Conversation about god - II

I am not an atheist.

a·the·ist [ey-thee-ist] 

noun: a person who denies or disbelieves the existence of a supreme being or beings.  

Origin:  1565–75; < Greek áthe ( os ) godless + -ist

I believe in god. Perhaps no longer in a way any organised beliefs would expect me to, but I believe in something higher, larger and more expansive than life.

I had doubts, of course.

In moments when I find god cannot explain the unfathomable, I find it easier to be a rationalist -  relying only on what is immediate around me. My question at times like these would echo in my head over and over and over again:

"If you truly are omnipotent, how could you let all of these happen?"

When I am confronted with the magical impossibility of life and its beauty, however, I know I could not deny god.

When I see a cat sunning itself under the happy sun, peacefully co-existing in my close presence.

When I find myself in a company of a complete stranger, so different from myself in nature and worldviews, yet so similar in our hopes and dreams.

I would find myself saying, "that's you right there, isn't it god? Looking at us, smiling at us."

Do I believe in religion? I believe religion is an organised set of beliefs and values systems, and nothing more.

Religion is not necessarily interchangeable with faith. In the same way one can be religious but not spiritual,  one can also be spiritual but not religious.

I believe in indiscriminating god.

Whether we are man, woman, white, black, straight, gay, rich, poor, Muslims, Christians, Jews, Hindu, Buddhist, etc. I do not think it is our god-given mission to decide which religion/sets of faith/values/personality should triumph another.

When I am presented with a question - are you a believer? I said yes.

And when I was asked, then why are you not a Muslim/Christian/Hindu/Buddhist? I would go back and ask myself, but how do you know (what to believe in)?

Do you believe in something because it's right? Is something right because you are told it's right? Or because you are convinced it's right above all others which are wrong?

How do you know if something is right above all others which are wrong until you have made enough examination to understand the limitations that lead to their imperfection?

If they said, it depends on your faith. So I say, well, my faith is in god.

Then, they asked, what is your moral guidance?

I answer, to equate irreligous to being immoral is rather simplistic, isn't it?

On the days when I was religious, and I met others who are not - I ask myself, what's stopping them from doing evil? What's encouraging them to be compassionate?

What is it in my religious bearing that they don't have? And if we are different in religion, why are we the same in our conducts as human being?

Bam! It struck me. Religion, rituals - are physical, social conduct, they are what gives you identities, labels. Faith, beliefs, moral values - are inherent, and can be manifested in many forms.

I believe human beings - any human beings - are inherently good.

So does it matter if they are Muslims, Christians, Buddhist, Jews, Hindus, straight or gay?

No. To me, it doesn't matter.

Does it matter to god? I don't know.

I'm not exactly in god's place to say so or otherwise, am I?

Seeking inconstant

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.

Unnecessary disappointment

What is better to fill a holiday than Andrew Bird and Louisa May Alcott? Andrew Bird's raw voice is intoxicating it lifts you up into an altogether different universe, while the story of Jo and her sisters are refreshing enough it keeps you grounded in the reality of life.

There is little about the life of unemployment to be recorded nowadays. Apart from the usual reading, writing and pondering, I do nothing else to qualify my stories worth writing about. I wanted to write about the past, but the cheerful thought of them is tarnished with the grim prospect of my life at present - so I chose to preserve them where they belong. When I'm in a better state of mind, I'll revisit them again.

As for the future, although they warrant the most sparkling enthusiasm - I am reminded to be careful of unnecesary disappointment. The application is nearly complete, and I've begun to read and write for the proposal. However, since my life at the moment seems to move at a rather slow and disconnected pace - believing in possibilities is proving to be difficult.

Beautiful Kate

Beautiful Kate put me in a rather tricky situation; it made me wonder if we can disregard values in the place of beauty?

Rachel Ward - the Australian actress I admired for her sharp wit and no-nonsense character in Rain Shadow - brings to us exactly such debate in her debut movie which is as beautiful as it is provocative, Beautiful Kate.

When I read the movie is about a prodigal son's return to his home, haunted by the memory of his twin sister and his unresolved past, I had no expectation of what the past might be. And for some reason I didn't scour the internet for the ubiquitous film reviews before the movie as I usually did with other films. Having watched the film now, I am glad I didn't.

As it turned out, Beautiful Kate took me to an entirely uncharted territory when it tells the story of the twin brother and sister. At once, Kate in her youth is heartbreakingly clairvoyant and frighteningly vivacious. When Ned appears to metamorphosed into his older self, his struggle to keep up with the inseparable bond of a twin between his sister and himself grows into something totally unimaginable. However, surprisingly Kate seems to take the world as just so.

It's the starting point where Beautiful Kate puts us the audience to a test. How do we see the world? A black and white moral canvas or something more of a gray and foggy screen? Do we see the world as an extension of ourselves, or something entirely separate? Do we mind imperfection, or are we obsessed by the lack of it?

