Monsoon in Putrajaya

Seeking inconstant

2012-01-26T17:58:00.000+08:00

The plane was descending through the clear clouds. It was early morning, and as the countries beneath her begin to take shape, she was gripped with an ironic sense of longing and nostalgia.

She has done it a thousand times, since she was ten or earlier, she couldn't really remember. Taking off and touching down, packing and unpacking, sitting in the unmoving transit of arrivals and departures.

Her life is discontinuous tales of hellos and goodbyes, and she knows no other way of living. She never stays, she seeks inconstant.

Break your heart open so new light can get in

2012-01-21T00:33:00.002+08:00

“People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that's what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life.

A true soul mate is probably the most important person you'll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then leave.

A soul mates purpose is to shake you up, tear apart your ego a little bit, show you your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light can get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you have to transform your life, then introduce you to your spiritual master...”
― Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

Do what brings you joy

2012-01-09T09:07:00.003+08:00

"Do what brings you joy”, was the holiday message of Money Rabbit, and I concur.

The foreboding sense of a new year falling upon us, and the 2011 which came to an end in a split second has left me wondering about my life – and put me in contemplative mode of what-have-I-achieved-so-far and have-I-done-enough-for-my life.

2010, when I first started work – feels like a long time ago. 2009, when I left Australia almost seems like never happened.

Life has slowed down a great deal in 2011. As a compulsive achiever who is always greedy to get to the next point in her life, it means a lot to me.

However, to say my life has come to a standstill is probably inaccurate. It was not going forward outwardly (in the sense of adding new stuffs to my life portfolio – new degrees, new house, new friends, new jobs, etc.), but I ended up creating and expanding a lot of space inside me.

Looking back now, I am beginning to see 2011 is my year of great de-cluttering.

I learned to make peace with moving through life at a slower pace, I learned to appreciate how being here and now is enough.

I recognised and accepted the realities of my relationships with everyone around me, why some is working while others not. I learned a lesson on ownership and entitlement; I do not own people, and I'm not entitled to own people.

The result was a liberating experience. I feel light. Accepting I alone am responsible for the direction of my life, while at the same time recognising there are always larger things at play in influencing the course of my life - allows me the simplicity of taking one step at a time.

Every day, every decision I make; I choose joy, I choose empathy, I choose love.

It's not easy, sometimes I carelessly chose anger and vengeance, but I am learning.

Latent happiness

2011-11-03T18:07:00.000+08:00

"So, instead of actively trying to make places, or people, happier, perhaps we'd be better off heeding the advice of Canadian author Robertson Davies: 'If you are not happy you had better stop worrying about it and see what treasures you can pluck from your own brand of unhappiness.'"

- Eric Weiner, in The Geography of Bliss

Like the Mars bar. Dark and convoluted on the outside, but latently happy on the inside.

A different side of Jakarta

2011-10-28T15:45:00.002+08:00

I am writing from the luxurious comfort of Jakarta Le Meridien's lobby. Outside, guards in uniform stand by the electronic scanner, greeting every guest who walks in with a generous smile.

By experience, I know every vehicle which comes in will suffer the same fate too. Policemen with their metal detectors will stop each and every one of them, asking to see every guest's face by insisting the driver to lower down all windows.

Inside, men in suits walk around with one hand in their pockets - looking at the same time important but carefree. As if they own the world. The clacking sounds of high heels distract me, a celebrity-looking woman walks past with her head held high, with men trailing behind her like ducklings following their hen mother.

I came to Jakarta with expectations, and none of them has been met so far.

Why is it, when we want to do something good, it has to be confined within the boundaries of existing systems or institutions?

For three days, eating inappropriately overpriced food, sitting around in an unnaturally regulated room temperature, we speak of how we want to try to save the world and change humanity. Granted, millions have been spent for lower income groups who is supposed to be our beneficiaries, plans for policies are underway to ensure more sustainable and equitable world.

But are we doing the right thing? Who are we actually benefiting? Who do we eventually leave feeling good, our beneficiaries or ourselves?

I know I'm supposed to be inspired, but at the end of it all, I think I'm left feeling more disenchanted than ever.

And Jakarta feels like a date gone wrong. I'll have to come back, next time.

Indeterminate changes

2011-10-16T20:44:00.000+08:00

A lot of things did not happened - my spelunking trip to Gua Tempurung was postponed to next month. I missed the Big Bad Wolf Book Sale which ran for fourteen days next door to my office. I put off visiting an ex-colleague and her newborn son for indeterminate days. After an enthusiastic beginning, my blog was left untended for nearly a month.

But a lot of things happened too - I went on day trip to Kota Tinggi to visit an uncle. Although I was never really quite one who is attached to family, visiting my elderly relatives brought a certain weight to my reality.

No man is an island, and life is always a legacy passed from one to another.

I had numerous sessions of much needed talk with my friends over the week, planned and unplanned. It's heartening to learn despite our sporadic encounters these days, our bonds continues to reinforce. Especially looking at my friend's kids, their hands holding on to us like they have known us all along, made me realise how there are always larger things at work in life.

The wonders of life, the wonders in living - how we are all connected to one another, by blood, by experience, by memories.

In the meantime, work has taken hold of my life almost entirely. But I am enjoying it. I meet new people every day, and they in turn enrich my experience, professionally and personally.

From time to time I keep thinking, even though at the beginning I wasn't certain what I'm supposed to do - I'm beginning to see what I'm doing now is what I'm meant to do, all along.

Work-life balance is a myth

2011-09-24T21:02:00.000+08:00

“There’s no such thing as work-life balance, but there are work-life choices, and you make them, and they have consequences.” Jack Welch, former CEO of General Electric.

When I had the blog up and running earlier in the week, I was in full resolve to put more effort in writing on my own in addition to my 9am-to-5pm job. I even took out the correspondence course pack I has subscribed to in 2009 (I went as far as submitting the first assignment and worked half way through the second one). I was determined to continue where I left off.

It wasn't as much about making extra money than pushing myself to reach my full potential - I know I have it in me to write.

But what do I know? Coinciding my new resolve is a big month at work. We have our annual results-oriented monitoring (ROM) coming up in October and project partners are visiting from overseas. There are reports to complete, visits to arrange, and on top of these new tasks - our day-to-day project management activities.

Even though I would have preferred to glue myself to desk to finish my outstanding tasks, there are times when we have to fulfill casual business invitations - which means a couple of hours of business (or empty) chats over coffee. Even though I would have liked to be left alone to finish the jobs assigned to me, there are times when I have to invest my time in training new staffs and managing my superiors. Ad hoc tasks crop up, and I'm responsible to see them through.

We are in the services industry, and our business is about people, people and people.

When I thought I could go to work during the day and be back at home by 7 pm every day to continue with my writing in the evening, and how it's going to be my daily routine - I was deeply mistaken.

There are days when we ended our meeting at 8.30 pm and I wasn't home until 9. Even when I reached home at 7.30, I would be too tired I basically crawled through bath, heating up dinner and reading a few pages of my book of the month before I drifted off to sleep - laden with nightmares about our impending conferences.

Most days the only people I talked to are people at work, and when I go home there is nothing I crave more than quietness and time on my own.

Even though I love my work, and I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world right now (except an offer to work with elephants in Africa or orang utan in Sabah) - but still I wonder, how do other people do it? How do you make sure you have the best of both worlds?

Looking forward looking backward

2011-08-24T08:19:00.000+08:00

The pain never really goes away. They are less defined now, but when they come they grip her strong like a drowning body.

Like yesterday, when she was doing the dishes, she was struck by lightning memories of him; him standing in the kitchen, him speaking on the phone while she was putting away the groceries she just bought, him teasing her about the craziness of her work.

