crazy logic pop star tour

conversations with Vina part 1

2010-10-31T22:18:00.003+08:00

#1 "what, and break my heart again?"

"as always"

2# "take me with you, you and me against the world"

"but i cannot"

Lover of Sculptures

2010-06-27T23:26:00.005+08:00

There is a life-like human sculpture in the town square that caught not only my attention, but the flurry that he excited in the retina descends, reverberating in the heart. Like David, he is perfect.

Silently They Fight

2010-04-18T18:31:00.002+08:00

Deafening silence
of Mimes in a battlefield

I retreated, behind a closed bedroom door
and surrendered beneath white sheets.

Peace.

Stanza for the One Who Lurks in Shadows

2009-07-27T00:27:00.006+08:00

Oh! Mir shadow-lurker,
thine organs are of fire, thy demeanour ice,
virtuous are thy desires, thy noble love vice!

Chenang

2009-05-17T20:55:00.000+08:00

Mendongak aku ke langit pekat. Malam ini Elentari tak begitu pemurah. Tapi tak mengapa, di tempat bintang-bintang, ratusan obor berapi yang melayang-layang menjadi titik-titik cahaya di langit.

Dalam sela masa yang tak menentu mercun yang meletup menyelimut pantai dengan cahaya, seraya alam terbuka luas, seolah-olah mengajuk, bahkan meramal hidupku yang malar kelam ditandangi detik-detik cerah bersifat fana.

Dan sekali lagi aku meninggalkan hati di pantai.

Ada apa dengan pantai yang memanggil-manggil hati untuk ditinggal dibiar didampar di pasirnya?

Untuk menjadi kutipan orang-orang tak punya hati?

Lalu aku akan kembali ke Chenang,
untuk menyikat pasirnya,

Demi detik-detik cerah bersifat fana itu,
demi pelukan “Selamat Tahun Baru”,
demi “sweet dreams are made of these” ,
demi pasir di celah jari-jari kaki,
demi mencari kembali hati yang belum dituntut

walau hanya dalam mimpi.

Dada

2008-11-20T22:08:00.002+08:00

Fakir-fakir Kashmir
Balu-balu Palestin
Anak-anak Iraq

Wahai penduduk dunia
yang hatinya gusar
jiwanya kacau

Aku tahu tempat selamat
untuk melabuh kepala
lelap tidur -

di dadanya.

Cinta Yang Agung

2008-10-29T23:15:00.004+08:00

ke anak cucu.

Eksemplari Chairil Anwar Buat Parvati di Ofis Ong&Ong

2008-09-07T12:07:00.003+08:00

Berbisik aku kepada si Pemecah Ruyong, ” Kau dengar ni?”

Dum-dum
Dum-dum

Jawab si Pemecah Ruyong sambil menekap telinga ke dadaku, “Ya, bunyi jantung kau, bukan?”

“Bukan, bukan. Bunyi peredam cerucuk.”

“Kenapa simpan barang mekanikal dalam hati? Bukan hati organik sifatnya, penyimpan rasa-rasa cinta pemendam rasa-rasa dendam...”

“Pada cerucuk tertulis rasa-rasa cinta yang jadikan aku gila. Aku benamkan dalam-dalam. Kau yang mengajar aku jadi mekanikal, jadi robot.”

“Ok je.”

“Tengok. Robotik"

Pemuja Penari Podium

2007-11-24T14:16:00.000+08:00

Monolog buat Malaikat yang berpakaian oren, yang singgah ke bumi untuk menyanyi ‘Negaraku’, yang menambat retinaku sampai pagi:-

Malam yang aku berbaring kejap melihat kubah mahkamah dibingkai gerbang tajam terpandang aku sedetik pada bintang-bintang. Mungkin dalam kerdipan mereka ada jawapan. Tapi Elentari tak berbicara.

