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.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
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.
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