They are only sliver of memories, but their sudden outburst in her mind - like fireworks, when she is already on the verge of forgetting him, the verge of moving on from the endless thought of him during the day and the sight of him in her dreams at night - made her kneel down on the floor, right there in the kitchen, to catch her breath and her sudden dizziness.

She wish she could end it all by ending herself.

How much stuffs do you need?

2011-08-18T12:23:00.005+08:00

"The golden rule...is resolutely to refuse to have what the millions cannot." - Mahatma Gandhi

Probably the image (and the philosophy) which has made a lasting impression on me was when I watched Gandhi, the 1982 film famously brought alive by Ben Kingsley. My friend, who had been in India several months before, showed me the house where Gandhi lived, and told me how in his death, Gandhi only had steel rimmed glasses, a pair of sandals, a Zenith pocket watch, an eating bowl and a plate as his worldly possessions.

Could one live like Gandhi? It may be extreme. But his philosophy remains, we should not own more than what we need.

Last night I decided to take an inventory of the stuffs I own (excluding household furniture, kitchen utensils and appliances, personal care products, and books):

5 pairs of work pants (1 pair from 2006, 1 pair from 2008, 3 pairs from 2010),
2 pairs of jeans (both from 2007),
10 work/casual tops (All from 2010),
5 pairs of baju kurung (3 pairs from 2010, 2 pairs from 2011),
3 pairs of running/hiking pants (2 pairs from 2008, 1 pair from 2011),
3 pairs of pyjama pants (2 pairs from 2009, 1 pair hand-me-down),
2 pairs of skirts (both from 2009)
10 t-shirts (3 from 2011, 2 from 2010, the rest from 2009 or before),
2 cardigans
20 scarves (2 from 2011, 10 from 2010, 6 from 2008 or before, 2 gifts)
3 pairs of socks (2011),
1 pair of running shoes (2011),
2 pair of work shoes (2011),
1 pair of flip flops (hand-me-down),
1 handbag (hand-me-down),
2 backpacks (1 hand-me-down, 1 from 2011),
1 suitcase (hand-me-down),
1 laptop (a gift)
1 iPod (a gift)
1 DVD reader (a gift)
1 handphone (from 2008)
1 speaker (hand-me-down)
1 headphone (gift)
1 wallet (gift)
1 belt (from 2010)
1 blazer (from 2007, rarely used)
1 winter jacket (from 2009, only used overseas)
1 cap (from 2009, used for running)
2 watches (gifts)
2 bracelet (gifts)
2 cloth bangles (from 2010)
1 pair of glasses (from 2007)
1 box of pins and brooches
5 ethnic purses/bags (4 souvenirs from friends/colleagues, 1 from 2009)
2 canvas tote (gifts)
3 jewellery boxes (gifts)
1 2 men-tent (from 2010)
1 sleeping bag (from 2007)
1 rechargeable camping lantern (from 2009)
1 P1 4G Wiggy (from 2011)
1 classical guitar (from 2009)
1 guitar stand (from 2009)
1 guitar tuner (from 2009)
1 aboriginal art (from 2009)
2 pieces of thimble (from 2009)
3 pieces of Etsy artworks (from 2009)
1 prayer mat (hand-me-down)
1 pair of prayer shawl (gift)
1 scientific calculator (hand-me-down)
1 tumbler (from 2011)

I know I probably own less stuff than most peers (or women) my own age, but I also know there are still a lot of stuffs I could do without, stuffs that I bought at a moment's notice which I don't need at all (like the frilly top I bought in Malacca or the lacy top I bought online - they only look good on me indoor). I am also grateful to receive most of my more expensive possessions (laptop, iPod, watches, handbag, wallet) as gifts, but sometimes I can't help but talked myself into buying fancy things like IKEA white photo frames where I put pictures of my friends, or artworks on books or coffee from Etsy.

Trying to make a living, and trying to make a "life" are two different things. Living, shopping, owning stuffs, are all different and separate things, and it's a philosophy I'm continuously trying to learn and embrace as I grow older.

How much stuffs do you own? Are they all needs and wants? How do you distinguish them?

Little pockets of life

2011-08-12T15:41:00.003+08:00

Last night, a friend asked, 'so what do you usually do after work?''.

We were winding down in the car after an alumni meeting and dinner (my first, his 5th). After a crash ice-breaking session with a lot of people I've never met before, and few rounds of game, I found the quiet atmosphere in the car welcoming (relieving even).

'So what do you usually do after work?' His voice stirred the stupor around me. 'Where do you hang out?' I straightened up, braced myself to give the inevitable answer - needless to say, it's not my favourite question.

"Go home, cook dinner, laze about reading books or get online..." I let my sentence teeter, silence hung between us like curtain.

"So, basically you don't hang around much." He spoke the words with a hint of finality to them, as if concluding the entire conversation. I smiled.

Acceptance is a small, quiet room

2011-08-05T14:41:00.000+08:00

I've become a frequent (and loyal) reader of Dear Sugar, and I fell in love right off the bat with the letter she wrote for her 20-something year old self I'm sharing it with you, you and you:

Dear Seeking Wisdom,

Stop worrying about whether you’re fat. You’re not fat. Or rather, you’re sometimes a little bit fat, but who gives a shit? There is nothing more boring and fruitless than a woman lamenting the fact that her stomach is round. Feed yourself. Literally. The sort of people worthy of your love will love you more for this, sweet pea.

In the middle of the night in the middle of your twenties when your best woman friend crawls naked into your bed, straddles you, and says, You should run away from me before I devour you, believe her.

You are not a terrible person for wanting to break up with someone you love. You don’t need a reason to leave. Wanting to leave is enough. Leaving doesn’t mean you’re incapable of real love or that you’ll never love anyone else again. It doesn’t mean you’re morally bankrupt or psychologically demented or a nymphomaniac. It means you wish to change the terms of one particular relationship. That’s all. Be brave enough to break your own heart.

When that really sweet but fucked up gay couple invites you over to their cool apartment to do ecstasy with them, say no.

There are some things you can’t understand yet. Your life will be a great and continuous unfolding. It’s good you’ve worked hard to resolve childhood issues while in your twenties, but understand that what you resolve will need to be resolved again. And again. You will come to know things that can only be known with the wisdom of age and the grace of years. Most of those things will have to do with forgiveness.

One evening you will be rolling around on the wooden floor of your apartment with a man who will tell you he doesn’t have a condom. You will smile in this spunky way that you think is hot and tell him to fuck you anyway. This will be a mistake for which you alone will pay.

Don’t lament so much about how your career is going to turn out. You don’t have a career. You have a life. Do the work. Keep the faith. Be true blue. You are a writer because you write. Keep writing and quit your bitching. Your book has a birthday. You don’t know what it is yet.

You cannot convince people to love you. This is an absolute rule. No one will ever give you love because you want him or her to give it. Real love moves freely in both directions. Don’t waste your time on anything else.

Most things will be okay eventually, but not everything will be. Sometimes you’ll put up a good fight and lose. Sometimes you’ll hold on really hard and realize there is no choice but to let go. Acceptance is a small, quiet room.

One hot afternoon during the era in which you’ve gotten yourself ridiculously tangled up with heroin you will be riding the bus and thinking what a worthless piece of crap you are when a little girl will get on the bus holding the strings of two purple balloons. She’ll offer you one of the balloons, but you won’t take it because you believe you no longer have a right to such tiny beautiful things. You’re wrong. You do.

Your assumptions about the lives of others are in direct relation to your naïve pomposity. Many people you believe to be rich are not rich. Many people you think have it easy worked hard for what they got. Many people who seem to be gliding right along have suffered and are suffering. Many people who appear to you to be old and stupidly saddled down with kids and cars and houses were once every bit as hip and pompous as you.

When you meet a man in the doorway of a Mexican restaurant who later kisses you while explaining that this kiss doesn’t “mean anything” because, much as he likes you, he is not interested in having a relationship with you or anyone right now, just laugh and kiss him back. Your daughter will have his sense of humor. Your son will have his eyes.