Jadi aku bertanya pada dewi Aphrodite, dewi Parvati bahkan pada diriku sendiri (kerana dewi-dewi humanis direka daripada manusia) -

Apakah nasibku, si Pemuja Penari Podium,

seduduk dengan Muhairi Si Pemuja Punggung Tonggek Pinkie atau Christian si Pemuja Satine The Sparkling Diamond?

Nampak tak persamaannya, bila kata Muhairi, “Punggungmu itu keindahan”

Dan kata pula aku si Pemuja Penari Podium,

“Lehermu wasap-wasap khayal, sehela baunya hilang warasku seribu malam”

Atau bila kata Christian, “Cintamu oksigen”

Dan aku pula mencelah,

”Bibirmu candu, ketagihku tak berpenawar”

(Kalaulah menghisap candu itu berdosa hukumnya, beri, dan berikan lagi aku dosa)

Bohong kalau aku kata aku boleh berikan kau segalanya (macam orang-orang lain sebelum aku.)

(Tapi fikirku dalam gilaku) Lihat tanganku. Lihat apa aku hulurkan-

Pada kau si Penari Podium, boleh aku tunjukkan makna taksub. (this ridiculous obsession with love) Lihat,

Bangun pagiku kerana mahu menatap wajahmu.
Tidur malamku kerana mahu mimpikan kamu.
Cantik rumahku kerana kaulah Balqis yang akan menyinsing kain menyusuri lantai (hilang kegelapan sekian alam).
Gigih kudratku kerana aku mahu belanja kau makan.
Elok lakuku kerana aku mahu masuk syurga berjumpa kamu.
Elok diriku agar aku boleh berdiri sama tinggi denganmu.

(Dan terbayang dalam gilaku)

kita menari atas podium suralayamu sampai mati.

Parvati dan Aphrodite, aku, bahkan kau, masih berhutang jawapan.

room with a view

2007-09-06T22:23:00.000+08:00

a dose of crazy logic:

If 'view towards KLCC's Petronas Twin Towers' is indeed a selling point in a residential or commercial property (which is played to death by those people at marketing),

then the offices at the Petronas Twin Towers itself (if they were for sale anyway) should be selling very cheap shouldn't they?

2007-09-03T23:04:00.000+08:00

Putera Gunung Tahan

2007-05-30T22:05:00.000+08:00

dari aku: Napa orang suka tahan apa yang diorang nak luahkan? Napa diorang tak cakap jek? (sebab aku tau dia attracted dengan aku. Sebab aku nak dia cakap aku chantek, hensem, kiut, tak pernah dia jumpa orang yang se-likeable cam aku atau se-fun aku. sebab aku juga Estella. Pergi makan hatilah Estella –Estella lain di dunia!)

dari dia: Tepuk dada tanyalah hati.

dari aku: Apa yang awak tahu pasal hati?

dari dia: Hati adalah lambang kasih seorang insan. Dari hatilah wujud perasaan sayang dan windu. Ia tak dapat nak dielakkan kerna ia satu anugerah. Jika kita guna hati untuk menyayangi maka bahagia menanti.

dari aku: Bermadah pujangga segala. Pak Sako kah?

ekekekekekekekekek

Kempen Menambah Trafik ke Laman Blog (2)

2007-04-14T09:25:00.000+08:00

"I can't erase you from my life"

"I don't wont to be erased"

And they embraced, and rode away into the sunset.

Kempen Menambah Trafik Ke Laman Blog

2007-04-14T09:04:00.000+08:00

Matador

2007-02-18T00:49:00.001+08:00

Brush me aside
make me kiss the floor
Matador

In the desolation of this ring
While spectators’ eyes
Watch me turn and charge
At your taunts

Kill me, alright
You’re the one I adore
Matador.

Kempen Mengetos Air Kencing

2006-12-15T21:05:00.000+08:00

"Hendaklah kamu mengetos air kencing dengan berdehem." (bukan maksud hadith)

*Ehem Ehem* selepas kencing untuk memastikan lelehan air kencing putus.

