow down the world.
- Kathleen Kelly in You've Got Mail
I've an affliction with changes. At times I'm allergic to them, I grew agitated with new environments, I became restless at spontaneous change of course. But almost every time I'm addicted to them. I move on before everybody else, I take on a new course when no one else dared to. It's as if when god created me, he made the perfect concoction of contradicting forces.
Speaking of changes, I've learned empathy is a skill learned and earned. An offer of advice, when given duly out of desperation to escape from continuous rambling of self-pity, can come across as insensitive, or worse - insulting. What I learn when I don't know what to say, is to listen.
We spend a lot of time moving on a fast and continuous pace nowadays - sometimes stopping for a while, and listening in return - are all we need to slow down the world.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Hit the PAUSE button
“Reading is the sole means by which we slip, involuntarily, often helplessly, into another’s skin, another’s voice, another’s soul.”
— Joyce Carol Oates
I like it when I'm reading. It's as if the world stood still when I'm immersed in the story between the pages, and the only thing that matters is how the story began and how it ended. And for once, I hit the "PAUSE" button on my tinkering mind.
I also love the way books always come to me at the right time and the right place, again and again. Last night when I was reading Tony Parson's Stories We Could Tell again after three years, it finally felt right with the songs from the Beatles's Abbey Road booming in my ears. And when Ray was talking about his obsession for the years of Bob Dylan, the Doors, and Nick Drake, I was finally able to nod with solemn agreement.
Even more comforting, although I found Ray, Terry, and Leon's struggle in coming to terms with adulthood as something I can relate to then, it is still something I can relate to now. Somehow life feels like a different series of high school, a different series of college, a different series of mid-life crises. There's always the beginning, and there's always the end.
— Joyce Carol Oates
I like it when I'm reading. It's as if the world stood still when I'm immersed in the story between the pages, and the only thing that matters is how the story began and how it ended. And for once, I hit the "PAUSE" button on my tinkering mind.
I also love the way books always come to me at the right time and the right place, again and again. Last night when I was reading Tony Parson's Stories We Could Tell again after three years, it finally felt right with the songs from the Beatles's Abbey Road booming in my ears. And when Ray was talking about his obsession for the years of Bob Dylan, the Doors, and Nick Drake, I was finally able to nod with solemn agreement.
Even more comforting, although I found Ray, Terry, and Leon's struggle in coming to terms with adulthood as something I can relate to then, it is still something I can relate to now. Somehow life feels like a different series of high school, a different series of college, a different series of mid-life crises. There's always the beginning, and there's always the end.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
The point of any journey was to find out where you came from
The point of any journey was to find out where you came from - TS Eliot, I wonder in reference to my own life, which journey should I regard as the search, and which destination should I consider as my point of departure. Today, approximately eighteen months after I left home to Sydney, Australia - I'm back to point zero.
In July, 2008 - I was three months away from turning 23, a Muslim, a fresh graduate who refused to work in her field, and struggling to make peace with my ever present but almost estranged father.
In December, 2009 - I am 24, a young woman who just had the time of her life in the company of citizens of the world, my faith in religion dwindling to nothingness, optimistic with my career trajectory, but nevertheless, still trying to break free from the mould of society set on me since the day I was born.
The truth is, I realized today even when I thought my journey has ended - my questions which need answering will continue to haunt me until the day I die. What am I? Where am I heading now? Why things happened the way they did? There is no textbook in the world which I can pry open and flip furiously to give me the correct answer. My strategy at the moment is - make the choice now, do it, and deal with it later.
So, the blog is an attempt at utter and simple honesty. It's going to be immensely personal, and at times provoking. But I am not doing it because I am a rebel, but simply because I am trying to be myself. What happens next, I hand it over to whoever is reading at the other end.
In July, 2008 - I was three months away from turning 23, a Muslim, a fresh graduate who refused to work in her field, and struggling to make peace with my ever present but almost estranged father.
In December, 2009 - I am 24, a young woman who just had the time of her life in the company of citizens of the world, my faith in religion dwindling to nothingness, optimistic with my career trajectory, but nevertheless, still trying to break free from the mould of society set on me since the day I was born.
The truth is, I realized today even when I thought my journey has ended - my questions which need answering will continue to haunt me until the day I die. What am I? Where am I heading now? Why things happened the way they did? There is no textbook in the world which I can pry open and flip furiously to give me the correct answer. My strategy at the moment is - make the choice now, do it, and deal with it later.
So, the blog is an attempt at utter and simple honesty. It's going to be immensely personal, and at times provoking. But I am not doing it because I am a rebel, but simply because I am trying to be myself. What happens next, I hand it over to whoever is reading at the other end.
Monday, November 23, 2009
How they end
I woke up in the morning with my head full of thoughts. My fingers were counting the hours I had spent since I touched down: 48 hours. It feels like forever. The sense of hopelessness started to creep at the back of my head, I bolted upright and I threw my duvet off the bed. Instinctively, I searched for Devotchka's How It Ends on my iPod and I played it out loud.
What a way to kick off my morning with a remnant of the past.
I looked around me and I was stung with a devastation. The room is empty. The bed by the window is something I recognized from 10 years ago, the two cupboards sat side by side, and they were filled to the brink with clothes useless to me now, and the full-length mirror did nothing to reflect my diminishing optimism. I searched for my books - the wall of my being, the pillar of my strength - they are in boxes somewhere, still buried with my past. My suitcases sat limply at the corner of the room, next to my bursting parcel and my guitar.
Given the state of my room, people can only conclude whether I've just moved in or I'm ready to move out. Honestly speaking, I prefer the latter.
What a way to kick off my morning with a remnant of the past.
I looked around me and I was stung with a devastation. The room is empty. The bed by the window is something I recognized from 10 years ago, the two cupboards sat side by side, and they were filled to the brink with clothes useless to me now, and the full-length mirror did nothing to reflect my diminishing optimism. I searched for my books - the wall of my being, the pillar of my strength - they are in boxes somewhere, still buried with my past. My suitcases sat limply at the corner of the room, next to my bursting parcel and my guitar.
Given the state of my room, people can only conclude whether I've just moved in or I'm ready to move out. Honestly speaking, I prefer the latter.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Splash, splash
I never knew I'd love water as much. But there I was, bobbing along the lazy and quiet waves like I am their long-time friend. The water was dark green, and it was warm around me. My feet dangled. From the surface, its jelly-like shape sways to the rhythm of water like the tentacles of an octopus. For a moment, I felt peace. I felt like I had nowhere to go and no task to accomplish.
Splash, splash. I swam to the left.
In my determination, I attempted five strokes. I was breathless at the end of it, but I was in ecstasy. No, I still couldn't swim. But the simple act of moving in the water fueled my energy and optimism. In the very second I plunge my head into the water, opened my eyes in it and took in the murky shade of green underneath me where I could see almost nothing - I know nothing could break me. I was safe.
Splash, splash. I swam to the right.
I leaned back, my head rested on the surface of the water like pillow. A vision grew in front of me; the sky was blue, fringed with trees so thick and green you would think there is nothing behind them. On top of the boat, a friend sat at the edge with his guitar. From my point of view, my insufficient sight gave him away as if he was floating. Another friend sat down below, closer to me. She was laughing at something. I laughed with her. In my heart I thought, "heaven".
Splash, splash. I swam to the left.
In my determination, I attempted five strokes. I was breathless at the end of it, but I was in ecstasy. No, I still couldn't swim. But the simple act of moving in the water fueled my energy and optimism. In the very second I plunge my head into the water, opened my eyes in it and took in the murky shade of green underneath me where I could see almost nothing - I know nothing could break me. I was safe.
Splash, splash. I swam to the right.
I leaned back, my head rested on the surface of the water like pillow. A vision grew in front of me; the sky was blue, fringed with trees so thick and green you would think there is nothing behind them. On top of the boat, a friend sat at the edge with his guitar. From my point of view, my insufficient sight gave him away as if he was floating. Another friend sat down below, closer to me. She was laughing at something. I laughed with her. In my heart I thought, "heaven".
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Anthology: Mulwarree's life
"I have a lot to be grateful for in life, you know." I told her when we were walking home last night after watching Mao's Last Dancer. "How often in your life you get the opportunity of waking up in the morning, walking out of your room, and meeting and eating and talking side by side with a beautiful Spanish vet who wants to learn English, who visits poultry farms every week and who treats you like a gentleman?" Not many. We smiled and we nodded to each other and continued to walk solemnly in grateful appreciation of the beautiful life we've been blessed with.
Afterward, when we were home and my friend and I was sitting at our dinner table, eating our Chinese takeaways, my photographer friend joined us. Exhausted from his long day, and complaining to us about his bad day, he dipped his two toasted bread in a baked bean and a leftover of instant Indian dish from yesterday.
I looked at him, and I looked at my soy chicken and rice. "Would you like some of my chicken?" He lifted his eyebrows, "Oh, no, no, no, thanks.". We sat back in silence, each enjoying our meals. Fifteen minutes passed, we talked and we chatted. Suddenly he turned to me, his eyes locked mine in earnest honesty, "Can I have some of your chicken?". We broke in laughter, "Of course!" I shoved my container to him rather happily, glad to wash away my guilt of eating good food while he couldn't.
"One day when you're famous, we'll go to the opening of your gallery in New York and you'll remember us as the people who feed you when you were a poor student." He nodded, smiling mischievously at us while we laughed.
Afterward, when we were home and my friend and I was sitting at our dinner table, eating our Chinese takeaways, my photographer friend joined us. Exhausted from his long day, and complaining to us about his bad day, he dipped his two toasted bread in a baked bean and a leftover of instant Indian dish from yesterday.
I looked at him, and I looked at my soy chicken and rice. "Would you like some of my chicken?" He lifted his eyebrows, "Oh, no, no, no, thanks.". We sat back in silence, each enjoying our meals. Fifteen minutes passed, we talked and we chatted. Suddenly he turned to me, his eyes locked mine in earnest honesty, "Can I have some of your chicken?". We broke in laughter, "Of course!" I shoved my container to him rather happily, glad to wash away my guilt of eating good food while he couldn't.
"One day when you're famous, we'll go to the opening of your gallery in New York and you'll remember us as the people who feed you when you were a poor student." He nodded, smiling mischievously at us while we laughed.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Letters to a Friend: Know thyself
Cowper Street, October 10, 2009
My dearest,
Have I ever told you the meaning of my name? In Arabic it comprises of two words; nur means light, and hidayat means direction. To my utter romantic self, I always believe my name signifies the essence of who I am, the purpose of my being. To me, the idea of how I am in people's life at one point of time to find something for them, to bring them to a different junction of their life and to guide them to their destination, seems so apt.
Yesterday when I was browsing a book with my friend in the little bookstore by the beach, we found out I bore similar and uncanny characteristics to the Goddess Artemis, the androgynous eternal virgin. How much of a coincidence do you think it is? You see, I wasn't kidding when I said I don't see much need for a man to complete me.
This realization, this discovery, this mesmerizing consciousness of my true self reminds me of the short journey I've shared with you in the past, and how in our brief and laconic encounters, I've conceived a reality so clear and unbidden to the faculty of my imaginations. It's as if in meeting you in return - I was guided, found, and brought to life.
How do you think we should explain our seemingly fateful but haphazard friendship, my dearest? I always think how degrading it is to attribute every single thing to mere chance and fortuity, as if our presence in each other's lives serves no larger purposes beyond the random, automated, and mechanized system of our breathing and bleeding bodies. At the same time, to credit our beautiful and blossoming friendship to the working of fate and forces of predetermined events renders a touch of lethargy to our outlook on life. When things are or not meant to be, what use is there in even trying?
There is now a tinge of strange bitterness every time I visit the memories of our time spent together, our intertwined and enjoined conversations are so drenched with saccharine and ecstasy in the barren land of my dreams and expectations - they feel almost unreal. "When you suffered a great deal in life, each additional pain is both unbearable and trifling", says Pi. Similarly, when you've become a stranger to compassion and grace, even a minuscule act of generosity touches you like an electric current - shocking and overwhelming and out of the world.
So I'm writing to tell you today, these are what you are to me - a thunderstorm, a lightning, a rain and a sunshine, a gentle wave crashing on the silent and steady rock, a leaf falling from the tree, a dancing fairy, and a Peter Pan in my wonderland, and
I am ever yours truly,
Ati. A. Aziz
My dearest,
Have I ever told you the meaning of my name? In Arabic it comprises of two words; nur means light, and hidayat means direction. To my utter romantic self, I always believe my name signifies the essence of who I am, the purpose of my being. To me, the idea of how I am in people's life at one point of time to find something for them, to bring them to a different junction of their life and to guide them to their destination, seems so apt.
Yesterday when I was browsing a book with my friend in the little bookstore by the beach, we found out I bore similar and uncanny characteristics to the Goddess Artemis, the androgynous eternal virgin. How much of a coincidence do you think it is? You see, I wasn't kidding when I said I don't see much need for a man to complete me.
This realization, this discovery, this mesmerizing consciousness of my true self reminds me of the short journey I've shared with you in the past, and how in our brief and laconic encounters, I've conceived a reality so clear and unbidden to the faculty of my imaginations. It's as if in meeting you in return - I was guided, found, and brought to life.
How do you think we should explain our seemingly fateful but haphazard friendship, my dearest? I always think how degrading it is to attribute every single thing to mere chance and fortuity, as if our presence in each other's lives serves no larger purposes beyond the random, automated, and mechanized system of our breathing and bleeding bodies. At the same time, to credit our beautiful and blossoming friendship to the working of fate and forces of predetermined events renders a touch of lethargy to our outlook on life. When things are or not meant to be, what use is there in even trying?
There is now a tinge of strange bitterness every time I visit the memories of our time spent together, our intertwined and enjoined conversations are so drenched with saccharine and ecstasy in the barren land of my dreams and expectations - they feel almost unreal. "When you suffered a great deal in life, each additional pain is both unbearable and trifling", says Pi. Similarly, when you've become a stranger to compassion and grace, even a minuscule act of generosity touches you like an electric current - shocking and overwhelming and out of the world.
So I'm writing to tell you today, these are what you are to me - a thunderstorm, a lightning, a rain and a sunshine, a gentle wave crashing on the silent and steady rock, a leaf falling from the tree, a dancing fairy, and a Peter Pan in my wonderland, and
I am ever yours truly,
Ati. A. Aziz
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
The land of weird and wonderful
On Friday, I had glutinous Chinese meals with my friend cooked especially by her mother. Although we were quite hindered with everyone's ability to converse fluently either in Chinese or English, we ended up laughing most of the time it doesn't matter. Afterward, as I was about to start working at my desk I received a knock on my door. "You have to come out and see us", was the first sentence my friend uttered. A friend's friend was working on his photography project and he wanted to take photos at the bus stop - of half-naked people.
So there we were, under blistering rain and amidst thunderous wind, the foursome combination of weird and wonderful people. While I stood by the road side, shivering in my pajamas and blue cap, holding the umbrella for the photographer, the subject of the photo walked idly back and forth in his boxer short, iPod in his ears and sunglasses on his face. My friend occasionally barked from the other side of the road, her Australian accent was unmistakable, while our neighbour watched us amusingly, his head covered under a part of his shirt like someone wearing a hijab.
We reminisced on the night later on, sipping chai latte and quietly listening to the Velvet Underground. I told them, 'seriously guys, I don't need drugs to get high - I'm high now as it is with our life'.
My friends and I went to a talk by Christopher Hitchens on Saturday. As a part of the opening night for the Festival of Dangerous Ideas, Hitchens discussed his arguments against religion and god. Interestingly enough, even though I find myself nodding to most of his ideas, I did not find the coincidences frightening anymore. As I thought to myself in the morning the next day, if god really exists and he is going to judge me, then let him.
And Sunday was the highlight of my weekend. At the generous expense of my friend, he got us free tickets to watch the Australian National Rugby League (NRL) Grand Final. As my friend and I took the train from the city in the afternoon to his house, we could sense the excitement brewing as throngs of people in blue and yellow or purple jersey shirts, scarves, and caps passed through us. In their exhilaration, some people attempted to engage us in conversation by calling us their Indonesian friends.
As we walked into the ANZ Stadium later on, everyone appeared to burst with energy and anticipation. Although I am naturally apprehensive of crowds and loud voices, I let myself soak in the atmosphere like a dry and new sponge. Sitting there, seven rows from the field and in the middle of eighty thousand strangers, I feel small and overwhelmed with the magnanimity of life and fate and the world.
From afar, the combatant players on the field looked like bison fighting in their mating season - fierce, fast, but muted. Even though I couldn't set my heart to support anyone of the two teams, I watched my friends with keen interest as they jumped at every possible close calls for victory. The team my friends rooted for didn't win in the end, but the sombre mood was quickly replaced by our lively discussion during dinner.
And so passed one of the best weekends I ever had in a long time, which I believe is a starting point for many more to come. Isn't it funny how often only in the end the beginning starts?