The useless days will add up to something. The shitty waitressing jobs. The hours writing in your journal. The long meandering walks. The hours reading poetry and story collections and novels and dead people’s diaries and wondering about sex and God and whether you should shave under your arms or not. These things are your becoming.

One Christmas at the very beginning of your twenties when your mother gives you a warm coat that she saved for months to buy, don’t look at her skeptically after she tells you she thought the coat was perfect for you. Don’t hold it up and say it’s longer than you like your coats to be and too puffy and possibly even too warm. Your mother will be dead by spring. That coat will be the last gift she gave you. You will regret the small thing you didn’t say for the rest of your life.

Say thank you.

Yours,
Sugar

Unexpected moments

2011-08-03T13:28:00.007+08:00

August #Reverb11 prompt asked, describe an unexpected moment, activity, sighting or conversation that touched you during July.

I thought how appropriate the question is, since July had presented me with so many unexpected moments that in the course of one month I've learned about myself and other people more than I had in one year.

Firstly, a friend of mine told me he is getting married, and he told me in such gentleness I broke down and let myself weep like I never had in a long time. He has been one source of constants in my life since I came home, and his ever-present words give me an anchor for a life I'm trying to build (and believe in).

For a moment, I felt like a sinking ship, a ship lost in raging seas, a blind navigator.

How easy it is to take your old wounds for granted, to think you have the world as your oyster, to think happiness as something definite when pain, sorrow, and lost are just as essential parts of life.

"Whatever relationships you have attracted in your life at this moment, are precisely the ones you need in your life at this moment. There is a hidden meaning behind all events, and this hidden meaning is serving your own evolution." - Deepak Chopra

Secondly, prior to my friend's revelation, for the first time in a long time, I attempted to speak to god again. The act was done in rage, in resignation, in confusion - I just looked up at the sky and demanded god to listen to me, to tell me what it is I'm supposed to do, to show me a sign.

And he did. And despite my dysfunctional relationship with him, I think the sentence, "I've never believed in God, but I do believe in his love." echoes my sentiment about god for now.

Thirdly, I had to let go of one relationship which depletes me of my energy and emotions. Again, on the contrary to previous cases, the situation amazes me at how easy (or for the use of a better word, accepting) I was in making the decision.

I've had a glorious share of the relationship and I want to preserve it as it was. I believe the relationship has served its purpose and I'm allowing it to do the same to other people.

Although parting of hearts is always hard, and telling a cold hard truth may not always be comfortable, I hope in making the decision, I did it out of love - for myself, and for them.

"People don't leave because things are hard. They leave because it's no longer worth it."

I'm laying my burden down. I'm owning my own choices. I'm in charge of my own life.

Learning to live with myself

2011-08-01T00:02:00.000+08:00

“I need to be alone. I need to ponder my shame and my despair in seclusion; I need the sunshine and the paving stones of the streets without companions, without conversation, face to face with myself, with only the music of my heart for company.”
— Henry Miller

Living my word (accept) is proving to be wearisome. The more I open myself to it, the more I discover there are a lot of things about my life which needs resolving.

In the spirit of fasting month, I am abstaining myself from the pleasure of society. I am going to use every spare time I have finishing my books (Carduroy Mansions, Juliet Naked, Geography of Bliss, The Case for God, The Life of Gandhi, among others), running, and writing.

The rest of the time, until 'eid comes, will be spent pondering life and tending my little garden. It's time I learn to accept my own aloneness.

When we are no longer ourselves

2011-07-27T09:21:00.002+08:00

"The first is the recognition that the great mystery is not death but birth, not that someone loved is now gone but that the person was here at all. The great gift is life and loving and being loved in return. In this way love is stronger than death."
- Arthur Dobrin in "Grief Feels Like You're Going Crazy"

Just not tonight, but someday

2011-07-24T15:38:00.001+08:00

What happens when you let go?

2011-07-17T20:46:00.004+08:00

She was walking past the throngs of people in the cafeteria when she saw him, face bright with laughter and smile and indifference.

She had stopped by to get dinner after a satisfying run. It had been a busy week. She hadn't been home earlier than 9 o'clock in the evening in the past 5 days, and she had just got home after a day trip down south for a consultation session with one of her project stakeholders. She was looking forward for a quiet evening with no disruption to her daily routine life.

She was upset with him, and was intent to avoid him at all cost. Throughout the week she has been berating herself for bringing such disappointment unto her own life when she knows fully well her own folly and misgivings.

She hates to make mistakes, but she keeps repeating them.

"You're just as hard on yourself as you are on others." She had heard the line in a movie somewhere, and she felt for the subject of such comment, because she understood what it feels like to have such urge for perfection hovering over her since forever.

She was walking past the throngs of people in the cafeteria when she saw him, face bright with laughter and smile and indifference, and her world stood stock-still.

Where are the young?

2011-07-13T15:23:00.006+08:00

Here's a situation:

Rural communities in Cambodia rely on charcoal production as one of their sources for income. The process technology is inefficient, the only wood they get from is through illegal logging, and due to the inefficient production process, the profit margin is small - even though charcoal production contributes to more than 50% of the community's income.

Then comes GERES (Groupe Energies Renouvelables, Environnement et Solidarités) - who introduced and built the Yoshimura kiln for the Cambodian rural households, managed to increase the production efficiency to 30% (less wood is used to produce the same amount of charcoal) and to improve and further standardize the charcoal products to be sold at premium (and higher) price.

Additionally, Yoshimura kiln generates wood vinegar as by-products of the charcoal production process, which can be sold at the supermarket for cooking and agriculture purposes.

From an individually manipulative and environmentally degrading process, the project turn around what is a major economic activity of the Cambodian rural community into a social enterprise project.

I learned about the project from a training organised by the Italian Trade Commission, the presenter was a young man, perhaps no more 5 years older than myself. His presentation was enthusiastically received, and as I was sitting there, listening to his interactive debate with the audience, I looked around and saw among other, palm oil veterans and university professors, I thought to myself; where are the young?

Where are our young?

Harvesting basil

2011-07-07T19:18:00.006+08:00

I am turning my fingers green. Bought a small basil plant last week and every day now when I wake up I leap out of bed to see if the plant is still alive.

Been experimenting with watering and mulching the soil, and thanks to the much-needed guidance from Google, the plant is still alive and sprouting new buds. Yesterday with much excitement I harvested some of the leaves to make baked pasta with mozarella.

The recipe to serve 2;

Preheat oven. Chop half of a white onion with two garlic and a chilli, sautee in olive oil. Put in some salt and pepper to taste, and pour in a can of plum tomato (chopped finely, crushed or blended). Tear in the basil leaves and let the sauce simmer. Cook pasta accordingly and toss with the sauce when done. Layer the pasta with Parmesan and mozzarella cheese and pop into the oven to cook until the cheese is golden and yummy.

A quick and simple recipe, and a good attempt for those who are trying to go vegetarian in their meals because the mozzarella cheese definitely provides the wholesome and proteinaceous quality of meat.

For varieties, the baked pasta can be decoratively (and nutritiously) added with zucchini or eggplant, roasted on stove with olive oil with a dash of salt and pepper.

Learning to live without

2011-07-06T13:44:00.006+08:00

Umair Haque says 'the "best" investment you can make isn't gold. It's the people you love, the dreams you have, and living a life that matters'.

Does it sounds simple and a tad too idealistic? Perhaps, but the truth is too often glaring and obvious we overlook them for something more - bigger, better, and bolder.