Lihat, tiada lagi kesan lebihan air kencing di seluar dalam. Solat lebih bermakna dengan mengetos air kencing.

Ingat! Toslah air kencing dengan berdehem.

Isaac Newton

2006-11-24T20:37:00.000+08:00

From a comic strip,

"How did things fall down even before Isaac Newton discovered gravity?"

my missing piece (II)

2006-11-15T22:47:00.000+08:00

sometimes the oddest piece fits the puzzle and completes it.

untitled

2006-09-13T01:01:00.000+08:00

masa mengejar kita. tolong!! panic attack!! mana produktiviti orang muda yang tak perlukan kopi sebagai pick me up?

macam mana nak buat? weekend yang membuang masa. weekend yang mana kegilaan menjadi kongkongan.

depressan yang tak sudah2. seribu satu benda nak pikir, nak buat. semua tinggal sebagai pikiran.

tadi makan kat bangsar disapa perempuan tua menghengke bakul jual keropoks and kerepeks. lantas disapanya aku," dik belilah kerepek". oh, bersamanya seorang budak perempuan, mungkin cucunya. bukan mintak sedekah, bukan mintak belas kasihan. dia memang jual keropok. di bangsar. kagum, dan kesian sebab di usia yang senja tu masih lagi kuat membanting tenaga nak carik rezeki. atau pun memang dia sengaja nak produktif. bukan mintak sedekah atau mintak belas kasihan.

dan budak perempuan yang mungkin cucu itu akan mengheret kerusi buat duduk nenek tua itu sementara pembeli keropok memilih keropok yang nak dibeli.

lantas teringat aku nenek di kampung. yang baru survive stroke. yang sekarang kalau nak ke toilet kena heret dengan adik aku. yang masa dia terlantar di hospital percakapannya tak berapa jelas sebab kerongkongnya tersekat dengan kahak dan juga kesan stroke. yang walaupun tengah sakit dan rimas sebab lama sangat baring, masih lagi boleh gelak (lega hati aku sikit) sebab aku tak paham cakap dia dan aku sukahati jek suggest perkataan ikut sedap telinga aku.

dan juga mak aku yang sebagai anak sulung sangat tabah dan tenang bila berhadapan situasi-situasi begini contoh nya kena jaga nenek aku dan juga akak aku yang baru jek bersalin. dulu masa atuk aku sakit pun dia jaga. dia yang among top student SSP berkorban impian untuk adik-adik dan family. dia yang kadang-kadang aku sakitkan hati dia berkali-kali tapi on the spot dimaafkan. mak i miss you!

kaulah wanita ciptaan istimewa.

Partai Liberal Tanah Melayu

2006-09-06T20:49:00.000+08:00

To me, being liberal is having a free enough mind to entitle other people to their opinion. To be open-minded enough to listen to opinions and accept it to be different from our own. We might be against it, we might argue against it, but we must acknowledge the right that everybody is entitled to an opinion.

It is ironic to claim oneself as being liberated, only to shun people who are deemed 'unliberated' and 'conventional' just because they, in the eyes of the liberal, maintain an opinion that is deemed 'unliberated' and 'conventional'. Holding a view that one is unliberated just because their opinion delineates from your own betrays the idea of being open-minded or 'liberal'. Because, if you are 'liberal' in the truest sense, wouldn't you be open to ideas besides your own?

Thus to argue against an idea or opinion shouldn't transcend towards being against a person as a person.

That being said, here's my two cents:

Tiara is the new local Madonna. Ning is inconsistent, Dayang is what kampong people think as 'urban'.

Just my two cents. Hehe.

bintang-bintang

2006-09-01T02:57:00.000+08:00

Bila aku melangut ke langit melihat bintang-bintang, aku tahu ada kemungkinan dalam beberapa jarak, (mungkin sebatu, mungkin beribu) kau juga memandang langit yang sama. Langit yang mungkin tak berubah sejak sedekad lalu.