So there we were, under blistering rain and amidst thunderous wind, the foursome combination of weird and wonderful people. While I stood by the road side, shivering in my pajamas and blue cap, holding the umbrella for the photographer, the subject of the photo walked idly back and forth in his boxer short, iPod in his ears and sunglasses on his face. My friend occasionally barked from the other side of the road, her Australian accent was unmistakable, while our neighbour watched us amusingly, his head covered under a part of his shirt like someone wearing a hijab.
We reminisced on the night later on, sipping chai latte and quietly listening to the Velvet Underground. I told them, 'seriously guys, I don't need drugs to get high - I'm high now as it is with our life'.
My friends and I went to a talk by Christopher Hitchens on Saturday. As a part of the opening night for the Festival of Dangerous Ideas, Hitchens discussed his arguments against religion and god. Interestingly enough, even though I find myself nodding to most of his ideas, I did not find the coincidences frightening anymore. As I thought to myself in the morning the next day, if god really exists and he is going to judge me, then let him.
And Sunday was the highlight of my weekend. At the generous expense of my friend, he got us free tickets to watch the Australian National Rugby League (NRL) Grand Final. As my friend and I took the train from the city in the afternoon to his house, we could sense the excitement brewing as throngs of people in blue and yellow or purple jersey shirts, scarves, and caps passed through us. In their exhilaration, some people attempted to engage us in conversation by calling us their Indonesian friends.
As we walked into the ANZ Stadium later on, everyone appeared to burst with energy and anticipation. Although I am naturally apprehensive of crowds and loud voices, I let myself soak in the atmosphere like a dry and new sponge. Sitting there, seven rows from the field and in the middle of eighty thousand strangers, I feel small and overwhelmed with the magnanimity of life and fate and the world.
From afar, the combatant players on the field looked like bison fighting in their mating season - fierce, fast, but muted. Even though I couldn't set my heart to support anyone of the two teams, I watched my friends with keen interest as they jumped at every possible close calls for victory. The team my friends rooted for didn't win in the end, but the sombre mood was quickly replaced by our lively discussion during dinner.
And so passed one of the best weekends I ever had in a long time, which I believe is a starting point for many more to come. Isn't it funny how often only in the end the beginning starts?
Thursday, October 1, 2009
How do you see the opposite gender?
"Oh, I like him. But he's too much", my friend said to me one day in utter exasperation and honest confusion.
We were having coffee in one of my favorite coffee spots, spending our lazy Monday afternoon away as if we have no obligation to fulfill. I just came back from a camping trip and I needed some resemblance of home to feel grounded again. So we each took a short walk from our respective place to the little cafe in the corner, where beautiful men make beautiful coffee and I can listen to beautiful music.
I shook my head, I leaned back on my chair, and I laughed at her statement. Her head turned sharply, and she looked at me with a bewildered look on her face. "What, why?", as usual she gets fidgety at my observation of her behaviour.
"True love is a strange and misleading notion, don't you think?" I folded my arms around my body, bracing for the debate to ensue. "Where do we get all these ideas when we meet the right person, he or she is going to be perfect and everything is going to work out by itself?". I ended my questions with a smile. I wasn't sure whether she was going to take my arguments as a head-on battle or throw her arms in the air with exasperation.
When she did the latter, I continued, "And what is it with us wo/men and our naive but persistent expectations of the other gender?" "I like him, but he's boring." "I like him, but he's too much." "I like her, but she's clingy." "I like her, but she's not spontaneous enough."
I breathed deeply at the end of my sentence, consumed in return by my own frustration.
Truly, I'm getting tired of looking at people through gender and sex telescope. When we are continuously looking at a person simply because s/he is a wo/man and when we are judging them based on whether or not they fit in the fe/male mould society has given us, we are simply admitting ourselves to the mere boundaries of our primal instinct.
Why do we seek companionship? Because we are one sex and they are the other? Because we are constantly bombarded by the thoughts of how hopeless we are alone and therefore we are always desperately in need of someone else to help us get through our difficult life? Why?
It is evident to me, when we constantly look at the other gender as potential mating match - we fail to look at them as individuals. And what a waste it is.
We were having coffee in one of my favorite coffee spots, spending our lazy Monday afternoon away as if we have no obligation to fulfill. I just came back from a camping trip and I needed some resemblance of home to feel grounded again. So we each took a short walk from our respective place to the little cafe in the corner, where beautiful men make beautiful coffee and I can listen to beautiful music.
I shook my head, I leaned back on my chair, and I laughed at her statement. Her head turned sharply, and she looked at me with a bewildered look on her face. "What, why?", as usual she gets fidgety at my observation of her behaviour.
"True love is a strange and misleading notion, don't you think?" I folded my arms around my body, bracing for the debate to ensue. "Where do we get all these ideas when we meet the right person, he or she is going to be perfect and everything is going to work out by itself?". I ended my questions with a smile. I wasn't sure whether she was going to take my arguments as a head-on battle or throw her arms in the air with exasperation.
When she did the latter, I continued, "And what is it with us wo/men and our naive but persistent expectations of the other gender?" "I like him, but he's boring." "I like him, but he's too much." "I like her, but she's clingy." "I like her, but she's not spontaneous enough."
I breathed deeply at the end of my sentence, consumed in return by my own frustration.
Truly, I'm getting tired of looking at people through gender and sex telescope. When we are continuously looking at a person simply because s/he is a wo/man and when we are judging them based on whether or not they fit in the fe/male mould society has given us, we are simply admitting ourselves to the mere boundaries of our primal instinct.
Why do we seek companionship? Because we are one sex and they are the other? Because we are constantly bombarded by the thoughts of how hopeless we are alone and therefore we are always desperately in need of someone else to help us get through our difficult life? Why?
It is evident to me, when we constantly look at the other gender as potential mating match - we fail to look at them as individuals. And what a waste it is.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
You're a speck of dust
You're a speck of dust and you fall on me.
Over the course of several months, I have been a reluctant witness of the failing of human resolves, the insecurity of our needs for something fulfilling, the naivety of our childish compulsion for something destructive. And my, how I was amused.
Sometimes I think human beings are akin to dusts. We are insignificant, We are a nuisance. The world doesn't need us, the world gets by without us. Like little dusts, we float around, we settle, we make visible of our tiny selves - we are not easily brushed off.
Nevertheless, there seems to be an affectionate relationship in our regards to the pitiful existence of dusts. We retaliate with anger and frustrations at its every visits, but we dutifully sweep it off day after day - and sometimes without complaints, sometimes willingly, sometimes with the pride of accomplishing something noble.
Human behaviour continues to amaze me, and in the complexity of the human-dust relationships I've decided to sit outside the box and observe the hilarity of things unfolding before my very eyes. I'm not a part of it, and I have no desire to be a part of it.
You're a speck of dust and you fall on me. You can sit there as long as you want, because I will never want you and I will never miss you.
Over the course of several months, I have been a reluctant witness of the failing of human resolves, the insecurity of our needs for something fulfilling, the naivety of our childish compulsion for something destructive. And my, how I was amused.
Sometimes I think human beings are akin to dusts. We are insignificant, We are a nuisance. The world doesn't need us, the world gets by without us. Like little dusts, we float around, we settle, we make visible of our tiny selves - we are not easily brushed off.
Nevertheless, there seems to be an affectionate relationship in our regards to the pitiful existence of dusts. We retaliate with anger and frustrations at its every visits, but we dutifully sweep it off day after day - and sometimes without complaints, sometimes willingly, sometimes with the pride of accomplishing something noble.
Human behaviour continues to amaze me, and in the complexity of the human-dust relationships I've decided to sit outside the box and observe the hilarity of things unfolding before my very eyes. I'm not a part of it, and I have no desire to be a part of it.
You're a speck of dust and you fall on me. You can sit there as long as you want, because I will never want you and I will never miss you.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Letters to a Friend: Feeling of lightheadedness
Cowper St, September 7, 2009
My dearest,
There is a certain greediness which influences me when I think of the future. Looking back, I realized now how I've built my life into small portions of time. A series of plans made in advance which disguise itself as a confident vote for where I want to be, what I want to do and who I want to meet. Whenever one portion of time is reaching its end, I'd scamper in fury and neurotic apprehension, trying to put together another set of ideas for what is ahead of me. Anything, something I know I can accomplish.
Truth be told, this greed is often consumed by fear; of the unknown, of losing control, of disappointments. It's funny when people tend to see me as a mountain of rock, a steady pillar of strength cloaked with a blanket of trustworthiness. When all I see of myself is a floating bubble, a single water molecule bound to dissolve itself into nothingness at a touch of a heat, a ray of sunshine, an increase of temperature.
I've always wondered, what is it I'm trying to run away from? People I love, people I hate, things I want to do but I'm not allowed to, things I was generously offered but I had no interest for? Better yet, am I actually running away or am I simply moving at an incessantly fast pace?
Forgive me for beginning our correspondence with such long and winding babble of words, my dearest. But you know I had to let them all out. These bundle of emotions within me are torturing to carry and I cannot always tell them even when I want to. So in the faith of your willingness to listen, to continue to read, to always sit there silently at the other end of my every letters - I shall continue to write, to speak to you, and to lay bare my heart to you for as long as I shall live.
The thing is, in the impending arrival of my departure, a shower of uncertainties begin to loom over me. I am drenched with fear, I am soaked in the many questions of what ifs, I am drowning in the hovering breathlessness of losing something I love. At the same time, I am perfectly and fully aware of how utterly determined I am not to lose these moments to the idle calculation of my emotions. What if I only get one chance, one perfect moment, one truly kindred spirit to last me a lifetime?
Sometimes I wish I always know what to do. I can almost see you now smiling with amusement at such impossible thought and your eyes glistening with menace behind your glasses as you think of potential jokes to ridicule me about how hopelessly illogical I can be. Still, I wish sometimes life is as easy as figuring out those derivatives and integral formulas I used to get full marks for in school.
I know what you're going to say, and of course you're right. But for once please nod and smile and say, 'I know what you're talking about?
I am devotedly yours,
Ati A. Aziz
My dearest,
There is a certain greediness which influences me when I think of the future. Looking back, I realized now how I've built my life into small portions of time. A series of plans made in advance which disguise itself as a confident vote for where I want to be, what I want to do and who I want to meet. Whenever one portion of time is reaching its end, I'd scamper in fury and neurotic apprehension, trying to put together another set of ideas for what is ahead of me. Anything, something I know I can accomplish.
Truth be told, this greed is often consumed by fear; of the unknown, of losing control, of disappointments. It's funny when people tend to see me as a mountain of rock, a steady pillar of strength cloaked with a blanket of trustworthiness. When all I see of myself is a floating bubble, a single water molecule bound to dissolve itself into nothingness at a touch of a heat, a ray of sunshine, an increase of temperature.
I've always wondered, what is it I'm trying to run away from? People I love, people I hate, things I want to do but I'm not allowed to, things I was generously offered but I had no interest for? Better yet, am I actually running away or am I simply moving at an incessantly fast pace?
Forgive me for beginning our correspondence with such long and winding babble of words, my dearest. But you know I had to let them all out. These bundle of emotions within me are torturing to carry and I cannot always tell them even when I want to. So in the faith of your willingness to listen, to continue to read, to always sit there silently at the other end of my every letters - I shall continue to write, to speak to you, and to lay bare my heart to you for as long as I shall live.
The thing is, in the impending arrival of my departure, a shower of uncertainties begin to loom over me. I am drenched with fear, I am soaked in the many questions of what ifs, I am drowning in the hovering breathlessness of losing something I love. At the same time, I am perfectly and fully aware of how utterly determined I am not to lose these moments to the idle calculation of my emotions. What if I only get one chance, one perfect moment, one truly kindred spirit to last me a lifetime?
Sometimes I wish I always know what to do. I can almost see you now smiling with amusement at such impossible thought and your eyes glistening with menace behind your glasses as you think of potential jokes to ridicule me about how hopelessly illogical I can be. Still, I wish sometimes life is as easy as figuring out those derivatives and integral formulas I used to get full marks for in school.
I know what you're going to say, and of course you're right. But for once please nod and smile and say, 'I know what you're talking about?
I am devotedly yours,
Ati A. Aziz
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Beautiful Kate
Beautiful Kate put me in a rather tricky situation; it made me wonder if we can disregard values in the place of beauty?
Rachel Ward - the Australian actress I admired for her sharp wit and no-nonsense character in Rain Shadow - brings to us exactly such debate in her debut movie which is as beautiful as it is provocative, Beautiful Kate.
When I read the movie is about a prodigal son's return to his home, haunted by the memory of his twin sister and his unresolved past, I had no expectation of what the past might be. And for some reason I didn't scour the internet for the ubiquitous film reviews before the movie as I usually did with other films. Having watched the film now, I am glad I didn't.
As it turned out, Beautiful Kate took me to an entirely uncharted territory when it tells the story of the twin brother and sister. At once, Kate in her youth is heartbreakingly clairvoyant and frighteningly vivacious. When Ned appears to metamorphosed into his older self, his struggle to keep up with the inseparable bond of a twin between his sister and himself grows into something totally unimaginable. However, surprisingly Kate seems to take the world as just so.
It's the starting point where Beautiful Kate puts us the audience to a test. How do we see the world? A black and white moral canvas or something more of a gray and foggy screen? Do we see the world as an extension of ourselves, or something entirely separate? Do we mind imperfection, or are we obsessed by the lack of it?
The way I see it, Ned and Kate's relationship as a twin is a cathexis process both of them desperately needed in the absence of their mother and insensitivity of their father. A way to fulfill their longing of the parental love and affections so failingly provided by their widowed father, Bruce - who I saw is as lost as he is determined to raise the children right.
Can we blame him? When all he did was trying to act in accordance to the societal norms imposed on him as a man, the leader of the pack. And when he himself lost his dreams when life got in the way?
Beautiful Kate shows us a story about guilt and remorse, and a search for validation, security, and forgiveness. It tells us about how sometimes we failed to love when we want to, because we are so bogged down by memories which actually didn't matter in the end. The film's ingenuity lies in its ability to guide us to the forbidden territory without feeling terrified or awkward by it. The soundtrack is befitting, and the landscape is as barren and beautiful as the movie itself.
Finally, I definitely relate to my favorite scene of all in Beautiful Kate, when Ned and Sally, his little sister finally said goodbye to their father, he told her without reservations she is in actual fact the best achievement of their father. I loved the scene, and it definitely shook me. In one simple gesture, it taught me how you don't need a lot to love, to do so you only need to see.
Rachel Ward - the Australian actress I admired for her sharp wit and no-nonsense character in Rain Shadow - brings to us exactly such debate in her debut movie which is as beautiful as it is provocative, Beautiful Kate.
When I read the movie is about a prodigal son's return to his home, haunted by the memory of his twin sister and his unresolved past, I had no expectation of what the past might be. And for some reason I didn't scour the internet for the ubiquitous film reviews before the movie as I usually did with other films. Having watched the film now, I am glad I didn't.
As it turned out, Beautiful Kate took me to an entirely uncharted territory when it tells the story of the twin brother and sister. At once, Kate in her youth is heartbreakingly clairvoyant and frighteningly vivacious. When Ned appears to metamorphosed into his older self, his struggle to keep up with the inseparable bond of a twin between his sister and himself grows into something totally unimaginable. However, surprisingly Kate seems to take the world as just so.
It's the starting point where Beautiful Kate puts us the audience to a test. How do we see the world? A black and white moral canvas or something more of a gray and foggy screen? Do we see the world as an extension of ourselves, or something entirely separate? Do we mind imperfection, or are we obsessed by the lack of it?
The way I see it, Ned and Kate's relationship as a twin is a cathexis process both of them desperately needed in the absence of their mother and insensitivity of their father. A way to fulfill their longing of the parental love and affections so failingly provided by their widowed father, Bruce - who I saw is as lost as he is determined to raise the children right.
Can we blame him? When all he did was trying to act in accordance to the societal norms imposed on him as a man, the leader of the pack. And when he himself lost his dreams when life got in the way?
Beautiful Kate shows us a story about guilt and remorse, and a search for validation, security, and forgiveness. It tells us about how sometimes we failed to love when we want to, because we are so bogged down by memories which actually didn't matter in the end. The film's ingenuity lies in its ability to guide us to the forbidden territory without feeling terrified or awkward by it. The soundtrack is befitting, and the landscape is as barren and beautiful as the movie itself.
Finally, I definitely relate to my favorite scene of all in Beautiful Kate, when Ned and Sally, his little sister finally said goodbye to their father, he told her without reservations she is in actual fact the best achievement of their father. I loved the scene, and it definitely shook me. In one simple gesture, it taught me how you don't need a lot to love, to do so you only need to see.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
The story of stuffs and gender
After almost a year and a half in Australia, there are two things I am beginning to look at differently now.
Firstly, what, why, and how much stuffs I am using in my daily life now as compared to when I was in Malaysia. Transportation provides the first striking difference, whereas in Malaysia it's almost impossible to walk to get anywhere near to my destination, I only have to walk to get to school, buy my groceries, and watch movies these days.