Sometimes in the office I was thrown with questions like, 'would you like to buy a discounted Coach or LV handbags?', or 'did you see the Maurice Lacroix watch we passed by the other day? Do you remember how much did it cost?', and they exhaust me. Sometimes people will ask, 'wouldn't you like to apply for the Government jobs? Or with any other big firms? They would pay you better, they offer more benefits, they are more stable', and I get tongue-tied.

How do I explain to people, and to help them understand; I neither care nor wish for these things?

It is true, money has afforded me the liberty and independence to take control of my own life, and given my growing interest in personal finance - I would be lying to say I do not care about money. However, getting (dollar) rich, collecting expensive designer (junk), or living a luxurious life (at the expense of other people's survival) are not my life's goals.

'Craft your own recipes of eudaimonic wealth - riches that are made up of the stuff you probably can't buy, but have to earn: the stuff that people usually don't (and probably won't) sell, but can choose to freely bestow upon you, give to you, and keep in trust for you.'

It is up to you to give [life] a meaning

2011-06-24T22:01:00.001+08:00

"I am not what happened to me, I am what I choose to become" - Carl Jung

How many times a day do I find myself being angry at the world? How many times a day I was revisited by the ancient urge to hurl a red brick stone at somebody, for deceiving me, for disrespecting me, for rejecting me? How many times a day I am tempted to listen to the deepest and darkest voice in my head, which lurks around, ready to spring at a moment's notice - to take the forbidden path, to let go, without a care to the world, without remembering those I love the most?

They are too many to count, and the thing about growing up, the thing about having chosen my own path - is that my life becomes my own responsibility. The fear, the hurt, the anger, the frustration, the sadness; are no one else's but mine.

So every time, when I'm confronted with the same situation over and over again, I have to consider my choices - to revert back to my old self, and risk facing the same result, the same pattern, or to move forward, to see the beauty in everyday life and even though I am at the mercy of the unknown, of the unfamiliar - at least I'm not repeating, or victimised by, the same vicious cycle.

I am not giving up on you, life, not yet.

The trouble with being small

2011-06-23T19:48:00.004+08:00

I always get tongue-tied when people ask about what I do at work. What comes out of my mouth are usually a mumbo-jumbo of words which so often leave people even more perplexed. The conversation usually goes like this;

"So where are you working? Putrajaya. Which Ministry/Department? Oh, no. I work in the private sector. (Surprised look) Really, which company are you working with? It's a small company, we do management consulting and seminar/conference planning. (Feigned interest) Ah, so what kind of work/projects are you doing right now? Oh, um, I'm involved in this non-profit government-to-government initiative to promote the biomass industry. But you said you're not working with government. You're correct, I'm not, but we're engaged by the government to do this project. (Vigorous nodding followed by awkward silence)"

When I was in the university, I never thought of myself working with a small/medium-sized business. Partly because I think I'd always end up doing research and studying all my life, and eventually when I got the scholarship from the government - I thought my path is set in the public sector.

But I should've known, growing up and watching my father managed one of his companies he's working for with my mother and eldest brother, and few years of sleepover in his office whenever we come down to KL when I was younger, it is only natural I gravitate towards the same environment when I start my working life.

So I learned, no matter what your position is titled - when you're working for small-sized business - your job description is almost indefinable. Of course, you know what is your core skills and responsibilities (and eventually, you learn to maintain these as something only you can do in the organisation), but at the same time you need to be prepared to go beyond what is required of you. Because the truth is, there is no one else to do it.

There is also no clear hierarchy in small business. When your superior is present, then you normally assume your given role. But in small business we do not have the pleasure of time and space (let alone, budget) - so when (and often) your superior has to be elsewhere for a different project and you have to replace him or her for an equally essential task - you assume their role. Take charge and own the project as if it's your own.

My work today spanned from answering e-mails to one of our project's stakeholders, maintaining an updated list of participants for the upcoming seminar on renewable energy hosted by our partner, digging out statistics on the availability of oil palm waste in the country, rooting for information on latest government's incentives offered to small and medium businesses in green technology sector, participating in a short discussion about another conference in October, and organising (and attending) meetings for my boss with one of our member companies before I go home. Along the day, I had to figure out what I need to do to finalise the agreements between our project members and their consultants for eco-labelling and clean development exercises which we're funding.

Title-wise, I performed the tasks of a personal assistant, an event executive and a industry/market researcher.

The trouble with being small is you may end up doing three jobs but being paid for one, and the trouble with being small is you have to learn fast and be as agile with your roles as you are in relating to your colleagues or clients at work. The trouble with being small is you have to be prepared to take or leave what you're asked to do - because with the limited resources, there is little room for trying, and because honest to god, if you fail, there is no one else there to blame.

A year and more spent being in small business, and a couple of years to come (my project will not end until 2013) - I find that I have no trouble at all with being small.

To live frugal and green

2011-06-22T23:37:00.003+08:00

"We're living on the credit cards of future generation", so says Matthias Gelber, who was voted the Greenest Man on the Planet in 2008.

On the other hand, "everyone from the public, private sector and academia are looking to the government to change, we've got to stop it!", was the frustration cried by Gurmit Singh. Having worked and fought for environment as long as he did, it's a wonder the man never give up.

I was at the Green Business Forum today; reputed the leaders forum for green business. I chuckled easily when Gurmit Singh told the audience he refused to open the bottled water served on the table. "If you say you support green but you still serve the bottled water, then it's not green - it's greenwashing."

The forum was refreshing, a kick in the butt to keep reminding me why I'm here - in the industry of my own choosing. But above all, it serves as a reminder to my personal resolve in doing my part for the environment;

My earlier thoughts on environment stemmed from resource consumption and respecting nature - they're part and parcel of moral perfectibility. Which is why when the issue of climate change crop up, although it helped me understand the course of environmental history, it acts little as my impetus to continue working for environment. Nevertheless, my beliefs in it has never wavered - seeking to work in the biomass/renewable energy industry was a conscious decision, stopping to buy bottled water was a conscious decision, continuing to use my old battered Kancil was a conscious decision, trying to keep my electricity use below 80kWh/month was a conscious decision.

I still have a long way to go - my plastic and glass bottles still waiting to be sent to recycled centre, my used cooking oil is still well below its 1 litre mark, I am yet to set-up a proper recycling system in my kitchen. It can be daunting, but unless you are convinced that you're doing it for the right reasons, and not merely to jump on the green bandwagon, I'd say why not, take your time, go ahead. We all could do with less wastage.

Come hell or water high

2011-06-20T22:34:00.000+08:00

Writing please come to me like rain, I'm barren and tongue-tied and at a loss for the healing embracing power you offers me. Words please come to me like river, wash me, roll me over and take me away from these daunting waves of life and reality and dreams.

It's warm in Berlin

2011-06-07T22:00:00.002+08:00

The weather is warmer in Berlin than I thought it would be. And Charlottenburg, a quaint town on the outskirt of Berlin is a moderately quiet city with a charm of its own.

People rides their bike a lot around here, and in a lot of manners; from the most sporty to men in suits or scruffy young adults who look like they just got out of bed and decide to go to work in their best shirt, unironed.

Berliners like to take their meals slowly, and as a result at cafe and restaurants you will find yourself waiting 20 to 30 minutes for your meals to come when you ordered. And most people linger after dinner for 1 hour or more.

They like to take their food crude and wholesome too, so you will find none of the elaborate European dishes you often see on TV. Think steaks, mashed peas and potatoes, and of course, sausages in many varieties.

It feels good to discover Berlin slowly, and not bedraggled with the rushed feeling often associated with being a tourist. My perspective of the city grows larger by day, and it's hard not to feel warmed by its quiet pleasantness as my trip goes on.

The hope is we have so much to feel good about

2011-05-28T22:22:00.007+08:00

Slow, melodic song was blaring amidst conversations, and I sat there in the middle of countless faces I never met before. When it calls for it, I made small talks and laughed appropriately at the right time. But whenever I found myself little time to catch my breath, my mind wanders over.