The way I see it, Ned and Kate's relationship as a twin is a cathexis process both of them desperately needed in the absence of their mother and insensitivity of their father. A way to fulfill their longing of the parental love and affections so failingly provided by their widowed father, Bruce - who I saw is as lost as he is determined to raise the children right.

Can we blame him? When all he did was trying to act in accordance to the societal norms imposed on him as a man, the leader of the pack. And when he himself lost his dreams when life got in the way?

Beautiful Kate shows us a story about guilt and remorse, and a search for validation, security, and forgiveness. It tells us about how sometimes we failed to love when we want to, because we are so bogged down by memories which actually didn't matter in the end. The film's ingenuity lies in its ability to guide us to the forbidden territory without feeling terrified or awkward by it. The soundtrack is befitting, and the landscape is as barren and beautiful as the movie itself.

Finally, I definitely relate to my favorite scene of all in Beautiful Kate, when Ned and Sally, his little sister finally said goodbye to their father, he told her without reservations she is in actual fact the best achievement of their father. I loved the scene, and it definitely shook me. In one simple gesture, it taught me how you don't need a lot to love, to do so you only need to see.

Write, write, write away!

Last night I entertained the thought of myself pretending to be one of the Malaysian expatriates who readily write about our country from abroad. Purely because my father called twice when I was in class, and apparently he was concerned with the types of response I might be getting from my recent article in the Star.

Thankfully, to our surprise the feedback so far has been non-existent. "Things are not good in Malaysia," he contemplated. "Perhaps people are too busy with what's going on in the country they didn't have time to scrutinize your article."

I believe the conversation I had with my parents last night signifies two things; (1) I am beginning to comfortably grow in my skin as a writer and my parents recognized it too, and (2) no matter what or how I am depicted through my writings by the public, my parents do not mind and always know better.

For me, such acknowledgment is a powerful thing.

Beyond race

I GREW up in a small town in Terengganu and enjoyed the liberty of running wild and free with my bicycle, and my brothers and my friends. My world was small; it revolved around the town and its people, my family, and my Nancy Drew series collection.

When my father took me along on his business trips to Thailand or Singapore, I played with other kids as the parents sat together and talked business. Life was easy and uncomplicated, and I don’t remember pointing out differences between other people and myself.

It was only when I went to school that I learnt that boys are off-limits, and good girls pray, read the Quran and wear tudungs. There were no children from other ethnic groups or religion in my religious boarding school.

After 10 years in this environment, I’ve forgotten they existed. For a long time, they were simply etched in the background of my life like white noise on television. I was indifferent and uninterested to differences.

What dominated my mind at the time was how to become a good Muslim, how to please my parents, and how to become the best student sitting for the Sijil Pelajaran Malaysia (SPM).

What matters was living in a Muslim community, working in sincere piety for my religion, and fending off temptation.

Not the same

The first blow came in my pre-university years when I learned how religion is not a guarantee to good sense and company. When a Chinese family friend offered me a lift from the airport to school when I first arrived in Kuala Lumpur, she received nothing but rude scowls from the college security guard.

“What do you think you’re doing, not wearing tudung and wearing skirts around?” he pointedly said as he stopped the car.

I was burning with shame and anger, and what was worse was that I didn’t even have the guts to defend my friend.

The incident opened my eyes and shook my world. A question suddenly dawned on me, “What’s so special about me now? What makes me different than other people?”

In between reconciling with what was real and what was not, between getting frustrated with certain people and being simply myself, I began to shed my outer shell and embrace the world as if it’s a whole new classroom.

Suddenly, I saw things differently. Suddenly, I recognised the presence of my fellow countrymen who (despite our differences) share my dreams and hopes. I said to myself, “there are so many great things and great people out there, how come nobody ever told me about them?”

Celebrating differences

I tried to learn many new things. I tried to move away from conventions thrust on me, and tried to see how things look from different perspectives. Unfortunately, not many people share my enthusiasm.

While people from my own religion and culture labelled me a rebel who is too liberal for her own good, people from other cultures thought I’m just another Malay girl who has everything ready on her plate. While people from the village said I’m too Westernised, people from the city saw me as not being progressive enough.

In the end, I got tired of trying to fit in and fled to Australia to further my studies. It has been almost 18 months since I boarded the airplane with relief because I thought I’d be able to finally chart my own course. But I am still a misfit in the local Malay community because I live in a house with students from different countries, I live with men in my house, and I live with non-Muslims.

But who cares whether you’re a Malay, Chinese, Indian, Arab, or Punjab? Who cares whether you’re a Muslim, Christian, Hindu, Buddhist, or Jewish?

I don’t. I accept that we are all different. I understand that my parents sent me to a religious school in the hope that I could go through life with the best education about life and society; something they didn’t get a chance to do when they were younger.