Not only I drive almost every day in Malaysia, but every two or three month I drive intensively back and forth from school to home. Although I admit I enjoy driving immensely, especially so with the company of friends and along the beautiful beaches of Pahang, Terengganu, and Kelantan; living in Randwick now provides me with the satisfaction of being able to connect to my local areas, to know every road by foot, to know the owner of the store, to get a glimpse of familiar neighbour every time I walk by. At the same time, it doesn't cut me off from the world.
In terms of buying food and things, I notice how I am producing less surplus when I started to get things I only need. Part of it is attributable to living alone of course, because in Malaysia I usually buy things for my brothers and nieces, which also explains how we are more connected by things than communal interactions in our life now more than ever.
Watch the Story of Stuffs to see what I mean about buying and using stuffs and their impacts on our lives, and watch how much our world has changed since 200 years ago.
Another new perspective which I found revealing is the interplay of sex and gender in our society. Sex is biological, but gender is cultural. Who we are and how we behave is constructed by our society. And guess what, even what we interpret from the Bible, the Last Testament, and the Quran are socially constructed. It really is a question to ponder, what values underlie our judgments in the interactions of our daily life, and how sometimes we are clouded by perspectives which we think our own but not.
I've gained a lot of insightful awareness and confidence in the past year, and I believe I'm already miles away from what I had been before. The only question is, how do I bring these realization home and stay true to myself while bringing about the change I want to see in my home country?
Firstly, what, why, and how much stuffs I am using in my daily life now as compared to when I was in Malaysia. Transportation provides the first striking difference, whereas in Malaysia it's almost impossible to walk to get anywhere near to my destination, I only have to walk to get to school, buy my groceries, and watch movies these days.
Not only I drive almost every day in Malaysia, but every two or three month I drive intensively back and forth from school to home. Although I admit I enjoy driving immensely, especially so with the company of friends and along the beautiful beaches of Pahang, Terengganu, and Kelantan; living in Randwick now provides me with the satisfaction of being able to connect to my local areas, to know every road by foot, to know the owner of the store, to get a glimpse of familiar neighbour every time I walk by. At the same time, it doesn't cut me off from the world.
In terms of buying food and things, I notice how I am producing less surplus when I started to get things I only need. Part of it is attributable to living alone of course, because in Malaysia I usually buy things for my brothers and nieces, which also explains how we are more connected by things than communal interactions in our life now more than ever.
Watch the Story of Stuffs to see what I mean about buying and using stuffs and their impacts on our lives, and watch how much our world has changed since 200 years ago.
Another new perspective which I found revealing is the interplay of sex and gender in our society. Sex is biological, but gender is cultural. Who we are and how we behave is constructed by our society. And guess what, even what we interpret from the Bible, the Last Testament, and the Quran are socially constructed. It really is a question to ponder, what values underlie our judgments in the interactions of our daily life, and how sometimes we are clouded by perspectives which we think our own but not.
I've gained a lot of insightful awareness and confidence in the past year, and I believe I'm already miles away from what I had been before. The only question is, how do I bring these realization home and stay true to myself while bringing about the change I want to see in my home country?
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Write, write, write away!
Last night I entertained the thought of myself pretending to be one of the Malaysian expatriates who readily write about our country from abroad. Purely because my father called twice when I was in class, and apparently he was concerned with the types of response I might be getting from my recent article in the Star.
Thankfully, to our surprise the feedback so far has been non-existent. "Things are not good in Malaysia," he contemplated. "Perhaps people are too busy with what's going on in the country they didn't have time to scrutinize your article."
I believe the conversation I had with my parents last night signifies two things; (1) I am beginning to comfortably grow in my skin as a writer and my parents recognized it too, and (2) no matter what or how I am depicted through my writings by the public, my parents do not mind and always know better.
For me, such acknowledgment is a powerful thing.
Thankfully, to our surprise the feedback so far has been non-existent. "Things are not good in Malaysia," he contemplated. "Perhaps people are too busy with what's going on in the country they didn't have time to scrutinize your article."
I believe the conversation I had with my parents last night signifies two things; (1) I am beginning to comfortably grow in my skin as a writer and my parents recognized it too, and (2) no matter what or how I am depicted through my writings by the public, my parents do not mind and always know better.
For me, such acknowledgment is a powerful thing.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Ramadhan and another year
Apart from birthdays, Ramadhan always signify the passing of another year to me. In the past 23 years, I've celebrated Ramadhan in three countries (Jordan, Malaysia, and Australia), five states (Terengganu, Kelantan, Pahang, Irbid, and New South Wales), and countless homes and houses and residencies.
It marks the celebration of new people in my life, and the departure of dear ones. I lost my dear calico Tompok during Ramadhan, she waited a week for me to come home from college. I welcomed my second niece a couple of days after the celebration of the month three years ago. I remember outstaying my visit to Terengganu, paying dues to friends and friends of friends with my brother. Last year, I celebrated Ramadhan by going to class - feeling nothing but empowered with the new things I learned about media and advocacy.
Strangely enough, Ramadhan in Sydney never feel so out of place. Perhaps because religion has always been a private matter to me, and in between waking up to the quiet morning and breaking my fast and praying in the evening, I don't feel the need to remove myself from the surroundings which are completely oblivious to the presence of Ramadhan. On the contrary, such differences often offers me a clarity of mind, an opportunity to return to myself at the end of the day and engage in conversation with God and the universe about what I'd like to see in the world in my lifetime.
These days, when I break my fast - sometimes in the class with Tim Tam in hand, sometimes at home with a cup of coffee and a plate of scones, sometimes in a cafe with much longed for cappuccino - I look back at my past Ramadhan, strewn with tales and stories of families, friends, and dear ones. I also wonder at the future, who and how and where am I going to share my Ramadhan with next.
If there is anything I learn about this month, perhaps I'd agree with how spiritual and sacred and special Ramadhan can be; because somehow throughout my lifetime and especially so as I grow older, in presence of dear ones or without them - I never feel alone in Ramadhan.
It marks the celebration of new people in my life, and the departure of dear ones. I lost my dear calico Tompok during Ramadhan, she waited a week for me to come home from college. I welcomed my second niece a couple of days after the celebration of the month three years ago. I remember outstaying my visit to Terengganu, paying dues to friends and friends of friends with my brother. Last year, I celebrated Ramadhan by going to class - feeling nothing but empowered with the new things I learned about media and advocacy.
Strangely enough, Ramadhan in Sydney never feel so out of place. Perhaps because religion has always been a private matter to me, and in between waking up to the quiet morning and breaking my fast and praying in the evening, I don't feel the need to remove myself from the surroundings which are completely oblivious to the presence of Ramadhan. On the contrary, such differences often offers me a clarity of mind, an opportunity to return to myself at the end of the day and engage in conversation with God and the universe about what I'd like to see in the world in my lifetime.
These days, when I break my fast - sometimes in the class with Tim Tam in hand, sometimes at home with a cup of coffee and a plate of scones, sometimes in a cafe with much longed for cappuccino - I look back at my past Ramadhan, strewn with tales and stories of families, friends, and dear ones. I also wonder at the future, who and how and where am I going to share my Ramadhan with next.
If there is anything I learn about this month, perhaps I'd agree with how spiritual and sacred and special Ramadhan can be; because somehow throughout my lifetime and especially so as I grow older, in presence of dear ones or without them - I never feel alone in Ramadhan.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Of friends and new companion
A friend was going out on a blind date, and she was asking me what if she doesn't like the guy, what if he doesn't like her, what if they don't like each other. She said he looks nice, but she doesn't have a good feeling about him. What if the cultural differences is too wide there is no way of reconciling them even if they are attracted to each other?
One thousands and one questions ran through her head, and she's getting anxious about their impending meeting in the evening.
I smiled, and I rubbed two palms of my hands together. Love, human beings, and relationships is my pet subject. I toiled a good two years of my life, crying and laughing when I wrote a book about it. You see, I told her, human interaction is something we've all missed nowadays. No longer we are allowed to understand, to observe, and to discover the beauty of human emotions the way people used to do 200 years ago.
These days, when we love, we love fully. When we hate, we hate fully. Life is no longer about teaching ourselves to tame, or to let our emotions run free. We know what we want, and what matters is getting them. Human relationship has become so simple these days. To us, life is like a series of walls with doors and windows, and all we need to do when we like or dislike someone is open or close those doors and windows.
Friends? Accept. No friends? Ignore. Friends? Answer. No friends? Screen. Friends? Follow. No friends? Block.
People used to get stuck with the person they loathe for weeks sometimes. People used to have to wait for months to get their letters answered, even when there is no guarantee they will receive one. People used to reserve their judgments until they meet in person.
All we need to do today is Google the person's name, check him or her out on Facebook, and read what he or she blogs about. We have the full liberty to shut and slam our doors to anyone we think we're not going to get along with. Considering how easily we can terminate our relationship these days, no wonder societies are getting fidgety when it comes to forming new relationships.
Our social circles are getting smaller, we choose to hang out only with people we like, we ignore those we don't like.
Go out and have fun. I told her. There is only so much you can think and worry about, and I don't think you want to go there. Enjoy the first smile and the twinkle in his eyes when your eyes met. Watch his face light up when he sees you, his whole body language relaxed when he watched your smile. Experience, feel, and notice his presence beside you. Don't let the moment passed because you're too worried about what he might think of you. Talk to him, and listen to him.
Even if you end up disliking each other later on, you'll have your integrity intact, and you'll be proud to know you didn't spend 1% of your life worrying about what a stranger might think of your life. Because obviously, you know better.
One thousands and one questions ran through her head, and she's getting anxious about their impending meeting in the evening.
I smiled, and I rubbed two palms of my hands together. Love, human beings, and relationships is my pet subject. I toiled a good two years of my life, crying and laughing when I wrote a book about it. You see, I told her, human interaction is something we've all missed nowadays. No longer we are allowed to understand, to observe, and to discover the beauty of human emotions the way people used to do 200 years ago.
These days, when we love, we love fully. When we hate, we hate fully. Life is no longer about teaching ourselves to tame, or to let our emotions run free. We know what we want, and what matters is getting them. Human relationship has become so simple these days. To us, life is like a series of walls with doors and windows, and all we need to do when we like or dislike someone is open or close those doors and windows.
Friends? Accept. No friends? Ignore. Friends? Answer. No friends? Screen. Friends? Follow. No friends? Block.
People used to get stuck with the person they loathe for weeks sometimes. People used to have to wait for months to get their letters answered, even when there is no guarantee they will receive one. People used to reserve their judgments until they meet in person.
All we need to do today is Google the person's name, check him or her out on Facebook, and read what he or she blogs about. We have the full liberty to shut and slam our doors to anyone we think we're not going to get along with. Considering how easily we can terminate our relationship these days, no wonder societies are getting fidgety when it comes to forming new relationships.
Our social circles are getting smaller, we choose to hang out only with people we like, we ignore those we don't like.
Go out and have fun. I told her. There is only so much you can think and worry about, and I don't think you want to go there. Enjoy the first smile and the twinkle in his eyes when your eyes met. Watch his face light up when he sees you, his whole body language relaxed when he watched your smile. Experience, feel, and notice his presence beside you. Don't let the moment passed because you're too worried about what he might think of you. Talk to him, and listen to him.
Even if you end up disliking each other later on, you'll have your integrity intact, and you'll be proud to know you didn't spend 1% of your life worrying about what a stranger might think of your life. Because obviously, you know better.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Beyond race
I GREW up in a small town in Terengganu and enjoyed the liberty of running wild and free with my bicycle, and my brothers and my friends. My world was small; it revolved around the town and its people, my family, and my Nancy Drew series collection.
When my father took me along on his business trips to Thailand or Singapore, I played with other kids as the parents sat together and talked business. Life was easy and uncomplicated, and I don’t remember pointing out differences between other people and myself.
It was only when I went to school that I learnt that boys are off-limits, and good girls pray, read the Quran and wear tudungs. There were no children from other ethnic groups or religion in my religious boarding school.
After 10 years in this environment, I’ve forgotten they existed. For a long time, they were simply etched in the background of my life like white noise on television. I was indifferent and uninterested to differences.
What dominated my mind at the time was how to become a good Muslim, how to please my parents, and how to become the best student sitting for the Sijil Pelajaran Malaysia (SPM).
What matters was living in a Muslim community, working in sincere piety for my religion, and fending off temptation.
Not the same
The first blow came in my pre-university years when I learned how religion is not a guarantee to good sense and company. When a Chinese family friend offered me a lift from the airport to school when I first arrived in Kuala Lumpur, she received nothing but rude scowls from the college security guard.
“What do you think you’re doing, not wearing tudung and wearing skirts around?” he pointedly said as he stopped the car.
I was burning with shame and anger, and what was worse was that I didn’t even have the guts to defend my friend.
The incident opened my eyes and shook my world. A question suddenly dawned on me, “What’s so special about me now? What makes me different than other people?”
In between reconciling with what was real and what was not, between getting frustrated with certain people and being simply myself, I began to shed my outer shell and embrace the world as if it’s a whole new classroom.
Suddenly, I saw things differently. Suddenly, I recognised the presence of my fellow countrymen who (despite our differences) share my dreams and hopes. I said to myself, “there are so many great things and great people out there, how come nobody ever told me about them?”
Celebrating differences
I tried to learn many new things. I tried to move away from conventions thrust on me, and tried to see how things look from different perspectives. Unfortunately, not many people share my enthusiasm.
While people from my own religion and culture labelled me a rebel who is too liberal for her own good, people from other cultures thought I’m just another Malay girl who has everything ready on her plate. While people from the village said I’m too Westernised, people from the city saw me as not being progressive enough.
In the end, I got tired of trying to fit in and fled to Australia to further my studies. It has been almost 18 months since I boarded the airplane with relief because I thought I’d be able to finally chart my own course. But I am still a misfit in the local Malay community because I live in a house with students from different countries, I live with men in my house, and I live with non-Muslims.
But who cares whether you’re a Malay, Chinese, Indian, Arab, or Punjab? Who cares whether you’re a Muslim, Christian, Hindu, Buddhist, or Jewish?
I don’t. I accept that we are all different. I understand that my parents sent me to a religious school in the hope that I could go through life with the best education about life and society; something they didn’t get a chance to do when they were younger.
I did not regret going to a religious school, or burying my nose in books and magazines in search of all things to clear my confusions, or being perceived as different to many people – the experience has brought me where I am today.
But if I was given a chance to turn back time, I’d ask my parents to send me to a national school where I could be friends with children from different races.
When my father took me along on his business trips to Thailand or Singapore, I played with other kids as the parents sat together and talked business. Life was easy and uncomplicated, and I don’t remember pointing out differences between other people and myself.
It was only when I went to school that I learnt that boys are off-limits, and good girls pray, read the Quran and wear tudungs. There were no children from other ethnic groups or religion in my religious boarding school.
After 10 years in this environment, I’ve forgotten they existed. For a long time, they were simply etched in the background of my life like white noise on television. I was indifferent and uninterested to differences.
What dominated my mind at the time was how to become a good Muslim, how to please my parents, and how to become the best student sitting for the Sijil Pelajaran Malaysia (SPM).
What matters was living in a Muslim community, working in sincere piety for my religion, and fending off temptation.
Not the same
The first blow came in my pre-university years when I learned how religion is not a guarantee to good sense and company. When a Chinese family friend offered me a lift from the airport to school when I first arrived in Kuala Lumpur, she received nothing but rude scowls from the college security guard.
“What do you think you’re doing, not wearing tudung and wearing skirts around?” he pointedly said as he stopped the car.
I was burning with shame and anger, and what was worse was that I didn’t even have the guts to defend my friend.
The incident opened my eyes and shook my world. A question suddenly dawned on me, “What’s so special about me now? What makes me different than other people?”
In between reconciling with what was real and what was not, between getting frustrated with certain people and being simply myself, I began to shed my outer shell and embrace the world as if it’s a whole new classroom.
Suddenly, I saw things differently. Suddenly, I recognised the presence of my fellow countrymen who (despite our differences) share my dreams and hopes. I said to myself, “there are so many great things and great people out there, how come nobody ever told me about them?”
Celebrating differences
I tried to learn many new things. I tried to move away from conventions thrust on me, and tried to see how things look from different perspectives. Unfortunately, not many people share my enthusiasm.
While people from my own religion and culture labelled me a rebel who is too liberal for her own good, people from other cultures thought I’m just another Malay girl who has everything ready on her plate. While people from the village said I’m too Westernised, people from the city saw me as not being progressive enough.
In the end, I got tired of trying to fit in and fled to Australia to further my studies. It has been almost 18 months since I boarded the airplane with relief because I thought I’d be able to finally chart my own course. But I am still a misfit in the local Malay community because I live in a house with students from different countries, I live with men in my house, and I live with non-Muslims.
But who cares whether you’re a Malay, Chinese, Indian, Arab, or Punjab? Who cares whether you’re a Muslim, Christian, Hindu, Buddhist, or Jewish?
I don’t. I accept that we are all different. I understand that my parents sent me to a religious school in the hope that I could go through life with the best education about life and society; something they didn’t get a chance to do when they were younger.
I did not regret going to a religious school, or burying my nose in books and magazines in search of all things to clear my confusions, or being perceived as different to many people – the experience has brought me where I am today.