I saw happy families, society of distinctions, and young crowds keeping abreast with the latest of things. This glaring brightness, this feigned happiness - and I felt so ill at place. I tried to look around for familiar comforts, my safe refuges, but a sting of bitterness rush to my eyes as I realised none of them were there.

"What have become of our lives?"

Then I was struck with a strange feeling of melancholic contentment. Despite everything, we all have plenty to smile about. This pain will be beautiful one day, this torment will feel foolish in the future. No matter how hopeless our lives may seem to be at the moment, we still have so much to feel good about.

Breaking boundaries

2011-05-26T14:00:00.009+08:00

I stepped into the business lounge and my step was frozen. A vivid image of a scene in a Godfather-like movie rushed into my mind where rich and old businessmen are sitting around in a dimly lit room clouded with cigar smoke, coffee and tea half-drank and cups littered with ashes, hushed voices indicates discussion of important but hazy business.

I chuckled to myself. Even though I know I was supposed to be impressed with the situation, I found it strangely comical.

"Ah, I was looking for you." A deep, hoarse voice interrupted my line of thoughts and I looked to the left. Three men were approaching, dapper in suits and shiny shoes. I smiled and shook hands with them. We exchanged pleasantries and ever gentlemen, they led me through the door to get to our seats.

As we sat, I suddenly felt eyes on me. I looked around and noticed an interested look thrown by the on-lookers. In passing, I wondered why before I turned to join the conversation again.

We spoke for the next hour; they did most of the talking, while I took notes and chipped in when necessary. For them it's a business opportunity, for me it's a learning experience.

When we stood up to leave later, shaking hands again and promising to follow up and keep in touch, once again I saw heads turned from other tables. I stepped back and took a good look at our group; a Chinese man and his son, an Acehnese who has been working here for more than 10 years, an Irish who loves his char kuey teow, a Malay uncle who hailed from the same place where my parents live; they are all grown men and I, a young woman in scarf who sat and stood on the same par with them.

It's becoming regular occurrences now, to find myself in a situation where conventions dictates I have no business being there. But, who's to say what or who I am determines what I can or can't do?

Think of yourself as Me, Inc.

2011-05-23T21:51:00.007+08:00

"Stop thinking of yourself as a dweeb who needs a job, and start thinking of yourself as a financial entity that must survive over a half century. By viewing yourself as a small company, you practice goal-setting, accountability, strategic planning, financial management, and marketing, and give yourself a framework for success." - Martin Yate

I like the idea of being the CEO of my own life. Especially when Alexandra Levit likens our professional development to a smart phone, downloading various useful apps (skills and responsibilities) which allows us to function and serve useful purpose to those around us.

I've been through a career hellhole, but one day when I was sitting in front of a friend and he asked, locking my eyes in earnest, "so, you are going to stay with the job until 2013?", I was suddenly struck with a realisation that I've never felt so clear about what I had to do with my life, until then.

I knew my answer to him wasn't very assuring when I gave him a non-committal smile and a half-nod. But I'm suddenly aware of an alignment as to what I am inside and what I can offer to the world - reliability. And such awareness gives me a renewed sense of purpose when I was back at the office the next week.

"In life we do not always get an opportunity to do what we like best at the time of our choosing. Search and you will find." Those are the words of Tunku Aziz when I sought his advice. I thought; if I can't find now, if I'm yet to understand - then I might as well give it my best shot while I'm at it.

A Semblance of a We

2011-05-18T22:18:00.001+08:00

We are mismatched bits and pieces put together, but in the nooks and crannies of our awkwardness we found safe corners.

In you, in me - we found a semblance of a we.

Accept your own aloneness

2011-05-04T22:47:00.000+08:00

“It’s no good trying to get rid of your own aloneness. You’ve got to stick to it all your life. Only at times, at times, the gap will be filled in. At times! But you have to wait for the times. Accept your own aloneness and stick to it, all your life. And then accept the times when the gap is filled in, when they come. But they’ve got to come. You can’t force them.” -D. H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley’s Lover

Disconnect and recharge

2011-04-30T11:21:00.011+08:00

"To manage the storm around us, we need to quiet the storm inside ourselves". I've been quite a follower to Tony Schwartz's blog in the past year. A proponent of productivity and engagement at the workplace (and how the way we're working isn't working), his musings often touch on how to get the best from our daily tasks and actions without sapping ourselves of our precious energy.

At the same time, Tony's writings are also personal. The way he relates his theories to his day-to-day life and activities give me a strange comfort in knowing I'm not alone in experiencing detachment and burnouts in my workplace.

It took me a number of job applications made in haste and an interview with another prospective (but nonetheless incompatible) company to made me realise what I hate in my current job is not the job itself, but the mindless operating robot I've turned into. It took me a week spent among the project network stakeholders (not to mention the much needed time out of the office) and a night mulling over figures and numbers to remember again what actually inspires me about my work;

The satisfaction of completing one little project at a time, reading and writing about issues I believe in, understanding science behind everything, the enriching experience I get when I speak to everyday entrepreneurs and industrialists, the ability to see the big picture, picking apart drivers and barriers governing our decisions.

In the grand scheme of things, they might be futile. What I'm doing may account for only one single little dot in the gigantic map of global struggle, but they will drive me forward. They will be the crutch to keep my feet steady, to keep me walking until the end - limping or not.

Change is the only constant

2011-04-14T22:55:00.001+08:00

These days my dinner consists of a single thing on a plate; a piece of toasted bread, one egg - sunny side up, and a sausage. A pack of instant noodle and one egg - sunny side up. Sometimes they are leftovers. Like last night; it was half a tandoori nan and few pieces of chicken curry from my lunch at the office.

After the merry housewarming party last weekend, the plates and bowls and glasses and the frying pan and pots seems too much for my consumption alone. I feel affluent; I've never owned so many things before.

It has been quite a change, coming home to a quiet house. As sun sets my feet shuffle around quietly, from bedroom to the kitchen and back to the living room where my books are sprawling on the floor. The only noise I get is from my loyal audio set where it sings its melancholic songs.

I'm still trying to make sense of these new found freedom and its inevitable silence; although sometimes I get struck with panic at its prickling quietness, mostly I cherish the time to get lost in the sea of my own thoughts and imagination, just like Emma Morley does;

"Sometimes she thinks how nice it would be to be woken by a call in the night: 'get in a taxi now' or 'Í need to see you, we need to talk'. But the best of times she feels like a character in a Muriel Spark novel - independent, bookish, sharp-minded, secretly romantic." - One Day by David Nicholls

It's written in the stars, a million miles away

2011-03-28T22:22:00.001+08:00

'For all that has happened and the opportunities still developing in my life, I feel blessed. I was part of a miracle that has touched a great number of people in the world and I wouldn't trade that for anything, not even to have my hand back. My accident in and rescue from Blue John Canyon were the most beautifully spiritual experience of my life, and knowing that, were I to travel back in time, I would still say "see you later" to Megan and Kristi and take off into that lower slot by myself. While I've learned much, I have no regrets about that choice. Indeed, it has affirmed my belief that our purpose as spiritual beings is to follow our bliss, seek our passions, and live our lives as inspirations to each other. Everything else flows from that. When we find inspiration, we need to take action for ourselves and our communities. Even if it means making a hard choice, or cutting out something and leaving it in your past.

Saying farewell is also a bold and powerful beginning.'

- 127 Hours: Between a Rock and a Hard Place by Aron Ralston

The case for god - Part 1

2011-03-24T15:06:00.011+08:00

Even though I may not have realised it earlier, I think I gave up on religion a long time ago.

There is something about assigning truth to a certain belief and implying such belief as above others which I don't agree with. Over time, I had learned faith is all-inclusively a personal, irrational, and at the same time a conscious endeavour.