I did not regret going to a religious school, or burying my nose in books and magazines in search of all things to clear my confusions, or being perceived as different to many people – the experience has brought me where I am today.

But if I was given a chance to turn back time, I’d ask my parents to send me to a national school where I could be friends with children from different races.

Aussie footy, seafood platter and a conversation

As it turns out, 2009 showed me how I could celebrate my first day of Ramadhan (the Muslim’s fasting month) in ways I could never have imagined. As I sat in the restaurant, as the waitress came and put in front of us a big seafood platter, as we began to eat and talked about our stories – I uttered to myself a prayer of gratitude.

From an outsider’s point of view, I’m certain all they can see is one old man sharing stories with three young people – a young woman in tudung who everyone seems to mistake for an Indonesian (or Iranian at times, for reasons only known to the guesser), another young woman who no one can seem to correctly guess where she’s coming from, and the old man’s son, a young man who looks every part an Asian, but who is as Australian as the next man cheering at Australian rugby matches.

However, what is unknown to them is the most precious thing for me. In the Land Down Under and miles away from my own home, I feel like I am a step closer to finding the missing piece of life’s puzzle which perplexed me in my younger years; I did not understand why I never had a friend who was not Malay, and what the real rationale for religious school was when I couldn’t see how kindness transcends religion, culture, and ethnicity and how a society’s greatness comes from its ability to see similarities beyond differences.

Naturally, I cannot speak for the mass of Malaysian youth who have a myriad of different experiences growing up in different environments and cultures. But if I could tell them one thing, I’d tell the stories of the old man I met last night – about how he grew up running around in Klang with his Malay and Chinese and Indian friends, how he went to the birthday party of his Malay friends and came back with a handful of pineapples tied to his bike, and how only one of his friends has a radio in the house and his friends had to come over to listen and memorize the songs for the rest of the week.

“Ask your father,” the old man kept repeating. “He would know what I’m talking about.”

What breaks his heart, however, was watching our generation grow up in the isolation and confines of our religion, culture, and ethnicity – when we never bothered to see beyond what was given to us and make the best out of it.

How many of us ever think to ourselves when we see what’s going on in the television, “what is right and what is wrong with the world and why it happened?” How many of us ever think to ourselves when we wake up in the morning, “today I want to break boundaries!” How many of us ever walk past a stranger on the street, who is as different to us as we are to him or her, and say to ourselves, “how about today I look at the world with my own eyes, and put away these rose-tinted glasses society has given me in the past 20 years?”

When my friend and I parted with the old man and his son, clad in their green and yellow Australian rugby jerseys and scarves, I felt as if one knot in my life has been undone and ready to be braided again on a new canvas. It was a meeting between generations, between cultures and nationalities, and despite coming together as citizens of different countries, I felt as if we all came from the same place with the same hope in our hearts – to see Malaysia as one again as it had been once before.

The Revolutionary Road

I woke up with the heaviest tug at my heart in the morning today. I couldn't figure out why. As I walk mindlessly to the shower, thumping my body with the rain of hot water as if to shake off the bleak stance I seem to be frozen in, my diminishing reflection on the screen looked pale and ghostly.

In the kitchen later, as I was boiling the water for coffee, the sight of my smiling and merry housemates lifted up my heart. But still, I felt like I was looking at them from a distance. Suddenly the world seemed like a spinning wheel, rotating on and on as if on a leash of some invisible forces. Please, I whispered to myself, please make it stop.

It was when I walked into my room later, a cup of coffee in my hands, I saw the silent trigger of my misery. Two figures silently holding each other, their faces - their foreheads and noses barely touching, their eyes locked down. The picture stood still, and I finally remembered what it was making me mourn in the silence of early morning.

Early acquaintance

Frank and April Wheeler are the suburban couple I was acquainted with in January. Their story; their desire to break free, and their need to believe they stand above others in their quest for a self-fulfillment had drawn me in. But much to my grim surprise, watching the story was like witnessing the impending sentence of my own life.

Why, I thought, when you started to fight against life, the ordinariness of it, the superficiality of it - you can never win?

A few weeks earlier, a friend suggested I read the book. I wasn't sure I wanted to repeat the discomfort I had experienced from watching the movie. But in steel determination I peeled open the book, and I didn't put it down again until last night.

It proved to be an absorbing read, Richard Yates is as cruel as he is honest. Put simply, there is nothing extraordinary about the life of Wheelers, Campbells and Givings, but in their ordinariness lies an exemplary discovery about how raw feelings; happiness, anger, frustrations, loneliness, hatred, regret, love - even when no one likes to talk about them, are real.

Laying bare the wounds

The community Frank and April had lived in is a community I never succeeded being a part of. The crisp white houses lined by trimmed grasses, the smiles, the forever surprised look and the endless questions of what, where and how. They tire me out, they overwork my mind, they suffocate me.