But if I was given a chance to turn back time, I’d ask my parents to send me to a national school where I could be friends with children from different races.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
In case I ever forget; I'll remember these
Someday I'll feel like I'm nothing but one little dot on earth, insignificant and too small to see. Someday I'll feel like I'm going to be crushed by fear and devastation and disappointment, the feelings so strong I dissolve into nothingness and disappear. Someday I'll feel like I'm drowning in stormy seas, dark, quiet, and lonely.
Someday, when I feel all these, I'll remember;
I've walked through the magnificent Petra of Jordan when I was eleven, and I saw a part of me dancing in circles, shaking hands with the ancient ruins and elders. I've loved a cat for ten years and I slept by her side until the day she floated away to the sky, and I know in every cat's eyes now they always see in me her fire, their long lost friend. I've walked on Taman Negara Pahang's (Pahang National Park) canopy walk, and I saw an empire of green grass, blue sky, and white rivers unfolded before my eyes like the Kingdom of Terabithia. I've made friends with a sun bear, I've seen a free deer solemnly walked in the dark, I've hugged a palm civet, I've waved to the majestic hornbills. I've taken a 5-hour road trip and I sat on nothing but the bus floor, and I've never felt so free and alive. I've roamed my country with my friends by my side, laughing with them on the lake house where there was no light at night - only us, the sprawling black lake, and smiling stars on the sky. I've ridden along the Bendelong coast, and I've fallen free down the slope seeing nothing but beauty, magic, and a world full of possibilities. I've taken the solero shot and screamed and laughed by my brother's side, and I talked and talked and talked to him like nothing is going to change in our world. I've fallen in love, and I've felt like the luckiest girl alive.
If I ever wonder why the world feels as if it's going to crush on me, I'll remember the world has lifted me up too, soared me to the sky, and danced to my delight.
I'll remember all these, every time I'm beginning to forget.
Someday, when I feel all these, I'll remember;
I've walked through the magnificent Petra of Jordan when I was eleven, and I saw a part of me dancing in circles, shaking hands with the ancient ruins and elders. I've loved a cat for ten years and I slept by her side until the day she floated away to the sky, and I know in every cat's eyes now they always see in me her fire, their long lost friend. I've walked on Taman Negara Pahang's (Pahang National Park) canopy walk, and I saw an empire of green grass, blue sky, and white rivers unfolded before my eyes like the Kingdom of Terabithia. I've made friends with a sun bear, I've seen a free deer solemnly walked in the dark, I've hugged a palm civet, I've waved to the majestic hornbills. I've taken a 5-hour road trip and I sat on nothing but the bus floor, and I've never felt so free and alive. I've roamed my country with my friends by my side, laughing with them on the lake house where there was no light at night - only us, the sprawling black lake, and smiling stars on the sky. I've ridden along the Bendelong coast, and I've fallen free down the slope seeing nothing but beauty, magic, and a world full of possibilities. I've taken the solero shot and screamed and laughed by my brother's side, and I talked and talked and talked to him like nothing is going to change in our world. I've fallen in love, and I've felt like the luckiest girl alive.
If I ever wonder why the world feels as if it's going to crush on me, I'll remember the world has lifted me up too, soared me to the sky, and danced to my delight.
I'll remember all these, every time I'm beginning to forget.
Monday, August 24, 2009
There is something about me and god
And for thirty years he has not prayed, has not received communion and has not gone to church. And this is not because he knew his brother's convictions and wanted to share them, nor was it because he has resolved something in his heart, but simply because this comment of his brother's was like a finger being pushed against a wall that was on the verge of collapsing from its own weight.
- Confession by Leo Tolstoy
If God is made of kindness and good hearts and generous friendships, I wonder at His magnanimity. For it's something I'm awarded in abundance lately, and let me tell you, I'm not really the best of all believers.
If God is made of kindness and good hearts and generous friendships, I wonder at His magnanimity. For it's something I'm awarded in abundance lately, and let me tell you, I'm not really the best of all believers.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Aussie footy, seafood platter and a conversation
As it turns out, 2009 showed me how I could celebrate my first day of Ramadhan (the Muslim’s fasting month) in ways I could never have imagined. As I sat in the restaurant, as the waitress came and put in front of us a big seafood platter, as we began to eat and talked about our stories – I uttered to myself a prayer of gratitude.
From an outsider’s point of view, I’m certain all they can see is one old man sharing stories with three young people – a young woman in tudung who everyone seems to mistake for an Indonesian (or Iranian at times, for reasons only known to the guesser), another young woman who no one can seem to correctly guess where she’s coming from, and the old man’s son, a young man who looks every part an Asian, but who is as Australian as the next man cheering at Australian rugby matches.
However, what is unknown to them is the most precious thing for me. In the Land Down Under and miles away from my own home, I feel like I am a step closer to finding the missing piece of life’s puzzle which perplexed me in my younger years; I did not understand why I never had a friend who was not Malay, and what the real rationale for religious school was when I couldn’t see how kindness transcends religion, culture, and ethnicity and how a society’s greatness comes from its ability to see similarities beyond differences.
Naturally, I cannot speak for the mass of Malaysian youth who have a myriad of different experiences growing up in different environments and cultures. But if I could tell them one thing, I’d tell the stories of the old man I met last night – about how he grew up running around in Klang with his Malay and Chinese and Indian friends, how he went to the birthday party of his Malay friends and came back with a handful of pineapples tied to his bike, and how only one of his friends has a radio in the house and his friends had to come over to listen and memorize the songs for the rest of the week.
“Ask your father,” the old man kept repeating. “He would know what I’m talking about.”
What breaks his heart, however, was watching our generation grow up in the isolation and confines of our religion, culture, and ethnicity – when we never bothered to see beyond what was given to us and make the best out of it.
How many of us ever think to ourselves when we see what’s going on in the television, “what is right and what is wrong with the world and why it happened?” How many of us ever think to ourselves when we wake up in the morning, “today I want to break boundaries!” How many of us ever walk past a stranger on the street, who is as different to us as we are to him or her, and say to ourselves, “how about today I look at the world with my own eyes, and put away these rose-tinted glasses society has given me in the past 20 years?”
When my friend and I parted with the old man and his son, clad in their green and yellow Australian rugby jerseys and scarves, I felt as if one knot in my life has been undone and ready to be braided again on a new canvas. It was a meeting between generations, between cultures and nationalities, and despite coming together as citizens of different countries, I felt as if we all came from the same place with the same hope in our hearts – to see Malaysia as one again as it had been once before.
From an outsider’s point of view, I’m certain all they can see is one old man sharing stories with three young people – a young woman in tudung who everyone seems to mistake for an Indonesian (or Iranian at times, for reasons only known to the guesser), another young woman who no one can seem to correctly guess where she’s coming from, and the old man’s son, a young man who looks every part an Asian, but who is as Australian as the next man cheering at Australian rugby matches.
However, what is unknown to them is the most precious thing for me. In the Land Down Under and miles away from my own home, I feel like I am a step closer to finding the missing piece of life’s puzzle which perplexed me in my younger years; I did not understand why I never had a friend who was not Malay, and what the real rationale for religious school was when I couldn’t see how kindness transcends religion, culture, and ethnicity and how a society’s greatness comes from its ability to see similarities beyond differences.
Naturally, I cannot speak for the mass of Malaysian youth who have a myriad of different experiences growing up in different environments and cultures. But if I could tell them one thing, I’d tell the stories of the old man I met last night – about how he grew up running around in Klang with his Malay and Chinese and Indian friends, how he went to the birthday party of his Malay friends and came back with a handful of pineapples tied to his bike, and how only one of his friends has a radio in the house and his friends had to come over to listen and memorize the songs for the rest of the week.
“Ask your father,” the old man kept repeating. “He would know what I’m talking about.”
What breaks his heart, however, was watching our generation grow up in the isolation and confines of our religion, culture, and ethnicity – when we never bothered to see beyond what was given to us and make the best out of it.
How many of us ever think to ourselves when we see what’s going on in the television, “what is right and what is wrong with the world and why it happened?” How many of us ever think to ourselves when we wake up in the morning, “today I want to break boundaries!” How many of us ever walk past a stranger on the street, who is as different to us as we are to him or her, and say to ourselves, “how about today I look at the world with my own eyes, and put away these rose-tinted glasses society has given me in the past 20 years?”
When my friend and I parted with the old man and his son, clad in their green and yellow Australian rugby jerseys and scarves, I felt as if one knot in my life has been undone and ready to be braided again on a new canvas. It was a meeting between generations, between cultures and nationalities, and despite coming together as citizens of different countries, I felt as if we all came from the same place with the same hope in our hearts – to see Malaysia as one again as it had been once before.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
You know I'm trying and you don't mind
Sometimes I feel like I hardly know myself. At one time I found myself wishing nothing more for the happiness already firm in my grasp, at another time I crumble at the mere mention of the past already forgotten. At one time I gave the world the biggest and the most selfless smile I could muster, but when I saw the big smile on someone else's face I feel the tiny painful stabs in my heart. I've forgotten what it feels like to see a smile which could light up the sky and cut open the sea of my emotions. Sometimes I go through life trying to accept everything, trying to not be mindful of little things, trying to mend my heart around the little gaps which left me breathless in my sleep. All I am asking from the world is to let me be invisible so nobody can see how frail my strong heart can be. But there are times when I am afraid I've shaken the world out of its rhythm, when I feel I am lost at the end of the tunnel and the other side of life is coming close to swallow me, when I thought I've failed to uphold my promise in being brave and strong and courageous - someone sat beside me and hold my hand and told me it's okay and I looked at the eyes so pure and I wonder how can it be real? How do I know if the world is not going to crush me? Sometimes when I talked to God and I told Him I'm ready to go through life on my own, He shook His head and He laughed and He sent me someone. I wonder to myself whether He doesn't trust me or He was trying to make a joke or He meant the best for me. When I was eighteen I learned how it doesn't take the world to break my heart, how sometimes painful things even when I erase them from my memories they come and beat me in my nightmares, how my wound left its scars on me and stays with me all my life. But now I learned too no matter how my heart get torned apart it always learn to love and heal itself again, I learned kindness is the first thing God decided is a gift to me, not wealth or beauty or grand things, and I learned if I give the world a chance even when I'm afraid, it'll take me in its embrace and treat me like a long lost friend - warm, generous, and full of surprises.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Where art thou?
"And especially Bim. And then he left and we wrote letters - he wrote great letters - and it turned into something else. Something better. He was my dear reader." Addison said. "For a very long time, he was the first person to read every book I wrote."
Rima had her doubts. The box she'd seen in the attic was not the sort of box you put together for your dear reader. "And then what happened?" she asked. She didn't look at Addison's face. She looked at Addison's face in the window, her ghost face, just visible underneath the bright spot of the reflected table lamp.
"I was hoping you'd tell me," Addison said.
- The Case of Imaginary Detective by Karen Joy Fowler.
Rima had her doubts. The box she'd seen in the attic was not the sort of box you put together for your dear reader. "And then what happened?" she asked. She didn't look at Addison's face. She looked at Addison's face in the window, her ghost face, just visible underneath the bright spot of the reflected table lamp.
"I was hoping you'd tell me," Addison said.
- The Case of Imaginary Detective by Karen Joy Fowler.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Letters to a Friend: A Confession
Cowper St, August 6, 2009
My dearest,
Some day I will relate to you the story of my life, and of how those five years had been immensely transforming to the way I think about life and the world. It's about those time when we try to make sense of life choices, when at the same time we're struggling to find the grounding faith to prop us up against the world and its folly. For now, I will tell you about the time when I had the most tremendous fun in our motherland.
To begin with, I was always able to roam freely on the fertile land of our country; on foot or on the wheel, accompanied or on my own, sad or glad. Once my brother told me, "the trees and the wind and the soil remember you wherever you go", and I instantly saw the world as if it has opened its arm and embraced me. The trees linked their arms together when they saw me, the wind pushed me with its gentle hand to face the majestic sun, the birds sung to me and the cows nodded their head to me lazily. Do you think it's absurd if I tell you I'm always at home when I'm on the road?
The first time I rode off to the far northern island was the time when I began to learn my friends by heart. Oh yes, my friends - did I ever told you about them? My tower of strength, my pillar of joy, my shining beacon of hope. Strong women you don't want to meddle with, and the kindest men you'll find in your lifetime even in their imperfections. Sometimes when I meet them in my memories, I was embarrassed to see how they had readily accepted me in my darkest moments. As if all my ridiculous tantrums was nothing but of a child yet to find her own peace with the world.
We explored the world together, my friends and I. From toiling the muddy and grassy swamp, singing pitiful ballads to our heart's content, cooking the best of meals and the weirdest ones, sharing geeky jokes about love and relationships, laughing together everywhere we go like brothers and sisters, paying dues to each other families as if they are our own - I don't remember the time when my friends had not been by my side.
The time when I first learned to drive my car, the time when I refused to get into the water, the time when I fell in love with a man. My friends are the first people you will find most literate about my life. I think when I decided to leave them, I was scared to be the one who get left behind. But now I see, the rock and stone our friendship was built upon is not going to change by mere passing of time.
One day when you get to meet my friends, I'm certain you will understand. Because as I am blessed to find you, I am blessed to be granted the chance to spend the best of my times with them. And as you are too, they are my kindred spirits.
Yours devotedly,
Ati A. Aziz.
My dearest,
Some day I will relate to you the story of my life, and of how those five years had been immensely transforming to the way I think about life and the world. It's about those time when we try to make sense of life choices, when at the same time we're struggling to find the grounding faith to prop us up against the world and its folly. For now, I will tell you about the time when I had the most tremendous fun in our motherland.
To begin with, I was always able to roam freely on the fertile land of our country; on foot or on the wheel, accompanied or on my own, sad or glad. Once my brother told me, "the trees and the wind and the soil remember you wherever you go", and I instantly saw the world as if it has opened its arm and embraced me. The trees linked their arms together when they saw me, the wind pushed me with its gentle hand to face the majestic sun, the birds sung to me and the cows nodded their head to me lazily. Do you think it's absurd if I tell you I'm always at home when I'm on the road?
The first time I rode off to the far northern island was the time when I began to learn my friends by heart. Oh yes, my friends - did I ever told you about them? My tower of strength, my pillar of joy, my shining beacon of hope. Strong women you don't want to meddle with, and the kindest men you'll find in your lifetime even in their imperfections. Sometimes when I meet them in my memories, I was embarrassed to see how they had readily accepted me in my darkest moments. As if all my ridiculous tantrums was nothing but of a child yet to find her own peace with the world.
We explored the world together, my friends and I. From toiling the muddy and grassy swamp, singing pitiful ballads to our heart's content, cooking the best of meals and the weirdest ones, sharing geeky jokes about love and relationships, laughing together everywhere we go like brothers and sisters, paying dues to each other families as if they are our own - I don't remember the time when my friends had not been by my side.
The time when I first learned to drive my car, the time when I refused to get into the water, the time when I fell in love with a man. My friends are the first people you will find most literate about my life. I think when I decided to leave them, I was scared to be the one who get left behind. But now I see, the rock and stone our friendship was built upon is not going to change by mere passing of time.
One day when you get to meet my friends, I'm certain you will understand. Because as I am blessed to find you, I am blessed to be granted the chance to spend the best of my times with them. And as you are too, they are my kindred spirits.
Yours devotedly,
Ati A. Aziz.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
The cloud of unknowing moment
When I walked home from class tonight, I thought about how my life might be viewed from other people's perspectives. I remember talking to my two friends over dinner some time ago, I was listening intently to their love stories when suddenly heads turned to me.
"So, why don't you tell us your stories." She looked at me conspiratorially. I sat back, amused. "What stories?" I asked. "Juicy stories, love stories. You must have some." I looked at both of them, and I shrugged my shoulders helplessly. I told them my juicy stories. But apparently it wasn't juicy enough when my friend asked, "How old are you again?" Her forehead was marked with concern. "24." I smiled. "What a waste." I laughed at her remark.
I walked home today and I looked up at the sky where the full moon sat idly and I asked myself, "What if I feel fine with the way I am, right here right now?".
"So, why don't you tell us your stories." She looked at me conspiratorially. I sat back, amused. "What stories?" I asked. "Juicy stories, love stories. You must have some." I looked at both of them, and I shrugged my shoulders helplessly. I told them my juicy stories. But apparently it wasn't juicy enough when my friend asked, "How old are you again?" Her forehead was marked with concern. "24." I smiled. "What a waste." I laughed at her remark.
I walked home today and I looked up at the sky where the full moon sat idly and I asked myself, "What if I feel fine with the way I am, right here right now?".
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
God, brother and another person
Memories always seem to get to you at the most inopportune time. Sometimes they made me think of God as one cheeky supreme being. He enjoys teasing His servants when they thought they had the best cards in their hands, He gave one to surprise, to test, and to see how they respond to it. Not out of spite, not out of vengeance, not out of superiority. Only out of love, out of what He knows is the best of us.
That's why, sometimes even when I'm tired and full of tears, I laughed out loud with Him. You got me there, my Lord. I told Him.