There is always a reason why people believe in something, and why they don't - and the consequent conclusion to it is simply, to each their own.

Once on our way home while walking under a clear moonlight by the Coogee beach, my housemate asked me; "do you believe in god?". I raised my eyes, my two brows knitted together. Feeling a bit offended, I said, "what do you think I'm wearing the headscarf for?". He chuckled, and gave me a look which says, 'come on, don't fool yourself'

Later in the night, I was left deep in my own thoughts. I realised everything religious I've been doing all these while had been nothing but ornamental. They were simply a territorial mark, a conventional stamp which licensed me to function as a normal individual in my society.

I asked myself, since when did I make the conscious choice to believe, to submit myself to a particular religion or a school of thoughts - I thought long and hard, and I couldn't remember.

From that moment on; every rituals, every services I perform in the name of religion lost their meaning.

Some thoughts on happiness (or how to make your run productive)

2011-03-13T23:08:00.004+08:00

In the morning I willed myself out of bed and went for a quick run in my neighbourhood. I've set myself a 3.4 km route as a baseline to time my run, my aim is to get 20 minutes or less before I could increase my distance to 5 km.

While running I thought about how many of us has distorted the meaning of happiness. We think they come only in specific forms; a wish fulfilled, a gift bestowed, as love deserved, or company shared. In reality, I think happiness can be found despite it all;

Sometimes in our loneliness we find happiness in being at peace and accepting what a fragile thing a relationship is. Sometimes in mourning for our loss we find lessons to be humble about letting go of things we own. Sometimes by being denied of our wish we find how minute we are as human beings and how out of control we are of our fate, how sometimes there are always larger and bigger things at play which we know and understand very little of.

Feeling like the sun is smiling at me as it breaks free from the cloud in the morning sky, sharing my milk with the friendly black and white cat who is living in the playground at my apartment, discovering what great music is in Hybrid, Elsiane's debut album, sharing a laugh with my independent, ambitious and inspiring girlfriends, and feeling a tug of longing and familiarity at the thought of someone near - these are what happiness means to me today. What's yours?

Broga Hill & Bagan Lalang in pictures

2011-03-06T21:58:00.005+08:00

The sunrise at Broga Hill

It hardly looks like a Malaysian landscape, and it looks better in real!

Bagan Lalang in late afternoon

Flying our kite, "Tiger the Dinasour"

My Aussie mates, probably the only Malaysians I know then

Where I was

2011-03-04T19:33:00.010+08:00

I was sitting in a cafe with a completely generic and superficial setting. There was no music, let alone beautiful books. A hyperactive boy was throwing rocks off the shop's decor onto the shopping tile floor like he was throwing pebbles into the water. His small face, mostly covered by his oversized glasses was laden with wonder and joy.

In this rock-bottom universe of my favourite cafes, I was astounded to find a surprise evening delight.

I was running around my neighbourhood. Trying to feel my heart beat against my chest, trying to taste my salty sweat trickling down my face and flooding my eyes, nose and lips. The street so quiet its deafening silence creating a series of calming echoes inside my head.

Hushed morning like these are my sacred escape, moments I get to let my mind wanders free and unrestrained.

I was on a major recconnaisance for my next perfect abode, a place to call home and people to live with to call a family. The state of my temporary settlements - from one bookshelf to another - sometimes give me an illusion of fresh starts, or clean exits.

I was finishing my reading of 127 Hours, my enrapturement with Aron Ralston's psyche and his passionate obsession with nature and exploring it is causing my slow progress with the book. My act of reading the book is one I usually witness when people are nibbling succulent chocolate or oyster, or sipping a good warm hot chocolate on rainy days. They savour it, they take it slow.

I was standing across a familiar friend, listening to his voice and smiling at his friendly jokes. In my head, my brain works faster than my heart - trying to make sense of his undeciphered demeanour. After a while, when silence makes an interval out of our long pause - I put my guard down and let his presence envelops my existence.

At every breath he draws in I was made aware of every fluttering molecules that he is - ordinary yet so out of place.

I was living, creating my own circumstances and unplanned adventures. I was trying to furnish my small life with my gigantic dreams. I was trying to live - really live - before I die.

We all need saving

2011-02-23T22:08:00.001+08:00

Sometimes when I'm on the verge of slipping into the dark, simple words keep me hanging on to what's real.

They help me swim through the pain, through the bitter torrid water, and no matter how exhausted I am I remind myself all I have to do is to get to the other side. To make it to the next round.

Laughter is the best medicine

2011-02-20T22:16:00.000+08:00

I learned over the weekend apart from playing in the dirt, getting myself comfortable with nature; the next invigorating thing I enjoy doing is laughing.

To laugh with good friends over misopportune moments, over memories old but never forgotten. To laugh at the oblivious way cats walk away from me while regally swishing their tails no matter how hard I try to trick them with Friskies in hand. To laugh over embarassing mistakes and bitter discoveries, to laugh at all things human.

A little ray of sunshine

2011-02-16T22:04:00.005+08:00

It still feels the same. The exhilirating push to leap forward, to skip on the little rocks and bounce on the brown fertile soil.

To push my body to the brink of its metabolic capacity, to feel my lung constricts and fights for the air, to feel my heart leaps out from my chest - fighting to live, fighting to survive, fighting to capture the essence of life I rarely feel on my ordinary, or as aptly put by my friend; shabby, confusing, over-worked days.

The trip to Broga Hill was a much needed escape. Jaunts to nature like these remind me of my dreams, what I'm made of and what I live for - to live, really live, to feel pain inside and out, to break free, to strip myself of my own fears and limitations, and to conquer impossibilities as big as the mountains.

Saturday morning I wake up at 4.00 a.m. to drive to Semenyih, a small town about 15-minute drive southeast of Kajang. I brew coffee for myself and pack chocolate-coated digestive cookies for breakfast, before heading out to pick up my friend along the way.

An amazing crowd was already gathering by the time we reach the oil palm estate where the trail starts. I find myself bouncing with energy and raring to go while we wait for another group of friends to arrive. We start off strong but linger at the first stop to catch our breath.

The journey has a secret intrigue to it which I adore; stepping on the coarse rocks and hardened soil in utter darkness awaken my senses, and the terror which catch me off-guard at the sudden slip even when I thought I knew where I was going make me aware of my fist sized red heart.

There is no realisation as sobering as one which says "I am human, I am living now".

We reach the first peak after 30 minutes, and immediately scour the spot to sit down and wait for the sunrise. Cool morning breeze and little swifts hopping around from one tree to another make us forget the climbing ordeal we had previously, and despite the cheering noise made by the young crowd around me, I was totally enraptured by the sight in front of me.

As the darkness lazily made way to the sunlight who march silently but forcefully like a majestic king taking its rightful throne, I thought "what better way to celebrate such rare morning with a touch of warmth and familiarity and friendliness such as coffee?"

Delicious Ambiguity

2011-02-10T23:01:00.005+08:00

Alexandra Levit was right when she was talking about how we might be taking our job for granted. 'Meaning is in the eye of beholder'; we create our own meaningful experiences.

I was supposed to attend an interview yesterday. I was at crossroads deciding whether or not I should go. On one hand, the position wasn't really something I'm after. It's one of the little tricky things about the terms of my sponsorship. I'm supposed to serve for my sponsor, but I don't get a say in choosing the line of works I'm interested in or passionate about.

On the other hand, I am aware I cannot get too complacent with my current position. For the time being and in the next year, my responsibilities will involve working with and assisting small companies - they will be where I derive my meaning from. However, my office environment isn't too nurturing of my dreams, values and inspirations and for someone who attach values to her works - it's a struggling environment to survive.

I decided to give the interview a pass, and it feels like the right decision to do. Coming back to the office yesterday with my desk piled up with pending works gave me a sense of purpose and hope. I have no idea what's in store for me in the future, but I believe the right thing will come when the time is right - what's important is for me to be good at what I do and I do it right.