I don't blame April for wanting to get away, for I know how having to appease a life you never put your heart on can take so much out of yourself. But I feel for Frank for his need of April's love and approval. Both of them, it seemed to me, in their effort to stay above others, forget they should be able to be simply themselves with each other. But they didn't, even to their own selves Frank and April had to put a front neither of them approve of.

What is it with men, when they cannot seem to get past their pride and look into themselves for their own vile weaknesses? What is it with women, with their need to appear strong when they are crumbling inside? What is it with people and pretension and false honesty?

Sometimes I wonder, is it ever worth it, this fight for self and identity; this rebellion against pre-chosen and shrink-wrapped personalities put forth to us by the society? Sometimes I wonder, why do we need so much to be alike others simply to be loved by them? Sometimes I wonder, truly what wrong is with being different?

Revolutionary Road did not answer the lots of my questions, neither did it paint an optimistic prospect to my own life. I've seen so many love crumbles before me sometimes I feel like tragedies hover above my head like a halo. But in good times when April had liked Frank and he loved her, I want to believe love can transcend emptiness and put hopes to even the barest of all land. I want to believe, even at such cruel and honest words, Richard Yates wanted us to get past them and start looking beyond mere pretense and tell our story like it is.

Celebrating independence

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

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

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

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

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

Disturbed inside

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

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

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

Throwing stereotypes out the window

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

King Hussein of Jordan, 1998

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

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

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

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

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

It’s simple thinking

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carving our own path

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Foibles and follies of life

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hot weekends like this, who needs gloomy thoughts?

Why change is scary

Because it’s telling us why it matters.

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

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

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

Deciding to change

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

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

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

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

Hardly easy, right?

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

Why change is scary

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

• We’re afraid of our own potential. 

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

• We’re afraid of failure and disappointment. 

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

• We need other people’s approval. 

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

But changes are still necessary, right?

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

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

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

A writer's letter

JLN KUALA KRAI, July 2007

MY DEAR READERS-

After a long time and again, I must admit I simply cannot cease (and resist) writing as much as I would love to. Although my academic years has seen me struggling to generate a 50,000 words scientific thesis, I had lived most of my adolescent years scribbling on my notebooks – copying quotes from books and essays, creating my naïve, happily ever after love stories, and writing lengthy letters to families and friends. During the virtual era of my freshman and sophomore years, I had enjoyed writing about books for the little audience I received on my blog for a prosperous three years, and exchanging emails (and love letters) to the amazing friends I had accumulated throughout the five continents. Nevertheless, I do regret not being able to find my sweet friends I was acquainted with while in Jordan twelve years ago – sadly, we were far from the age of Friendster and Facebook at the time.

Now, I am beginning to believe the love of writing comes hand in hand with the love of reading. It is the marriage of two rituals where one cannot live without the other. I started, I suppose as any other hopeful writers, with reading. The early childhood reading of the Malay version of Enid Blyton’s series begun as my escape to find friendships and adventures beyond my quiet life of growing up as the only girl in the family. I turned to reading Malay literatures and fictions while I was in high school, following my rebellious streaks and youth angst. Towards the end of it, it was Adeline Yen Mah’s Chinese Cinderella (a book I remember only vaguely now, after losing it few years ago) which taught me a sense of expressing oneself through writing and how to put up a fight using it. If reading is my shield from the world, writing became my sword.

These days, often imagining myself as the philosopher and editor of the Review of Applied Ethics Isabel Dalhousie, my beloved character in the Sunday Philosophy Club series, I write rather leisurely. Interspersed with my unfinished readings, catching up with families, writing to old friends and living life; I begin my writing early in the morning with a cup of coffee by my side. So far, my element would be my own space where stacks of books surround me, and patches of essays and words on the wall greet me. Such days however, are sporadic, usually prompted after a long drive throughout the country or a passionate conversation with strangers. Although by nature I operate by structure and order, my creativity often seeks to unleash itself as it pleases, or perhaps, as it is inspired.

Therefore my beloved readers, as I affirmed to myself I need more adventures and unexpected turn of events (since my old sensible self is often too shy to let it roam free), I am now putting my creative attempts into a disciplined structure. Beginning with the letter, I will put together a portfolio of my essays narrating my life surrounding various topics; Self in Society, Nature and Environment, Culture Shock, Food for Thoughts, Film and Prints, and About Books. In between, my Reader’s Notebook will be filled with my notes and journals about books and essays I’ve read.

Thereupon I dearly hope you may expect a new essay every fortnight, with short notes and journals as the fillers. At any expense I expect your feedbacks and comments. For the present - I shall bid you adieu.

I am dear READERS,
You most obedient
humble Servant,
NURHIDAYATI ABD AZIZ