At times like these, when I am in need of an ear to lend. I remember my brother. He had been my voluntary therapist more than what any other can offer me. Even in his imperfections, I cannot conjure any other who had been as persistent as he is in his patience of listening to me, or answering my calls, or watching me cry for no reason, or laughing at my jokes, or taking me out of my squares and showing what the world can be for me.
I remember my brother for the lightness of heart he offered me after hours of pouring my heart out to him. Random things, weird things, pointless things. He never failed to listen. I remember my brother for his impartial and concrete ways of seeing things. When I agonized over things, only one word from him would silence me. I remember my brother for what he had done for me and what I can see of my family. For being a part of his and going home grateful of mine.
Now I remember my brother, when in my strength and my pride of being independent. He sat beside me and said I didn't have to go through everything alone. He is there, many people are there, to be by my side when I need them. Now I remember to open my heart, to allow another person to come close and sit beside me, just like my brother did.
That's why, sometimes even when I'm tired and full of tears, I laughed out loud with Him. You got me there, my Lord. I told Him.
At times like these, when I am in need of an ear to lend. I remember my brother. He had been my voluntary therapist more than what any other can offer me. Even in his imperfections, I cannot conjure any other who had been as persistent as he is in his patience of listening to me, or answering my calls, or watching me cry for no reason, or laughing at my jokes, or taking me out of my squares and showing what the world can be for me.
I remember my brother for the lightness of heart he offered me after hours of pouring my heart out to him. Random things, weird things, pointless things. He never failed to listen. I remember my brother for his impartial and concrete ways of seeing things. When I agonized over things, only one word from him would silence me. I remember my brother for what he had done for me and what I can see of my family. For being a part of his and going home grateful of mine.
Now I remember my brother, when in my strength and my pride of being independent. He sat beside me and said I didn't have to go through everything alone. He is there, many people are there, to be by my side when I need them. Now I remember to open my heart, to allow another person to come close and sit beside me, just like my brother did.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
What am I?
How often do you think you ask yourself the question in your lifetime? What am I, what are you, what are we?
Sometimes I feel like I'm destined for the life of a rebel, the fiercest of all activist and supporter of environmental cause - but I learned now how my soul can be easily disturbed by the crudeness of picket line and angry shouts of the protesters. I even feel for the person hated by most1, a quality I find confusing in myself. Because I'm not sure whether it indicates a failing of resolve or a gentleness of heart. I certainly hope it's the latter.
As a result, sometime I try to imagine myself living a life of a bureaucrat, a policy practitioner. I know my professional qualities have a penchant for it. I'm rational and almost unemotional when it comes to making decisions. I can plan things, innovative things. But at most times I have a feeling I'll be suffocated in no time living in a culture which dictates what, how, and why I should do certain things. I'm not sure I can stand it for longer term.
But most of all, a life I certainly imagine and long for is a life of a writer and society observer. A life with no strings attached, a life which allows me to roam free and engage with everyone around me as I like. Yet, I need purpose in my life, I am best when I am driven by schedules and goals - so a life of a social hermit will not exercise my potential.
So who am I, really - and what am I meant to do?
1 If you're wondering who it was, it's George W. Bush.
Sometimes I feel like I'm destined for the life of a rebel, the fiercest of all activist and supporter of environmental cause - but I learned now how my soul can be easily disturbed by the crudeness of picket line and angry shouts of the protesters. I even feel for the person hated by most1, a quality I find confusing in myself. Because I'm not sure whether it indicates a failing of resolve or a gentleness of heart. I certainly hope it's the latter.
As a result, sometime I try to imagine myself living a life of a bureaucrat, a policy practitioner. I know my professional qualities have a penchant for it. I'm rational and almost unemotional when it comes to making decisions. I can plan things, innovative things. But at most times I have a feeling I'll be suffocated in no time living in a culture which dictates what, how, and why I should do certain things. I'm not sure I can stand it for longer term.
But most of all, a life I certainly imagine and long for is a life of a writer and society observer. A life with no strings attached, a life which allows me to roam free and engage with everyone around me as I like. Yet, I need purpose in my life, I am best when I am driven by schedules and goals - so a life of a social hermit will not exercise my potential.
So who am I, really - and what am I meant to do?
1 If you're wondering who it was, it's George W. Bush.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
The Story of Random Things
I was walking with the green grocery bag in hand filled with whatever food my friend had stuffed in it for her pending temporary absence. You must finish it, she concluded with a grin before I leave the house. I grimaced when I looked at the thigh fillet, sausages, and roasted chicken. Still I took them, resigned with my meat-filled menu for the rest of the week.
On my other hand is a paper bag, filled with magazines of current and previous subscriptions. I hope to read them in my spare time. My aim is to find affordable artworks, for the little project I'm thinking of back home.
From afar I saw the old man came out from his house. I talked to him once, and I've already forgotten his name. But I never forget his house. The friendliest house in the district, with blooming and colourful flowers flooding the front porch. It reminded me of a fairy tale cottage. He was followed by a little Havanese with a dirty brown fur and he has a cigarette in his hand. Clad in his typical sweater and slack apparel and a beret in his head, he looked as content as any little boy in his play time.
Hello!, I bellowed as I approached him. He turned around and flashed a big smile at me. Good afternoon, it's a nice day. He greeted me with his deep Italian accent. We talked about the weather, my shopping bags and his dog Kareena before I continued my walk home.
***
Hey, come here and look!, my housemate nudged at my elbow. Quietly he took me to the lounge. There he was, pecking on our carpet as if it was the ground. His little feet still sore from whatever accident he had had the days before. I rushed to the kitchen, took out a slice of bread, and began throwing them bit by bit on the backyard. Let's call him Poopy. We decided later on. Because he pooped so much on the floor of our backyard, and because it was the name of cute Greek guy in the latest movie we watched the night before, Poopy Carcass.
***
I was having my breakfast when I saw her walking quietly in the backyard. Hello!, I called to her excitedly. She looked up, surprised at the greeting. But when she saw me, she continued her quest, unsurprised. She was checking out the bread I left out for Poopy, but clearly she wasn't interested. Hey, are you hungry? I asked her, but still she seemed to feign no interest to my offer. I laughed at her cheekiness, so I walked to the fridge and took out one of the sausages my friend had left for me.
She was already nowhere in sight, but I walked straight to the backyard and I called out her name while dangling the sausage in my hand. Angie, I've got a sausage for you. I sang her name. There was a ruffle in the grass at my feet. I squatted down and there she was, looking at me wide-eyed, full of hope for the sausage in my grasp.
Angie, come here. I called out to her again. This time I put out my hand closer to her, she didn't budge from her place, but she held out her head and started licking the sausage. There you are, I laughed to myself. Now we've finally met.
On my other hand is a paper bag, filled with magazines of current and previous subscriptions. I hope to read them in my spare time. My aim is to find affordable artworks, for the little project I'm thinking of back home.
From afar I saw the old man came out from his house. I talked to him once, and I've already forgotten his name. But I never forget his house. The friendliest house in the district, with blooming and colourful flowers flooding the front porch. It reminded me of a fairy tale cottage. He was followed by a little Havanese with a dirty brown fur and he has a cigarette in his hand. Clad in his typical sweater and slack apparel and a beret in his head, he looked as content as any little boy in his play time.
Hello!, I bellowed as I approached him. He turned around and flashed a big smile at me. Good afternoon, it's a nice day. He greeted me with his deep Italian accent. We talked about the weather, my shopping bags and his dog Kareena before I continued my walk home.
***
Hey, come here and look!, my housemate nudged at my elbow. Quietly he took me to the lounge. There he was, pecking on our carpet as if it was the ground. His little feet still sore from whatever accident he had had the days before. I rushed to the kitchen, took out a slice of bread, and began throwing them bit by bit on the backyard. Let's call him Poopy. We decided later on. Because he pooped so much on the floor of our backyard, and because it was the name of cute Greek guy in the latest movie we watched the night before, Poopy Carcass.
***
I was having my breakfast when I saw her walking quietly in the backyard. Hello!, I called to her excitedly. She looked up, surprised at the greeting. But when she saw me, she continued her quest, unsurprised. She was checking out the bread I left out for Poopy, but clearly she wasn't interested. Hey, are you hungry? I asked her, but still she seemed to feign no interest to my offer. I laughed at her cheekiness, so I walked to the fridge and took out one of the sausages my friend had left for me.
She was already nowhere in sight, but I walked straight to the backyard and I called out her name while dangling the sausage in my hand. Angie, I've got a sausage for you. I sang her name. There was a ruffle in the grass at my feet. I squatted down and there she was, looking at me wide-eyed, full of hope for the sausage in my grasp.
Angie, come here. I called out to her again. This time I put out my hand closer to her, she didn't budge from her place, but she held out her head and started licking the sausage. There you are, I laughed to myself. Now we've finally met.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Awan Tidak Gelap Langit Tidak Hujan
Alangkah! Barangkali itu satu-satunya perkataan yang saya mampu ungkapkan untuk mencernakan hampir semua hal yang berlaku beberapa minggu ini.
Terlalu banyak peristiwa, terlalu sedikit masa.
Dari belakang mengundur ke depan, hal-hal baru terus-terusan menjenguk dalam hidup saya. Adakalanya ia manis sekali, menyejukkan hati. Seperti A (bukan nama sebenar), sahabat baru yang nampaknya tidak serik-serik mengejutkan saya dengan tingkah budiman dia. Makan malam, dialog lucu dan usikan dia kadangkala buat saya tersenyum-senyum sendiri. Indeed, friends do come from unlikely places.
Berlainan pula dengan B (bukan nama sebenar), anak muda berapi yang menjenguk sebentar di rumah saya minggu lalu. Berapi, itu satu kualiti yang saya hargai. Tapi berapi sahaja tidak cukup. Passion without attitude will not get us far, I believe. Sepanjang saya di sisi dia resah remuk hati saya, hati yang satu dijaga, hati yang seribu ditatang. Ia benar-benar satu pelajaran untuk diri sendiri; kenal dulu hati budi orang sebelum senang-senang mahu tawarkan bumbung berlindung.
Peristiwa C mengajar saya tentang betapa saya ini traditionalist orangnya. Saya percaya akan susun atur, fitrah, dan tingkah hormat orang tua. Barangkali saya ini memang benar Melayu habis-habisan. Tapi bila bercakap tentang perbezaan pendapat, saya benar-benar berharap tunduk, akur, dan angguk bukan satu-satunya jalan saya. The art of getting the message across,- menulis, berpidato, berpiket? Banyaknya yang saya perlu belajar.
Hal terakhir, saya rindukan kampung halaman. Ada sahabat-sahabat yang menunggu saya pulang.
Terlalu banyak peristiwa, terlalu sedikit masa.
Dari belakang mengundur ke depan, hal-hal baru terus-terusan menjenguk dalam hidup saya. Adakalanya ia manis sekali, menyejukkan hati. Seperti A (bukan nama sebenar), sahabat baru yang nampaknya tidak serik-serik mengejutkan saya dengan tingkah budiman dia. Makan malam, dialog lucu dan usikan dia kadangkala buat saya tersenyum-senyum sendiri. Indeed, friends do come from unlikely places.
Berlainan pula dengan B (bukan nama sebenar), anak muda berapi yang menjenguk sebentar di rumah saya minggu lalu. Berapi, itu satu kualiti yang saya hargai. Tapi berapi sahaja tidak cukup. Passion without attitude will not get us far, I believe. Sepanjang saya di sisi dia resah remuk hati saya, hati yang satu dijaga, hati yang seribu ditatang. Ia benar-benar satu pelajaran untuk diri sendiri; kenal dulu hati budi orang sebelum senang-senang mahu tawarkan bumbung berlindung.
Peristiwa C mengajar saya tentang betapa saya ini traditionalist orangnya. Saya percaya akan susun atur, fitrah, dan tingkah hormat orang tua. Barangkali saya ini memang benar Melayu habis-habisan. Tapi bila bercakap tentang perbezaan pendapat, saya benar-benar berharap tunduk, akur, dan angguk bukan satu-satunya jalan saya. The art of getting the message across,- menulis, berpidato, berpiket? Banyaknya yang saya perlu belajar.
Hal terakhir, saya rindukan kampung halaman. Ada sahabat-sahabat yang menunggu saya pulang.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Ada dua perkara paling besar dalam dunia ini;
"Cinta, dan kehidupan. Bila kita siap menerima keduanya, maka kita akan siap menghadapi apa sahaja."
Sebelum tidur, tangan saya mencari-cari kekunci di telefon bimbit. Sungguhpun saya tahu saya tak sepatutnya pergi ke dunia yang lagi satu itu - ini minggu rehat saya, jauh dari semuanya - tapi membaca mel panjang dari sahabat yang jauh di tanah air buat saya tersenyum sebelum pejam mata saya malam itu.
Banyak cerita yang kami kongsi, hal-hal yang lama dan yang baru. Bila bercakap tentang perubahan, adakalanya yang saya lihat menginjak dewasa ini adalah betapa cepatnya perubahan dan masa berlalu. Jika 5 tahun dahulu sahabat yang di sisi hari inilah sahabat yang di sisi minggu depan, sekarang bertemu kenalan baru, bermesra dan bergelak tawa tak bermakna sudah jadi teman seumur hidup.
Makin tua, makin dewasa; hati perlu lebih rasional, tapi fikiran perlu lebih bertimbang-rasa. Bagi saya, ini adalah satu ironi yang benar-benar hikmah.
Sebelum tidur, tangan saya mencari-cari kekunci di telefon bimbit. Sungguhpun saya tahu saya tak sepatutnya pergi ke dunia yang lagi satu itu - ini minggu rehat saya, jauh dari semuanya - tapi membaca mel panjang dari sahabat yang jauh di tanah air buat saya tersenyum sebelum pejam mata saya malam itu.
Banyak cerita yang kami kongsi, hal-hal yang lama dan yang baru. Bila bercakap tentang perubahan, adakalanya yang saya lihat menginjak dewasa ini adalah betapa cepatnya perubahan dan masa berlalu. Jika 5 tahun dahulu sahabat yang di sisi hari inilah sahabat yang di sisi minggu depan, sekarang bertemu kenalan baru, bermesra dan bergelak tawa tak bermakna sudah jadi teman seumur hidup.
Makin tua, makin dewasa; hati perlu lebih rasional, tapi fikiran perlu lebih bertimbang-rasa. Bagi saya, ini adalah satu ironi yang benar-benar hikmah.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Lavender's Blue, Dilly Dilly
Lavender's blue, dilly dilly, lavender's green. When I am king, dilly dilly, you shall be queen. The memory of her serene voices, repeating after the book reader I had bought for her birthday, never failed to make me smile despite myself. Her body swaying side to side, smiling widely each time she look up to see all of us watching her with pride.
How she had grown! From the doted and enthusiastic little girl we all showered our attention to, she became a devoted kak long to her baby sister, brimming with confidence of her status as the protective and commanding first grandchild in our family.
Like the most surprising gift, her arrival although expected, is nothing I ever imagined. Her tiny face, fingers and legs, at first seemed alien to me. I remember the first time seeing her cradled by her nyai, my mother, I asked myself - who is the little stranger? Only when I hold her later on, her bobbling head nestled comfortably at my neck, I felt awash with emotions. My mind overwhelmed at such wonderment, the little beautiful thing who shares a part of me in her.
And oh her little sister! If the older sister is a burst of emotions who the very existence of her seem to unblock in us all of those wells of repressed and unsaid affections, the little darling possesses such a calm disposition. She is shy and she is quiet, and she lets you know if you're in her favour through her generous affections, for she doesn't wear her heart on her sleeves.
I still remember when she ran to me when she woke up from sleep one day, wrapping her arms and legs around me tightly as if I am the one person in the world who makes her safe. These days, even as the older sister chattered away about what her nyai and tok ki, her ummi and abah are doing through the phone, I can see the little sister sitting quietly, watching rather admirably at the big vast world around her.
I don't remember wishing a sister when I grow up, and I'm not sure how it would change things if I have one. But looking at the two of them they look like the perfect pair, heaven-sent little angels to all of us in the family. It used to amaze me how they had invoked in me the ability to love freely, to look at the world with unsuspecting eyes - but now I see.
What is it in little children's heart which allow them to love so much and so generously? A heart as golden and soul as pure, untouched by what foolishness the adults are putting up on the world.
How she had grown! From the doted and enthusiastic little girl we all showered our attention to, she became a devoted kak long to her baby sister, brimming with confidence of her status as the protective and commanding first grandchild in our family.
Like the most surprising gift, her arrival although expected, is nothing I ever imagined. Her tiny face, fingers and legs, at first seemed alien to me. I remember the first time seeing her cradled by her nyai, my mother, I asked myself - who is the little stranger? Only when I hold her later on, her bobbling head nestled comfortably at my neck, I felt awash with emotions. My mind overwhelmed at such wonderment, the little beautiful thing who shares a part of me in her.
And oh her little sister! If the older sister is a burst of emotions who the very existence of her seem to unblock in us all of those wells of repressed and unsaid affections, the little darling possesses such a calm disposition. She is shy and she is quiet, and she lets you know if you're in her favour through her generous affections, for she doesn't wear her heart on her sleeves.