A wise old man once told me, "You need to set your goal or goals clearly and work hard and prove that qualifications apart, you are someone who acts ethically in all that you do,- in other words, you are trustworthy. Time is on your side; you are young and the world is at your feet". I think I'm beginning to get it.

It finally feels like a weekend

2011-01-29T23:52:00.002+08:00

A full weekend is all I need after a week of event-organising and project management anxieties.

I've learned recently the week leading to the Chinese New Year's break can be quite stressful as it's the longest holiday our office is going to endure in the year. I've never left the office more than 3 working days so I wonder if our projects is going to fall all over the place while we're away. But then of course it's only the workaholic in me speaking, and my colleague did say I love my work too much for my own good.

So in a way, the up and coming holiday is a good practice to monitor my work cathexis. To work, and to have a break means to learn to invest and commit in something, and to let go again so it will give me more rooms to consider and reconsider my priorities.

The holiday aside, I'm glad to have had a fruitful weekend (despite the fact it's barely over yet);

I'm a morning person regardless whether it's a working day or not, so I got up early today to whip up some pancakes to go with my coffee. It's an indulgence, and a move away from my daily toast for breakfast. The following hours was a blur of sending my car for service, watching a hilarious Hindi movie on TV, and shopping little trinkets, toys and cookies for my nieces.

I spent the evening checking my receipts for the whole month, and making sure I stay on budget until my next paycheck.

Sometimes I think it's the little thing; random duties and negligible pleasures which makes one's life whole.

Some thoughts on cooking (or how to lead a domestic life)

2011-01-21T15:04:00.018+08:00

Unencumbered, I used to cherish and hold on to the word with my dear life.

I had found the word in Tony Parson's The Family Way, which tells a story of 3 sisters growing up and grappling with their respective crises of motherhood and domestic life. The story of Cat, Jessica and Megan had appealed to me then because it shows the irregularities and flawed ideals of an adult's life.

Since then, I remember wishing to lead a life without the cumbersome dependence of others. I remember making a vow to myself, I would never let anyone made me wash their plates again simply because I am a girl. To me, a domestic life is equivalent to a life of subservience - an utter nightmare for an obsessive compulsive control freak like me.

So imagine my alarm, after years of worshipping such fancy-free word (and its projected world - if it ever exists), I realised last night I actually find much comfort in cooking, in the luxury of my domestic life and in providing for others!

Maybe growing up has something to do with it. I realised now the older I get, the smaller and the more riddled the divide between my black and white world, between my perception of good and bad. There is no clear-cut ways to life - you make (or create) choices, you get lucky or you screw up, and you repeat the process again; erasing where you can, improvising while you're still around.

Domestic life or not, if any of us find joy in cooking or taking a long ride on our motorbike or splashing around in the ocean or just staying put in front the fire reading our favourite novel listening to Sinatra - then who (or what) are we to say anything, really?

Heart-stealing Spirit Thief: The legend of Eli Monpress

2011-01-16T09:33:00.003+08:00

What woman can deny the charm of a gold-hearted larrikin? A thief who steals from the rich but looks after the spirits around him? A self-involved wizard who is also a loyal friend?

Put Harry Potter and Robin Hood together, and add to it a spice of Peter Pan - and you'll get (and be charmed) by Eli Monpress, the greatest thief in the spirit world.

The Spirit Thief tells a story of the Spiritualist Miranda Lyonette, who has been ordered by the Spirit Court to warn the King of Mellinor about Eli Monpress, who is rumoured to be stealing one of Mellinor's greatest treasure.

But Miranda was a little late to arrive in Mellinor, for Eli has already executed his idea. He had stolen the King of Mellinor.

Rachel Aaron's debut novel is a fun read and a novelty. She puts up an intriguing concept of a magical system where everything in the world - everything - from wind, plants, water, even the door and its nutbolts, has spirits and thus, are capable to act at their own accord.

In the spirit world, human beings are given the power to control the lesser spirits, and thereby own them.

There are a lot of endearing characters in the Spirit Thief. Apart from the charming and beleaguered hero Eli Monpress, Miranda herself is a Spiritualist of principle who cannot help herself than be charmed by the thief. At a strange turn of event, the two enemies somehow struck a chord of friendship.

Similarly, in his renowned works Eli is helped by the swordsman Josef and a girl who is possessed by demon, Nico. A strange, but lovable pair. There is also Gin, Miranda's ghosthound who seems to have a wry sense of humour, and is very fond and protective of his Spiritualist master.

All in all, the story of Eli Monpress makes a nice alternative for us fans of magical characters and fairy stories. Although they could do with a better (and more imaginative) cover, I'm willing to bet my bottom dollar the next sequels of the Spirit Thief (Spirit Rebellion and Spirit Eater) are going to be as exhilirating journey as the first one!

A is for acceptance, B for bravery and C for curiosity

2011-01-14T20:00:00.001+08:00

I've found my word for 2011: Accept.

I will accept myself. I am enough and I am never too much. And I will accept whatever and however ways people perceive me. I don't need to justify my existence, neither do they need to understand my differences.

I will accept people as they are. I will not torment myself and others by expecting any more of them than what they already are. I'm grateful for their companionship, and it is already more than I can ask for.

I will accept everything new coming across my life in the next 12 months and beyond as an opportunity to discover and live life. I will not hold myself back. I will not let fear prevent me from doing what I love, or doing the right thing. Even if it's going to be just one step forward, at a time.

I will accept my past as a part of who I am, I will accept the mistakes I've made, and I will accept whatever it was which caused people to have wronged me.

The past is the past, I will accept that although they factored in the way I've grown and become today, they have no influence in whatever choices I'm going to make tomorrow and in the future.

My word for 2011 is accept. I'm going to open myself, wholly, for it.

2010 in review

2011-01-12T14:43:00.001+08:00

2010 was my annus horribilis - it was a year with a lot of confusion, a lot of clinging to the past, and a lot of uncertainties with what I would like to see for myself in the future.

Coming back from Sydney, I had (or I thought I had) a clear sense of self. The only problem was what and who I am didn't really fit in well with what's waiting for me in Malaysia.

I was an emotional wreck for the first few months, frustrated for not being able to move forward and maintained the same optimistic hope I had harboured for myself before I board the plane home.

Then work came. The government job I was waiting for didn't turn up, and I turned down the first of my job offers after a series of phone and personal interviews. Almost immediately, after having spoken to a couple of veterans, I took up the next offer and made my journey to another city, and almost another life.

Looking back, the relocation had come naturally to me. In my battered 4-year old Kancil, filled to the brim with my books (and a bookshelf), a fan, several cookery, and what's left of my wardrobe I faithfully made the climb through the country from my hometown to Kuala Lumpur - on my own.

The feat took me 12 hours, and I wouldn't have done otherwise.

What followed suit was a rapid learning process professionally, and a long, slow climb to build up my social circle again. I made some mistakes but learned a lot of lessons with my colleagues. I made some rash decisions in friendships, and hurt some people along the way. There are some things which I did and I am not proud of , but there are others I am glad I did.

I finally had my graduation attended with my families and friends. It was a cozy and small affair by UNSW, and just the way I like it.

My friends and family's friends came to visit from Sydney, and although we didn't get to do as much travel as we like - talking to them and just being with them reinforced my memories of who I was in Australia and what I've grown to become, and gave me hope to continue to hold my own self and let none others do.

I haven't been truly honest with people I am dear with, but I think I'm getting there. I have decided to have faith in them, as they did me. We have been through thick and thin for more than half a decade now, what kind of proofs more do I need?

Surprisingly, settling down in my new abode proving to be a breeze, and serendipitious. Although we have our differences, my housemates and I, we chose to bond instead on our similarities. After a surprise birthday party, countless movie nights, and repeated sharing sessions - they taught me I was wrong to hold on to my stereotypes about how my stay in Malaysia may not be as lively as it was abroad.

Human beings are human beings everywhere, we're all capable of creating joys, sadness, and lives of our own.

All in all, although 2010 has not been a blast, it has been a knock in the head like an angry parent, like a little string to a balloon, tugging me down rooted and grounded to the earth. Perhaps I'm a little late in saying this: but welcome 2011!

What is your notion of happiness?

2010-11-04T03:17:00.000+08:00

"I hope you'll find your happiness in the end", he said with a sigh.

It was a close of a discussion, blanketed in despair. It was said without hope for the real meaning of the words uttered. I smiled, amused at what he implied in his final words to me.

Our conversation was a result of a deep rooted discussion about my beliefs in god and religion. Him a devout but moderate believer, I a wavering agnostic. Earlier, when I confessed my doubts in what is considered real truth by many people, he welcomed my differences. He celebrated the opportunities to debate what might be an intellectual/faith differences.

But lately, and gradually, he cemented his conclusion with hopes that I am to eventually find my way back to religion, that finally god will open my heart. As if to imply all along, I am not on the right path.

What if, I wonder to myself after my conversation with my good friend - I already found my happiness? What if I've already found my answers and they are not necessarily found in the way he had hoped for me?

Say, if I don't take what is considered the virtuous path of many, would my decisions be any less correct, true, or relevant?

Trying to be ordinary

2010-10-27T22:45:00.001+08:00

I'm turning 25 in a day or so.

And I am anxious to decide whether I should start looking seriously at how my life is going to shape over in the next 5, 10, or 25 years, or whether I should just live my life one day at a time, with no regard to the past or the future.

Sometimes I caught myself thinking; I'm not reading enough, I'm not writing enough, I'm not reflecting enough, I'm not seeing people enough, I'm not living my life enough.

But how much is enough?

And wasn't there a saying about life is what happens when we're busy making other plans?

I'm always the person with the plans. I have a career plans from 3 to 15 years. I have a list of things to do before I'm 30, things to do while I was in Australia, things to do for how much time I allowed myself to be in Malaysia. I have a list of characteristics in a man I would like to date. I even rate them on a scale of 1 to 10.

What if, for once, I want to stop thinking about what I want to do with my life;

And just live?

I've worked for almost a year now. And despite the fact most of the time I'm actually enjoying my work; reading and writing about the changes which have swept the way government and corporations operates with nature and environment, talking to people who needs help and assisting them in getting it - occasionally I would still feel like quitting.

I would look at other people and ask, how come they never seem to hate their job? How come they make it appear like they have the perfect job in the world? Don't they have demanding boss and inconsiderate superiors too? Don't they work weekends or at odd hours sometimes? When do they even have time to meet new people?

Oh my, wherever did I get the idea life has to be perfect? Whenever did I hammer into my head I can only be happy when everything in my life is fine and dandy?

I think I'm finally getting the idea about how beauty is skin deep, and happiness does come from within.

Timely serendipity

2009-12-21T23:02:00.000+08:00

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.

Unnecessary disappointment

2009-12-18T23:04:00.000+08:00

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.

Spicy curry and heart-stabbing smile

2009-12-13T23:05:00.000+08:00

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.

A vagrant's friend

2009-12-08T23:06:00.000+08:00

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.

Re-acquaintance with home

2009-12-07T23:08:00.000+08:00

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.

Addicted to change

2009-12-06T23:08:00.000+08:00

"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.

Hit the PAUSE button

2009-12-04T23:27:00.000+08:00

“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.

The point of any journey was to find out where you came from

2009-12-01T12:10:00.001+08:00

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.

How they end

2009-11-23T23:28:00.000+08:00

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.

Splash, splash

2009-11-10T23:29:00.000+08:00

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".

Anthology: Mulwarree's life

2009-10-14T23:31:00.000+08:00

"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.

Letters to a Friend: Know thyself

2009-10-10T23:34:00.000+08:00

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

The land of weird and wonderful

2009-10-06T23:34:00.000+08:00

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?

How do you see the opposite gender?

2009-10-01T23:35:00.000+08:00

"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.

You're a speck of dust

2009-09-29T23:37:00.000+08:00

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.

Letters to a Friend: Feeling of lightheadedness

2009-09-07T23:38:00.000+08:00

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

Beautiful Kate

2009-09-05T23:41:00.000+08:00

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.

The story of stuffs and gender

2009-09-02T23:42:00.000+08:00

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?

Write, write, write away!

2009-09-01T23:43:00.000+08:00

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.

Ramadhan and another year

2009-08-28T23:46:00.000+08:00

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.

Of friends and new companion

2009-08-27T23:47:00.000+08:00

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.

Beyond race

2009-08-26T23:48:00.000+08:00

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.

In case I ever forget; I'll remember these

2009-08-25T23:51:00.000+08:00

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.

There is something about me and god

2009-08-24T00:01:00.000+08:00

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.

Aussie footy, seafood platter and a conversation

2009-08-22T00:03:00.000+08:00

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.

You know I'm trying and you don't mind

2009-08-12T00:05:00.000+08:00

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.

Where art thou?

2009-08-10T00:06:00.000+08:00

"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.

Letters to a Friend: A Confession

2009-08-07T00:06:00.000+08:00

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.

The cloud of unknowing moment

2009-08-04T00:07:00.000+08:00

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?".

Too little time

2008-09-26T07:58:00.000+08:00

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

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

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

The right teacher

2008-09-25T07:56:00.000+08:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

Deceptively reassuring

2008-09-24T07:55:00.000+08:00

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

Stuck in a rut

2008-09-23T07:55:00.000+08:00

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

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

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

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

On the question of God

2008-09-21T07:54:00.000+08:00

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

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

Missing home

2008-09-18T07:53:00.000+08:00

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

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

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

A Letter from Sydney

2008-09-13T07:50:00.000+08:00

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

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

G’DAY FOLKS!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your spirited book-lover, ATI

Drifting apart

2008-09-05T07:49:00.000+08:00

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

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

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

Antonyms

2008-09-02T07:48:00.000+08:00

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

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

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

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

Love is subjective

2008-08-29T11:47:00.000+08:00

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

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

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

Lessons from dancing

2008-08-26T11:46:00.000+08:00

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

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

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

Celebrating independence

2008-08-25T11:45:00.000+08:00

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

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

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

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

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

Restless

2008-08-23T11:44:00.000+08:00

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

Disturbed inside

2008-08-22T11:44:00.000+08:00

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

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

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

The perfect night

2008-08-16T11:42:00.000+08:00

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

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

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

Not feeling womanly

2008-08-15T11:42:00.000+08:00

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

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

Rediscovering books

2008-08-14T11:41:00.000+08:00

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

A Better Woman; A Memoir by Susan Johnson

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

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

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

Green questions

2008-08-13T11:40:00.000+08:00

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

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

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

Head over heels with down under

2008-07-19T11:39:00.000+08:00

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

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

18 things to do in Australia

2008-07-13T11:38:00.000+08:00

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

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

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

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

The departure

2008-07-12T00:29:00.000+08:00

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

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

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

I choose the latter.

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

Throwing stereotypes out the window

2008-06-30T11:01:00.000+08:00

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

King Hussein of Jordan, 1998

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

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

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

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

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

It’s simple thinking

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carving our own path

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Jane Austen Book Club

2008-05-20T11:05:00.000+08:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Six members, six months, and six Austen novels.

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

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

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

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

Sense and Sensibility: A girl's guide to friendship

2008-04-10T11:07:00.000+08:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Frank vs. Prudent

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

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

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

In want of understanding

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

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

Austen’s guide to friendships

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

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

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

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