I still remember when she ran to me when she woke up from sleep one day, wrapping her arms and legs around me tightly as if I am the one person in the world who makes her safe. These days, even as the older sister chattered away about what her nyai and tok ki, her ummi and abah are doing through the phone, I can see the little sister sitting quietly, watching rather admirably at the big vast world around her.
I don't remember wishing a sister when I grow up, and I'm not sure how it would change things if I have one. But looking at the two of them they look like the perfect pair, heaven-sent little angels to all of us in the family. It used to amaze me how they had invoked in me the ability to love freely, to look at the world with unsuspecting eyes - but now I see.
What is it in little children's heart which allow them to love so much and so generously? A heart as golden and soul as pure, untouched by what foolishness the adults are putting up on the world.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Apa Yang Saya Ingatkan Adalah Masa Lalu
Kalau diikutkan yang dulu-dulu itu makin lama makin manis dikenang. Barangkali ia mengingatkan kita pada hal-hal yang tunas, muda, dan cuwek. Mungkin juga sebab ia boleh jadi romantis, sebab ia bukan lagi hal yang kita boleh kejar. Barang yang disimpan, mestilah yang elok dan cantik-cantik sahaja kan?
Sebetulnya semakin berusia ini buat saya benar-benar menghitung kurnia Tuhan. Saya ingat dengan kemas lagi perbualan saya dengan seorang sahabat - someday you need to share your life with someone, otherwise no one will be on your side. Hari ini saya ziarah kembali titik masa itu, hampir lima tahun yang lalu, saya lihat teman-teman bermain dan bergaduh saya.
Bukankah jalan yang ditentukan Tuhan itu begitu cantik dan molek sekali?
Tentunya it wasn't all bed of roses, tentunya saya ingat lagi detik-detik cemas menangis di meja makan di depan sahabat magis saya, atau menunggu dengan kalut balasan-balasan surat panjang dia yang selalu mengingatkan saya untuk yakin janji Tuhan. Tapi agaknya itulah harganya, supaya hari ini saya dan dia boleh bergelak ketawa dan bermain kata. Walaupun kami tahu hari ini ujian lain akan datang, but the worst is over and what doesn't kill us will make us stronger.
Begitu juga dengan teman-teman akrab saya, dari pagi ke petang dulunya sama-sama belajar hal-hal cinta dan patah hati. Sama-sama berjalan, sama-sama jatuh dan sama-sama berpimpinan. Sama-sama bergaduh dan sama-sama bertepuk tangan. Lima tahun bukan masa singkat, kami sama-sama dewasa jadi manusia (apatah lagi ibu bapa manusia!).
Mengenangkan hal-hal beginilah yang buat saya rindu-rinduan. Menjadi tetamu tanah asing, walaupun cabarannya cukup mengajar, boleh jadi terlalu memenatkan. Ada rasa yang perlu dijaga, ada prinsip yang perlu diperkasa. Mengenangkan hal-hal beginilah yang buat saya berfikir, alangkah senang sekali berbahukan teman yang kenal lebih dan kurang diri!
Nota kaki: Tentunya, tentu sekali - sahabat-sahabat baru itu adakalanya menyegarkan dan membuka mata, malah dialu-alukan sekali. :)
Sebetulnya semakin berusia ini buat saya benar-benar menghitung kurnia Tuhan. Saya ingat dengan kemas lagi perbualan saya dengan seorang sahabat - someday you need to share your life with someone, otherwise no one will be on your side. Hari ini saya ziarah kembali titik masa itu, hampir lima tahun yang lalu, saya lihat teman-teman bermain dan bergaduh saya.
Bukankah jalan yang ditentukan Tuhan itu begitu cantik dan molek sekali?
Tentunya it wasn't all bed of roses, tentunya saya ingat lagi detik-detik cemas menangis di meja makan di depan sahabat magis saya, atau menunggu dengan kalut balasan-balasan surat panjang dia yang selalu mengingatkan saya untuk yakin janji Tuhan. Tapi agaknya itulah harganya, supaya hari ini saya dan dia boleh bergelak ketawa dan bermain kata. Walaupun kami tahu hari ini ujian lain akan datang, but the worst is over and what doesn't kill us will make us stronger.
Begitu juga dengan teman-teman akrab saya, dari pagi ke petang dulunya sama-sama belajar hal-hal cinta dan patah hati. Sama-sama berjalan, sama-sama jatuh dan sama-sama berpimpinan. Sama-sama bergaduh dan sama-sama bertepuk tangan. Lima tahun bukan masa singkat, kami sama-sama dewasa jadi manusia (apatah lagi ibu bapa manusia!).
Mengenangkan hal-hal beginilah yang buat saya rindu-rinduan. Menjadi tetamu tanah asing, walaupun cabarannya cukup mengajar, boleh jadi terlalu memenatkan. Ada rasa yang perlu dijaga, ada prinsip yang perlu diperkasa. Mengenangkan hal-hal beginilah yang buat saya berfikir, alangkah senang sekali berbahukan teman yang kenal lebih dan kurang diri!
Nota kaki: Tentunya, tentu sekali - sahabat-sahabat baru itu adakalanya menyegarkan dan membuka mata, malah dialu-alukan sekali. :)
Friday, July 3, 2009
When You Want Something, All the Universe Conspires in Helping You to Achieve It
"Where did you get the idea you aren't allowed to petition the universe with prayer? You are part of this universe, Liz. You're a constituent - you have every entitlement to participate in the actions of the universe, and to let your feelings be know. So put your opinion out there. Make your case. Believe me - it will at least be taken into consideration."
Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Notes on Frets (Happy Birthday Abah
Every time I reflected upon my decision to come to Australia, there is always one person hovering around my every shadows. It was not deliberated, I had always wanted to go to Scotland, and initially I was already offered an admission to the University of Aberdeen. But I remember one night, in my little room in Kuantan, I quickly dialed Mak's number after the evening prayer; "Mak rasa senang tak nak dapat scholarship pergi UNSW?"
What followed suit was a rapid succession of events, and in a blink of an eye I already sat determinedly on the plane one July evening in 2008. Friends were surprised, question after question they ask on how certain I was to pursue the cause. I did not faltered, but the decision seemed to break all the rules laid out on me and opened up a whole new dimensions to what was inside me in the past years.
I was not sure what I would find, nor do I know what to expect. Meeting Uncle Greg for the second time after more than 15 years filled me with unimaginable relief, my memories of him and Aunt Lorraine when we were in Jerteh remained distinct and memorable in my mind and I am comforted by the shared tales of the place with them. It was as if given the fleeting presence of my family in so many different soils when I grew up, they are the proof of my 7-year old existence.
There were two things I remembered saying to myself when I walked home from school one day, deciding what it was I came to Australia for, "I want to find God, and I want to find Abah before I go back."
Finding my father, truth to be told, I earlier expected to find his name on the Golden Snitch or his friends like what Sirius, Lupin and Snape had been to James Potter. It's admittedly bizarre to expect such things of course, but I am desperately foolish to begin with. What then did I find of him? a genius, respected among his friends, and a larrikin too. He played guitar and he lived with an old man when he was studying. Qualities I have never gotten to learn due to the distance between us.
I remembered Abah's constant absence seemed to magnify his presence among us in the family. A single voice of Abah in the morning would wake me up instantly, pisang goreng and buah mangga always indicate his fortnightly return, even now we could predict the visit of my nieces at the presence of their Tok Ki. Perhaps, why engineers always appeal to me hopelessly could even be attributed to Abah's profession.
Does it really matter, now, how little or how much I know of my father? Are all the anger and despair washed away now I am treading on the very soil he had laboured on years before he even became a father? How did this journey change what I view of my father then and now? I ask myself again tonight at the eve of Abah's 63rd anniversary.
The answer is I don't know. But in all uncertainties, I only want to know he loves me now as he had loved me when he first held me in his arms, I only want to know he holds dear our family and my mother as he had before everything changed, and I only want to know I made him proud, no matter how hopelessly flawed I had been in my life.
Abah, please forgive me my flaws and shortcomings, and all the pain I had caused to you and Mak. Happy birthday and I love you both very much.
What followed suit was a rapid succession of events, and in a blink of an eye I already sat determinedly on the plane one July evening in 2008. Friends were surprised, question after question they ask on how certain I was to pursue the cause. I did not faltered, but the decision seemed to break all the rules laid out on me and opened up a whole new dimensions to what was inside me in the past years.
I was not sure what I would find, nor do I know what to expect. Meeting Uncle Greg for the second time after more than 15 years filled me with unimaginable relief, my memories of him and Aunt Lorraine when we were in Jerteh remained distinct and memorable in my mind and I am comforted by the shared tales of the place with them. It was as if given the fleeting presence of my family in so many different soils when I grew up, they are the proof of my 7-year old existence.
There were two things I remembered saying to myself when I walked home from school one day, deciding what it was I came to Australia for, "I want to find God, and I want to find Abah before I go back."
Finding my father, truth to be told, I earlier expected to find his name on the Golden Snitch or his friends like what Sirius, Lupin and Snape had been to James Potter. It's admittedly bizarre to expect such things of course, but I am desperately foolish to begin with. What then did I find of him? a genius, respected among his friends, and a larrikin too. He played guitar and he lived with an old man when he was studying. Qualities I have never gotten to learn due to the distance between us.
I remembered Abah's constant absence seemed to magnify his presence among us in the family. A single voice of Abah in the morning would wake me up instantly, pisang goreng and buah mangga always indicate his fortnightly return, even now we could predict the visit of my nieces at the presence of their Tok Ki. Perhaps, why engineers always appeal to me hopelessly could even be attributed to Abah's profession.
Does it really matter, now, how little or how much I know of my father? Are all the anger and despair washed away now I am treading on the very soil he had laboured on years before he even became a father? How did this journey change what I view of my father then and now? I ask myself again tonight at the eve of Abah's 63rd anniversary.
The answer is I don't know. But in all uncertainties, I only want to know he loves me now as he had loved me when he first held me in his arms, I only want to know he holds dear our family and my mother as he had before everything changed, and I only want to know I made him proud, no matter how hopelessly flawed I had been in my life.
Abah, please forgive me my flaws and shortcomings, and all the pain I had caused to you and Mak. Happy birthday and I love you both very much.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Letters to a Friend: 1
Cowper St, July 1, 2009
My dearest,
There are times when amidst joyous moments, I am brought back to a slither of memories when you and I trotted the same land. Because sometimes even invaluable my experiences had been in this foreign soil, I still severely wish how I could see you present among my acquaintances, savouring the spices of my adventurous journey.
We had a generous dinner last night, the three great cook of the house as we call ourselves, each made food fit to serve an army. Lasagna, polenta and grilled vegetable stacks, spring rolls, spinach and cheese-filled cobb bread, salads, and Indian-fused pasta brought by our gentle neighbour spread the table. The food, suffice to say, filled us before we even get to greet our dessert enthusiastically.
And oh the companies! It was such joy to listen and witness the conversations. The avid observer you know I am, I listened with indifference as the dinner table became a battle of eastern and western cultures. They had discussed with rare spirits about the fear our fathers and mothers harbour of our wobbling young impulses. While some hold dear their parent's trust, others flee to pursue their heart's desire.
It made me question myself, whether I boarded the plane to say goodbye to everything which is not to my heart's desire or I had left with ample trust to honour my parents pride in me for taking such uncertain road.
What of your thoughts, my friend, what road have you taken in your life and why so? Ever so little I understand of your life, your composed and warm manner always assure me of the world's kindness and honesty. It is you who reminds me, every time I had to contain my anger towards the world, there is always a reason to go home.
As fiery as the conversations had been, laughter and merriment followed the rest of our night. It suited me very well because such conviviality let me alone with my own reflection. It is often at such times my thoughts are tenderly drawn towards the memory of you. As if in the middle of our youngest Indian ambassador demonstrating his eloquent dance and the audience laughing around him with delight, I could see you there too nodding appreciatively with the little crooked smile of yours I've come to memorize in my sleep.
Can you tell my why my friend, even with the generosity of technology around us, these minutes and miles between us do not seem to budge faster and more rapidly for our impending reunion?
Awaiting your reply,
Very sincerely yours,
Ati A. Aziz.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Providence
There is a certain mould to the man's face which endears me to touch them. Perhaps it's only the working of a nature, fate, or an ethereal force to such longing. These days, as I look around the horizon to which my life had grown, spun around and sat still, I see only these feelings as no more than a beauty in the life itself. It's no longer a reward nor it is a punishment.
The neatly stitched and coal black brows, the strong jaws and the not entirely done sun-kissed hair do not seem to do justice to the far-away and foreboding look on his face. I wish I was there, by his side to wash all the confusions away. What, I wonder, is in his mind?
My ability to sustain my feelings within me are getting rustier over time. I used to appear blank-faced, emotionless, and even a tad too comforted with snobbery. These days, my empathy always seem to fail me. I smiled to the most fearsome stranger, I blurted a little hello to the dogs lazing around in the sun, I cried shamelessly for the little boys burnt by greed and intolerance. I can no longer keep myself invisible, for the world has already seen me for what I am; a human being with a flood of emotions within me.
Now the stranger, clad in his black shirt flagged by the wealth of his friends, is exploding my heart with ache. The rush of feelings I am flooded with at the mere sight of his face choke my throat, for even gargantuan what grows inside me for him, it can never be born to the reality of life.
But despair I am not, because I believe even such misopportunity is a providence from above. It will be difficult to forget such genteel smile and delicate touch, but it will not be impossible to cease remembering them. It will be devastating to let go of the world full of hope in his eyes, but it will be indefinitely fulfilling to close those eyes and keep them in my memories. The key, my friend, to such impossibility is to live on.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Tukar Budaya
Kalau ada satu perkara yang saya boleh kongsi dengan semua anak-anak muda di Malaysia tentang apa yang saya perolehi sepanjang pengajian saya di Australia, ialah tentang luasnya dunia yang boleh kita terokai kalau kita mahu.
Memang benar, bukan senang mendapat peluang menjejak kaki ke negara orang. Tapi titik mula kembara kita tidak semestinya bermula di luar sempadan Malaysia. Setelah hampir setahun menghabiskan masa saya di Australia yang asalnya saya buru kerana saya mahu lari dari tanah air sendiri, sekarang saya tidak sabar pula mahu kembali ke Malaysia. Sebab saya tahu, apa yang saya alami dan pelajari di sini, kalau saya mahu semuanya saya boleh praktiskan di Malaysia.
Lebih 20 tahun membesar dalam komuniti Melayu, di sini saya mula menikmati kelebihan berkenalan dengan sahabat-sahabat dari pelbagai negara dan bangsa. Masing-masing mempunyai cerita dan pengalaman unik yang tersendiri. Teman serumah saya dari Itali memasak pasta paling sedap pernah saya rasa. Sahabat saya, chef dari Australia sangat meminati budaya India sehingga hampir semua sejarah, mitos, dan pengetahuan am tentang India boleh dia ceritakan kepada saya.
Buat seketika, di sini saya melihat dan mampu percaya dengan dunia persahabatan tanpa sempadan.
Begitu juga dengan falsafah “bekerja untuk hidup” yang diamalkan oleh kebanyakan penduduk Australia. Ini adalah satu lagi perkara baru yang saya belajar di sini. Bagi mereka, pekerjaan cuma satu cara untuk memenuhi perkara-perkara yang mereka mahu capai dalam hidup, bukannya matlamat dalam hidup itu sendiri. Oleh sebab itu, saya dapati ramai yang saya kenali di sini mempunyai pandangan hidup yang sangat menyenangkan. Hari-hari minggu penduduk di Australia dipenuhi dengan aktiviti-aktiviti luar seperti bersukan, piknik, dan berkhemah.
Selain itu, saya dapat lihat bagaimana pembangunan ekonomi yang pesat seiring dengan penjagaan alam sekitar yang rapi mampu meningkatkan taraf hidup rakyat Australia. Dengan adanya sistem kenderaan awam yang sistematik dan efisien, bandar Sydney dan kawasan-kawasan sekitarnya boleh dilawati dengan mudah tanpa memerlukan kenderaan peribadi. Begitu juga dengan kemudahan awam di kawasan rekreasi dan taman negara, hanya dengan kos yang rendah saya boleh berkhemah di kawasan rekreasi sekitar Sydney tanpa perlu risau akan keperluan keselamatan atau keselesaan diri kerana semuanya disediakan dan dijaga dengan baik oleh kerajaan tempatan dan negeri.
Melihat taraf dan kualiti hidup yang tinggi di Australia meningkatkan azam saya untuk mengamalkan ilmu sarjana dan pengalaman yang saya perolehi di sini di Malaysia. Bagi saya, tidak mustahil satu hari nanti, sekiranya anak-anak muda Malaysia mengamalkan budaya meneroka dunia tapi di masa yang sama menanam nilai untuk berbakti di tanah air sendiri, negara kita satu hari nanti mampu mengorak langkah standing dengan negara-negara maju yang lain.
Memang benar, bukan senang mendapat peluang menjejak kaki ke negara orang. Tapi titik mula kembara kita tidak semestinya bermula di luar sempadan Malaysia. Setelah hampir setahun menghabiskan masa saya di Australia yang asalnya saya buru kerana saya mahu lari dari tanah air sendiri, sekarang saya tidak sabar pula mahu kembali ke Malaysia. Sebab saya tahu, apa yang saya alami dan pelajari di sini, kalau saya mahu semuanya saya boleh praktiskan di Malaysia.
Lebih 20 tahun membesar dalam komuniti Melayu, di sini saya mula menikmati kelebihan berkenalan dengan sahabat-sahabat dari pelbagai negara dan bangsa. Masing-masing mempunyai cerita dan pengalaman unik yang tersendiri. Teman serumah saya dari Itali memasak pasta paling sedap pernah saya rasa. Sahabat saya, chef dari Australia sangat meminati budaya India sehingga hampir semua sejarah, mitos, dan pengetahuan am tentang India boleh dia ceritakan kepada saya.
Buat seketika, di sini saya melihat dan mampu percaya dengan dunia persahabatan tanpa sempadan.
Begitu juga dengan falsafah “bekerja untuk hidup” yang diamalkan oleh kebanyakan penduduk Australia. Ini adalah satu lagi perkara baru yang saya belajar di sini. Bagi mereka, pekerjaan cuma satu cara untuk memenuhi perkara-perkara yang mereka mahu capai dalam hidup, bukannya matlamat dalam hidup itu sendiri. Oleh sebab itu, saya dapati ramai yang saya kenali di sini mempunyai pandangan hidup yang sangat menyenangkan. Hari-hari minggu penduduk di Australia dipenuhi dengan aktiviti-aktiviti luar seperti bersukan, piknik, dan berkhemah.
Selain itu, saya dapat lihat bagaimana pembangunan ekonomi yang pesat seiring dengan penjagaan alam sekitar yang rapi mampu meningkatkan taraf hidup rakyat Australia. Dengan adanya sistem kenderaan awam yang sistematik dan efisien, bandar Sydney dan kawasan-kawasan sekitarnya boleh dilawati dengan mudah tanpa memerlukan kenderaan peribadi. Begitu juga dengan kemudahan awam di kawasan rekreasi dan taman negara, hanya dengan kos yang rendah saya boleh berkhemah di kawasan rekreasi sekitar Sydney tanpa perlu risau akan keperluan keselamatan atau keselesaan diri kerana semuanya disediakan dan dijaga dengan baik oleh kerajaan tempatan dan negeri.
Melihat taraf dan kualiti hidup yang tinggi di Australia meningkatkan azam saya untuk mengamalkan ilmu sarjana dan pengalaman yang saya perolehi di sini di Malaysia. Bagi saya, tidak mustahil satu hari nanti, sekiranya anak-anak muda Malaysia mengamalkan budaya meneroka dunia tapi di masa yang sama menanam nilai untuk berbakti di tanah air sendiri, negara kita satu hari nanti mampu mengorak langkah standing dengan negara-negara maju yang lain.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Anne of Green Gables
"Read it with a box of Kleenex", Kelly's mom told one of her little readers.
I read Anne of Green Gables, I laughed, I cried, I laughed again, and then I slept with the brightest smile on my face - optimistic of the dream to come.
Anne of Green Gables tells the story of Marilla and Mathew Cuthbert who incidentally landed themselves with an orphaned girl when they had wanted a boy who can work their farm. The girl is Anne Shirley, a red-headed, absent-minded and earnest girl who think anything good happened to her is the best thing ever happened in the world.
The story of Anne and the people around her is a joy to read. It reminded me of what it means by being thirteen again. Although perhaps not the vivacity or the innocence of Anne, I remember how imaginations had ruled our lives and took up for what was not there in our world at the time. Gilbert Blythe is charming, and I wish Matthew Cuthbert is my uncle.
I wish to have the complete box set of the series, a wish list fairy please can you hear me?
I read Anne of Green Gables, I laughed, I cried, I laughed again, and then I slept with the brightest smile on my face - optimistic of the dream to come.
Anne of Green Gables tells the story of Marilla and Mathew Cuthbert who incidentally landed themselves with an orphaned girl when they had wanted a boy who can work their farm. The girl is Anne Shirley, a red-headed, absent-minded and earnest girl who think anything good happened to her is the best thing ever happened in the world.
The story of Anne and the people around her is a joy to read. It reminded me of what it means by being thirteen again. Although perhaps not the vivacity or the innocence of Anne, I remember how imaginations had ruled our lives and took up for what was not there in our world at the time. Gilbert Blythe is charming, and I wish Matthew Cuthbert is my uncle.
I wish to have the complete box set of the series, a wish list fairy please can you hear me?
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Seperti Belut Pulang ke Lumpur
Dua sahabat saya menyambut orang baru dalam hidup mereka dua minggu ini, seorang lagi awal bulan depan. Mereka buat saya rasa sungguh-sungguh tua.
Sungguh-sungguh sekarang saya rasa cukup dengan apa yang ada. Tempoh hari di Melbourne, bercakap-cakap tentang virus H1N1, saya tertanya-tanya pada diri sendiri - 'if I die, would I die a happy woman?'.
Memang benar ia soalan falsafah yang cukup besar, tapi buat masa ini, saya rasa saya sudah ada jawapannya.
Susah rasanya untuk tak berasa takut bila berfikir tentang masa depan, tentang apa yang bakal dan perlu saya buat, apa yang saya boleh dan mampu kecapi. Tapi dalam masa yang sama, saya mahu percaya dengan janji Tuhan, dan percaya dengan manusia-manusia agung di sekeliling saya.
Kadang-kadang, saya fikir kita ini terlalu cepat mahu mengejar satu-satu hal dalam hidup. As if life is a succession of achieving things. Apa salahnya tak mempunyai sesuatu, apa salahnya gagal, apa salahnya mempunyai kecelaan dalam hidup.
Kalau hidup saya berakhir hari ini, adakah saya akan pergi dengan hati senang? Wallahua'lam.
Sungguh-sungguh sekarang saya rasa cukup dengan apa yang ada. Tempoh hari di Melbourne, bercakap-cakap tentang virus H1N1, saya tertanya-tanya pada diri sendiri - 'if I die, would I die a happy woman?'.
Memang benar ia soalan falsafah yang cukup besar, tapi buat masa ini, saya rasa saya sudah ada jawapannya.
Susah rasanya untuk tak berasa takut bila berfikir tentang masa depan, tentang apa yang bakal dan perlu saya buat, apa yang saya boleh dan mampu kecapi. Tapi dalam masa yang sama, saya mahu percaya dengan janji Tuhan, dan percaya dengan manusia-manusia agung di sekeliling saya.
Kadang-kadang, saya fikir kita ini terlalu cepat mahu mengejar satu-satu hal dalam hidup. As if life is a succession of achieving things. Apa salahnya tak mempunyai sesuatu, apa salahnya gagal, apa salahnya mempunyai kecelaan dalam hidup.
Kalau hidup saya berakhir hari ini, adakah saya akan pergi dengan hati senang? Wallahua'lam.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Good Food, Sore Feet, and Hearty Laugh
MY TRIP to Canberra and Melbourne seemed to be a succession of early mornings, long walks, and hearty laughs way into the late nights. I had adamantly chosen to do the overland trip instead of taking the short flights. It certainly tested the patience of some, but the long and quiet journey gave me ample opportunity to think to myself and watch the world goes by.
THE BEST THING about overland trip is seeing the landscape changes before your eyes from one place to another. From the hustle and bustle of Sydney city, the road to Canberra is characterized by brown fields, dry creeks and windmills. On the other hand, Melbourne and Victoria is a lush of green fields, dairy cows, and healthy flocks of sheep. The best of all is seeing the pack of kangaroos hopping through the hills from afar in between sheep and horses grazing the hills. It felt like heaven.
Canberra and Melbourne are TWO CONTRADICTING CITIES. While in Canberra it is difficult not to be hampered by its lack of vivacity and effervescence, the city is peaceful and inherently friendly. A good lot of effort has been put into the Australian War Memorial and the National Art Gallery, and the Lake Burley Griffin is a sight to behold.
Melbourne on the other hand, BLEW MY MIND. The mixture of old-style and edgy architectures, vivid lifestyle of the locals, and definitely wholesome and delicious food made me feel I am on vacation indeed. The road tour to the Great Ocean Road was memorable; the tour guide hilarious, the group friendly and the helicopter ride one of a kind.
THE TRIP TAUGHT ME about the loads of life to be discovered around the world I am yet to grasp. Certainly money makes the world go round, but I learned there are things I need, and there are things I can live without. Finding distinctions between the two requires discretion, and succeeding at it makes an investment of a lifetime. There's still a few things on my Australian travel wish list, and I certainly hope Rome or Marrakesh or Edinburgh is not far from the horizon, in few years time.
THE BEST THING about overland trip is seeing the landscape changes before your eyes from one place to another. From the hustle and bustle of Sydney city, the road to Canberra is characterized by brown fields, dry creeks and windmills. On the other hand, Melbourne and Victoria is a lush of green fields, dairy cows, and healthy flocks of sheep. The best of all is seeing the pack of kangaroos hopping through the hills from afar in between sheep and horses grazing the hills. It felt like heaven.
Canberra and Melbourne are TWO CONTRADICTING CITIES. While in Canberra it is difficult not to be hampered by its lack of vivacity and effervescence, the city is peaceful and inherently friendly. A good lot of effort has been put into the Australian War Memorial and the National Art Gallery, and the Lake Burley Griffin is a sight to behold.
Melbourne on the other hand, BLEW MY MIND. The mixture of old-style and edgy architectures, vivid lifestyle of the locals, and definitely wholesome and delicious food made me feel I am on vacation indeed. The road tour to the Great Ocean Road was memorable; the tour guide hilarious, the group friendly and the helicopter ride one of a kind.
THE TRIP TAUGHT ME about the loads of life to be discovered around the world I am yet to grasp. Certainly money makes the world go round, but I learned there are things I need, and there are things I can live without. Finding distinctions between the two requires discretion, and succeeding at it makes an investment of a lifetime. There's still a few things on my Australian travel wish list, and I certainly hope Rome or Marrakesh or Edinburgh is not far from the horizon, in few years time.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
The Revolutionary Road
I woke up with the heaviest tug at my heart in the morning today. I couldn't figure out why. As I walk mindlessly to the shower, thumping my body with the rain of hot water as if to shake off the bleak stance I seem to be frozen in, my diminishing reflection on the screen looked pale and ghostly.
In the kitchen later, as I was boiling the water for coffee, the sight of my smiling and merry housemates lifted up my heart. But still, I felt like I was looking at them from a distance. Suddenly the world seemed like a spinning wheel, rotating on and on as if on a leash of some invisible forces. Please, I whispered to myself, please make it stop.
It was when I walked into my room later, a cup of coffee in my hands, I saw the silent trigger of my misery. Two figures silently holding each other, their faces - their foreheads and noses barely touching, their eyes locked down. The picture stood still, and I finally remembered what it was making me mourn in the silence of early morning.
Early acquaintance
Frank and April Wheeler are the suburban couple I was acquainted with in January. Their story; their desire to break free, and their need to believe they stand above others in their quest for a self-fulfillment had drawn me in. But much to my grim surprise, watching the story was like witnessing the impending sentence of my own life.
Why, I thought, when you started to fight against life, the ordinariness of it, the superficiality of it - you can never win?
A few weeks earlier, a friend suggested I read the book. I wasn't sure I wanted to repeat the discomfort I had experienced from watching the movie. But in steel determination I peeled open the book, and I didn't put it down again until last night.
It proved to be an absorbing read, Richard Yates is as cruel as he is honest. Put simply, there is nothing extraordinary about the life of Wheelers, Campbells and Givings, but in their ordinariness lies an exemplary discovery about how raw feelings; happiness, anger, frustrations, loneliness, hatred, regret, love - even when no one likes to talk about them, are real.
Laying bare the wounds
The community Frank and April had lived in is a community I never succeeded being a part of. The crisp white houses lined by trimmed grasses, the smiles, the forever surprised look and the endless questions of what, where and how. They tire me out, they overwork my mind, they suffocate me.
I don't blame April for wanting to get away, for I know how having to appease a life you never put your heart on can take so much out of yourself. But I feel for Frank for his need of April's love and approval. Both of them, it seemed to me, in their effort to stay above others, forget they should be able to be simply themselves with each other. But they didn't, even to their own selves Frank and April had to put a front neither of them approve of.
What is it with men, when they cannot seem to get past their pride and look into themselves for their own vile weaknesses? What is it with women, with their need to appear strong when they are crumbling inside? What is it with people and pretension and false honesty?
Sometimes I wonder, is it ever worth it, this fight for self and identity; this rebellion against pre-chosen and shrink-wrapped personalities put forth to us by the society? Sometimes I wonder, why do we need so much to be alike others simply to be loved by them? Sometimes I wonder, truly what wrong is with being different?
Revolutionary Road did not answer the lots of my questions, neither did it paint an optimistic prospect to my own life. I've seen so many love crumbles before me sometimes I feel like tragedies hover above my head like a halo. But in good times when April had liked Frank and he loved her, I want to believe love can transcend emptiness and put hopes to even the barest of all land. I want to believe, even at such cruel and honest words, Richard Yates wanted us to get past them and start looking beyond mere pretense and tell our story like it is.
In the kitchen later, as I was boiling the water for coffee, the sight of my smiling and merry housemates lifted up my heart. But still, I felt like I was looking at them from a distance. Suddenly the world seemed like a spinning wheel, rotating on and on as if on a leash of some invisible forces. Please, I whispered to myself, please make it stop.
It was when I walked into my room later, a cup of coffee in my hands, I saw the silent trigger of my misery. Two figures silently holding each other, their faces - their foreheads and noses barely touching, their eyes locked down. The picture stood still, and I finally remembered what it was making me mourn in the silence of early morning.
Early acquaintance
Frank and April Wheeler are the suburban couple I was acquainted with in January. Their story; their desire to break free, and their need to believe they stand above others in their quest for a self-fulfillment had drawn me in. But much to my grim surprise, watching the story was like witnessing the impending sentence of my own life.
Why, I thought, when you started to fight against life, the ordinariness of it, the superficiality of it - you can never win?
A few weeks earlier, a friend suggested I read the book. I wasn't sure I wanted to repeat the discomfort I had experienced from watching the movie. But in steel determination I peeled open the book, and I didn't put it down again until last night.
It proved to be an absorbing read, Richard Yates is as cruel as he is honest. Put simply, there is nothing extraordinary about the life of Wheelers, Campbells and Givings, but in their ordinariness lies an exemplary discovery about how raw feelings; happiness, anger, frustrations, loneliness, hatred, regret, love - even when no one likes to talk about them, are real.
Laying bare the wounds
The community Frank and April had lived in is a community I never succeeded being a part of. The crisp white houses lined by trimmed grasses, the smiles, the forever surprised look and the endless questions of what, where and how. They tire me out, they overwork my mind, they suffocate me.
I don't blame April for wanting to get away, for I know how having to appease a life you never put your heart on can take so much out of yourself. But I feel for Frank for his need of April's love and approval. Both of them, it seemed to me, in their effort to stay above others, forget they should be able to be simply themselves with each other. But they didn't, even to their own selves Frank and April had to put a front neither of them approve of.
What is it with men, when they cannot seem to get past their pride and look into themselves for their own vile weaknesses? What is it with women, with their need to appear strong when they are crumbling inside? What is it with people and pretension and false honesty?
Sometimes I wonder, is it ever worth it, this fight for self and identity; this rebellion against pre-chosen and shrink-wrapped personalities put forth to us by the society? Sometimes I wonder, why do we need so much to be alike others simply to be loved by them? Sometimes I wonder, truly what wrong is with being different?
Revolutionary Road did not answer the lots of my questions, neither did it paint an optimistic prospect to my own life. I've seen so many love crumbles before me sometimes I feel like tragedies hover above my head like a halo. But in good times when April had liked Frank and he loved her, I want to believe love can transcend emptiness and put hopes to even the barest of all land. I want to believe, even at such cruel and honest words, Richard Yates wanted us to get past them and start looking beyond mere pretense and tell our story like it is.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
A Weekend Flagged with Cold
The weather is becoming more cruel these days. In the absence of a heater, I'm forever bundled under the thick of sweater, scarves, and ugg boots. Aspirin after aspirin I have swallowed to keep my consciousness at bay. As my friends are breaking away from the last bits of their school works, I am still glued to my desk, trying my best to be utterly optimistic about my work.
Nevertheless, I managed to include some novelty into my life in the past weekend; Volunteering with AYCC (my supervisor is a 17-year old kid who took a year off university to work on Power Shift); Swinging to Jazz and Blues Festival at the Darling Harbour (Carl Riseley is such a cheeky performer); Watched Gandhi.
As of now, I'm struggling to finish my final assignment, and the impending final exam on engineering is due on Friday, the very night my classmates are planning to have a drink at Lord Nelson's. The worst thing is, I think I'm excited to do the exam more than I want to go for the drink. Seriously, I am reveled for being a such a nerd.
Nevertheless, I managed to include some novelty into my life in the past weekend; Volunteering with AYCC (my supervisor is a 17-year old kid who took a year off university to work on Power Shift); Swinging to Jazz and Blues Festival at the Darling Harbour (Carl Riseley is such a cheeky performer); Watched Gandhi.
As of now, I'm struggling to finish my final assignment, and the impending final exam on engineering is due on Friday, the very night my classmates are planning to have a drink at Lord Nelson's. The worst thing is, I think I'm excited to do the exam more than I want to go for the drink. Seriously, I am reveled for being a such a nerd.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
The Littlest Peace I Can Muster is for You
I have completed my third assignment of the week, another one to go which is due to be submitted by Tuesday the next week.
I cannot wait to close my eyes and think of nothing but peaceful, beautiful and funny things.
For now, what I need are two aspirins and a cup of green tea. Good bye and good night, the stranger in the sky.
I cannot wait to close my eyes and think of nothing but peaceful, beautiful and funny things.
For now, what I need are two aspirins and a cup of green tea. Good bye and good night, the stranger in the sky.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
The Two Third of the Journey
Almost a year in Sydney. Loving my current apartment and the people I'm living with. Lovely and fierce cook, the most beautiful Italian man I've ever met. Missed the coffee chat sessions with my friends, however, and driving of course. Camping a few times. Wished I could ride more bike. Tried to go to a school party once and didn't like it. But loved dancing with the European tourists by the beach and enjoyed learning ballroom dancing a lot. Made a lot of friends, from a lot of countries. Read a lot of books, and adore the many secondhand bookstores around Sydney. Watched heaps of movies because it's cheap. Never drive, and rarely take the public transport. Walk all the time. Missed my cats, though. Attended awesome concert, visited a church, talked to strangers.
What comes next?
What comes next?
Sunday, May 31, 2009
My Two Cents for Today
1. I know I am not the most beautiful girl in the world. But I feel what I have so far perfectly match each other, and I love them for it. My crooked teeth, my less than perfect skin, and my undefined figure, there are always ways to love them at a different time of the day.
2. Of course I adore making up my hair, but sometimes cutting them short allow me the liberty to believe my substance does not lie all in the beauty of my body.
3. I can feel beautiful wearing flattering jeans or dresses, but I also feel graceful being covered under my hijab. Sometimes, I find modesty is all I need in the day to feel good about myself.
4. I wish I could have a man to love by my side. But many times I feel so because I think how great a life can be to share all your dreams together with someone you love, not because I cannot stand being alone or lost in the world. Love is a gift to give, not a cure to a disease.
5. Certainly having fun means living a full life. But fun does not necessarily constitutes loud noises or superficial acquaintances. There are so many people out there in the world who seems to be having fun 24/7 but they are broken inside. Sometimes we forget as a human being, sadness, loneliness, and imperfection are but a part of life and sometimes they are not all our fault. Sometime being happy means allowing yourself a slack to let the world go round without you and retreat into yourself to find that smiling heart again.
2. Of course I adore making up my hair, but sometimes cutting them short allow me the liberty to believe my substance does not lie all in the beauty of my body.
3. I can feel beautiful wearing flattering jeans or dresses, but I also feel graceful being covered under my hijab. Sometimes, I find modesty is all I need in the day to feel good about myself.
4. I wish I could have a man to love by my side. But many times I feel so because I think how great a life can be to share all your dreams together with someone you love, not because I cannot stand being alone or lost in the world. Love is a gift to give, not a cure to a disease.
5. Certainly having fun means living a full life. But fun does not necessarily constitutes loud noises or superficial acquaintances. There are so many people out there in the world who seems to be having fun 24/7 but they are broken inside. Sometimes we forget as a human being, sadness, loneliness, and imperfection are but a part of life and sometimes they are not all our fault. Sometime being happy means allowing yourself a slack to let the world go round without you and retreat into yourself to find that smiling heart again.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Work Like a Dog, Eat Like a Pig
Okay, it is not entirely true. Because when I'm working I'm on high, and being on high to me is equivalent to being distressed. When I'm distressed, I retreat and I only eat when my stomach is at the edge of collapsing. I've been eating whatever I have in the fridge in the past week, and if you wonder what it is, it consist of egg in one way or another.
Half-boiled egg, omelette, french toast - and pancakes, of course, because out of one egg and one cup of flour I can make up to five pancakes, which covers me for breakfast and lunch.
As of now, I am finishing an assignment reviewing a research done on public attitudes towards electricity alternatives - an applied social research. Ever wonder where all those knowledge of primers, polymerase and DNA sequencing go? Certainly not in evaluating whether people have designed questionnaires or interview questions with enough clarity.
Life works in mysterious ways, I certainly and ardently hope.
My schedule will be filled with events throughout the impending semester break. The backpacking trip to Canberra and Melbourne, Sydney Film Festival, the remaining law assignments, and Power Shift. A relaxing one too, I hope despite all the excitements. I am simply looking forward to put both my feet up and read as much books as I can.
Half-boiled egg, omelette, french toast - and pancakes, of course, because out of one egg and one cup of flour I can make up to five pancakes, which covers me for breakfast and lunch.
As of now, I am finishing an assignment reviewing a research done on public attitudes towards electricity alternatives - an applied social research. Ever wonder where all those knowledge of primers, polymerase and DNA sequencing go? Certainly not in evaluating whether people have designed questionnaires or interview questions with enough clarity.
Life works in mysterious ways, I certainly and ardently hope.
My schedule will be filled with events throughout the impending semester break. The backpacking trip to Canberra and Melbourne, Sydney Film Festival, the remaining law assignments, and Power Shift. A relaxing one too, I hope despite all the excitements. I am simply looking forward to put both my feet up and read as much books as I can.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
The Most Enlightening Lecture
"Culture, religion, ideologies are not immutable phenomenon"
We were talking about international governance last week. John Merson, the director of our school showed us how a mutual interest or concern can trascend differences or divides between nations. He also showed us the potential impact of climate change in 15-30 years, as I saw from the map, if unmitigated, Malaysia is included in the red region where the increasing sea levels will practically submerge our peninsular.
A sovereign nation, lost into the sea. I wonder if anyone in our government is taking notice about this?
If you ask me about my lecturers in UNSW, one notable example I found in them is they are actively involved with what's going on out there. Whether they have worked in industries in a long time and then found themselves teaching with the impending of their retirement age, like my teacher who used to serve in the Department of Premier and Cabinet of NSW, or they possess enough expertise to being called as one of the consulting members in the government decision.
When we talk about solid waste management, my lecturer will draw upon his experience working with industries around Sydney, if we talk about water quality, my lecturer will show how water authorities works around NSW - and in my observation, this familiarity creates both the importance and urgency of what we as students doing in the course. Real-world problems, real-world solutions.
I think somehow the course is shaping itself before me now, and I feel more confident about the direction I am heading in near future. The only question is, how big is the barrier I have to break and bridge waiting for me in my homeland?
John Merson
We were talking about international governance last week. John Merson, the director of our school showed us how a mutual interest or concern can trascend differences or divides between nations. He also showed us the potential impact of climate change in 15-30 years, as I saw from the map, if unmitigated, Malaysia is included in the red region where the increasing sea levels will practically submerge our peninsular.
A sovereign nation, lost into the sea. I wonder if anyone in our government is taking notice about this?
If you ask me about my lecturers in UNSW, one notable example I found in them is they are actively involved with what's going on out there. Whether they have worked in industries in a long time and then found themselves teaching with the impending of their retirement age, like my teacher who used to serve in the Department of Premier and Cabinet of NSW, or they possess enough expertise to being called as one of the consulting members in the government decision.
When we talk about solid waste management, my lecturer will draw upon his experience working with industries around Sydney, if we talk about water quality, my lecturer will show how water authorities works around NSW - and in my observation, this familiarity creates both the importance and urgency of what we as students doing in the course. Real-world problems, real-world solutions.
I think somehow the course is shaping itself before me now, and I feel more confident about the direction I am heading in near future. The only question is, how big is the barrier I have to break and bridge waiting for me in my homeland?
Sunday, May 24, 2009
A Review of Everything
I watched Angels and Demons last night. A lot better than the Da Vinci Code, definitely. It made me re-think how Dan Brown managed to bring the debate of science and religion to the open, and it reminds me of Salman Rushdie recollection of his scholarly father introspecting the Quran.
That was old time, the glorious era of pluralism and healthy debate.
The assignment for reviewing the technology on energy is highly stimulating, I find. Somehow knowing the decision maker is asking your opinion about what should be done is comforting. Although I know I should not be too innocent, surely public participation - in the real world cannot escape the politics of power.
Nevertheless, I want to avoid being too much of a cynic.
I finished reading Eat, Pray, Love. Wise, but I think it must be difficult for any human being not to be a tad too self-absorbed, which is what happened with the memoir. Surely I would like to believe how God can reach out to me in any ways, but trascending and colliding with Him as one? I am yet to experience it.
Now the question of God Himself - is a subject I avoid thinking about these days.
The school is ending in two weeks, now don't you think how fast time flies? I'm coming home in six months. I'm not sure what awaits me, but I try not to fret too much. For all of you know, how much I fret.
That was old time, the glorious era of pluralism and healthy debate.
The assignment for reviewing the technology on energy is highly stimulating, I find. Somehow knowing the decision maker is asking your opinion about what should be done is comforting. Although I know I should not be too innocent, surely public participation - in the real world cannot escape the politics of power.
Nevertheless, I want to avoid being too much of a cynic.
I finished reading Eat, Pray, Love. Wise, but I think it must be difficult for any human being not to be a tad too self-absorbed, which is what happened with the memoir. Surely I would like to believe how God can reach out to me in any ways, but trascending and colliding with Him as one? I am yet to experience it.
Now the question of God Himself - is a subject I avoid thinking about these days.
The school is ending in two weeks, now don't you think how fast time flies? I'm coming home in six months. I'm not sure what awaits me, but I try not to fret too much. For all of you know, how much I fret.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
I lead a small, but valuable life
Ada orang tanya apa sudah jadi dengan cita-cita berapi saya yang macam-macam dulu?
Kadang-kadang bila orang sudah biasa mengukur diri saya atas mimpi-mimpi yang saya pernah simpan, penat juga mahu bawa mereka kembali ke masa sekarang, dan bawa mereka lihat siapa saya yang sebenarnya di sini.
Kadang-kadang bila orang sudah biasa lihat sisi kita yang satu itu, kadang-kadang mereka lupa bahawa dalam diri kita sebenarnya ada banyak sisi. People tend to choose to see things which suits their worldview.
Fair enough, tapi bukan kerja saya memuaskan hati semua orang.
Saya belajar, saya buat kerja, saya habiskan masa dengan kawan-kawan, saya masak, saya baca buku, saya berkenalan dengan orang baru, saya ketawa dengan ibu, saya menyanyi dengan anak kecil, saya sedih dan saya menangis - I have a full life, but my life is not measured in your eyes. Not necessarily.
Kadang-kadang bila orang sudah biasa mengukur diri saya atas mimpi-mimpi yang saya pernah simpan, penat juga mahu bawa mereka kembali ke masa sekarang, dan bawa mereka lihat siapa saya yang sebenarnya di sini.
Kadang-kadang bila orang sudah biasa lihat sisi kita yang satu itu, kadang-kadang mereka lupa bahawa dalam diri kita sebenarnya ada banyak sisi. People tend to choose to see things which suits their worldview.
Fair enough, tapi bukan kerja saya memuaskan hati semua orang.
Saya belajar, saya buat kerja, saya habiskan masa dengan kawan-kawan, saya masak, saya baca buku, saya berkenalan dengan orang baru, saya ketawa dengan ibu, saya menyanyi dengan anak kecil, saya sedih dan saya menangis - I have a full life, but my life is not measured in your eyes. Not necessarily.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Winter Comes Softly
The chill is becoming increasingly unbearable. But every day as I sit at my table and watch the world goes by from my room - little birds hopping around for food, butterflies chasing one another, mothers pushing the trolleys with their baby inside, young men and women in love with each other, a bus goes and another comes - I feel safe and warm inside.
I find it amazing how little nooks and crannies of this place is becoming more and more a part of me - and the fact that it actually makes up only a fraction of my life doesn't matter. The memory of home, the places where I once grew up and bled love - are becoming more and more distant and far away. New faces come into my life, while old ones are becoming only a freckle of memory, like the last spot you see before the screen on television fades away.
Although I must say sometimes I feel a tinge of greed and agitation. The remembrance of those who had taken pieces of my heart, and never returned it inflames me. People who had caused pain to those who are dear to me enrages me. History which I cannot change infuriates me. The world, and its forever unsolvable riddle - frustrates me and makes me lose my faith.
This love, this pain, this contradiction of all things - makes me wish winter comes softly. Come now - envelope me with coldness, shiver my restless soul, throw some iciness on my anger, and freeze my impulsive desire. I want to be buried under endless snow - cold, quiet, and at peace.
I find it amazing how little nooks and crannies of this place is becoming more and more a part of me - and the fact that it actually makes up only a fraction of my life doesn't matter. The memory of home, the places where I once grew up and bled love - are becoming more and more distant and far away. New faces come into my life, while old ones are becoming only a freckle of memory, like the last spot you see before the screen on television fades away.
Although I must say sometimes I feel a tinge of greed and agitation. The remembrance of those who had taken pieces of my heart, and never returned it inflames me. People who had caused pain to those who are dear to me enrages me. History which I cannot change infuriates me. The world, and its forever unsolvable riddle - frustrates me and makes me lose my faith.
This love, this pain, this contradiction of all things - makes me wish winter comes softly. Come now - envelope me with coldness, shiver my restless soul, throw some iciness on my anger, and freeze my impulsive desire. I want to be buried under endless snow - cold, quiet, and at peace.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Don't Think of An Elephant
1. I think there is a definitive boundary between talking about something interesting and talking about something to make your conversation interesting. Sex is not something new, we all know that. And it's not something extra-terrestrial either.
2. It revolted me when people talk about prostitution and homosexuality as if it's a freak of nature. There are women who had to go for sex without protection and risk themselves to be infected with HIV because that's the way they can feed their family, or because their husbands have been sleeping around. There are young girls who are being forced into prostitution to pay the debt of their family. There are queer people who face years of isolation because their own family cannot accept who they are regardless of they've become. No, prostitution and homosexuality do not make an intriguing topic for conversation.
3. Lastly, I find it sad when we got trapped into the pattern of thinking we so carefully avoid. It will not do to justify why men think of women only as sexually desired objects simply because they have one part desire and ninety nine parts brain while women have ninety nine parts desire and one part brain. Because trust me, I've found enough men who are half-baked that I'd never dream of exchanging my one part brain to their ninety nine parts. No thanks.
2. It revolted me when people talk about prostitution and homosexuality as if it's a freak of nature. There are women who had to go for sex without protection and risk themselves to be infected with HIV because that's the way they can feed their family, or because their husbands have been sleeping around. There are young girls who are being forced into prostitution to pay the debt of their family. There are queer people who face years of isolation because their own family cannot accept who they are regardless of they've become. No, prostitution and homosexuality do not make an intriguing topic for conversation.
3. Lastly, I find it sad when we got trapped into the pattern of thinking we so carefully avoid. It will not do to justify why men think of women only as sexually desired objects simply because they have one part desire and ninety nine parts brain while women have ninety nine parts desire and one part brain. Because trust me, I've found enough men who are half-baked that I'd never dream of exchanging my one part brain to their ninety nine parts. No thanks.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Many Sips of Cintapuccino
Seputar kopi hitam pekat, dilembutkan dengan percikan susu panas. Naskhah lama Persuasion, berkulit keras dan berlapuk kuning, dibacakan sepanjang perjalanan dalam keretapi hingga sakit belakang. Borak panjang, footsies, dan guitarra Espanola. Naik basikal di tepi pantai, a sleep under the stars.
Kalau saya boleh buat concoction sendiri untuk cerita romantik saya, inilah resipinya.
I am a hopeless romantic, saya akui itu. But being the most objective person in the world apparently contradicts these dreams. Bila kawan-kawan saya buat ujian tentang apa kriteria yang saya cari dalam lelaki idaman saya, intellect comes at the top.
Sebetulnya, saya percaya there is more to life than just a tale of sweet love and heartbreaks.
Macam kawan saya kata, cerita-cerita cinta agung itu hebat sebab ia menggoncang dunia.
Kalau saya boleh buat concoction sendiri untuk cerita romantik saya, inilah resipinya.
I am a hopeless romantic, saya akui itu. But being the most objective person in the world apparently contradicts these dreams. Bila kawan-kawan saya buat ujian tentang apa kriteria yang saya cari dalam lelaki idaman saya, intellect comes at the top.
Sebetulnya, saya percaya there is more to life than just a tale of sweet love and heartbreaks.
Macam kawan saya kata, cerita-cerita cinta agung itu hebat sebab ia menggoncang dunia.
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