Mungkinkah kau juga sama? Sekelumit perasaan yang tertanam sangat dalam hinggakan ia tak dapat berubah. Atau kau cuba buang tapi saki bakinya sangat degil melekat.

(fikiran penuh harapan yang hanya memungkinkan apa yang kita ingin percaya, jadi kita buat andaian. Supaya kita tak mati tanpa harapan)

Tapi kau manusia, yang jangkahayatnya hanyalah sehela nyawa bintang-bintang. Tak mungkin kau tak berubah.

Kadang-kadang aku melihat diri ini seperti gunung-ganang, seperti bintang-bintang, yang memerhati perubahan sementara diriku, menanti dan kekal seperti bila-bila.

Malam ini bawalah dirimu yang dulu, lengkap dengan baumu, lengkap dengan rasa kulitmu, lengkap dengan tabiatmu, lengkap dengan riak-riak wajahmu, biar realiti dulu dicipta semula dalam mimpi,

sedang tidurku diperhati bintang-bintang.

p/s terima kasih Awan, yang di suralayanya berkongsi menyimpan arkib peribadiku seperti kapsul masa.

31st August 2005

2006-08-31T00:00:00.000+08:00

The colour of the attire of angels, contrary to what is universally believed, or what is widely depicted, is not white. It is in fact, orange.

Visions of twirling orange, that seemed to have fallen from the heavens to emerge on a throne with a single steel column (sebuah singgahsana bertiang keluli tunggal di sebuah Istana). Such is the mirage of divinity, like a prophet’s muse sent in dark places. Caves where, in place of bats, disillusioned spawns of the loins of Adam would frolick. And my retina is where the divine light excite.

The following weeks, I too, became the worshipper of mirror balls. She cried, “Time goes by so slowly for those who wait” and I echoed, sometimes like a parrot, sometimes like a pious follower whose sense was hammered into the head like lightning.

The things we do. The things I did.

And my commandments in the form of taxonomy of things:

Thamoud, Sa’dum, ‘Ad, Quraisy, Bani Israel, Parsi, Badwi, Habsyi, Proton, Bentley, Rolls Royce, Naza-Kia, Toyota, Mitsubishi, Cycle & Carriage, Cindai, Balqis, Hati Kama, Nirmala, Ya Maulai, Purnama Merindu.

Tea, scones and roast beef

2006-07-07T20:51:00.000+08:00

From a friend,

" I drank so much tea I'm turning English "

Great Expectations

2006-06-12T20:36:00.000+08:00

God, damn all the Estellas of the world,
who thinks, that Your gift of beauty
is actually a weapon to butcher hearts

Peck, peck the seeds of love (how dare they offer us!)
If I am a pigeon I will not feed from their hands
I will shit on their raised faces of smugness.

and rouse them to Time that will bring wrinkles
and shifts in the centre of the universe to 'not-them'.

God, damn all the Estellas of the world,
Or make me the Estella to them.

Ben Johnson

2006-05-18T20:55:00.000+08:00

soalan: bila kita sudah cuba berlari dan terjatuh sekali, adakah kita bangkit dan berlari semula
atau
kita cuba pula berjalan kalau-kalau kita tak terjatuh lagi?

jawaban: berlari, berjalan, dua-dua pun aku akan jatuh.

(atau, janji sampai destinasi?)
(habis lutut aku)

anak tiri dewa kupid

2006-05-16T20:48:00.000+08:00

sms: jangan dok buat benda2 yang kurang cerdik lak k.

too late, i already did.

i fell in love.

miss dzionne warwick

2006-04-16T19:52:00.000+08:00

I never thought i'd post lyrics on my blog. that is such a rip off. but i have to hand it to burt bacharach and hal david; they're such amazing melancholic songwriters. sample the following babi song- tore my heart like paper.

A House is not a Home

A chair is still a chair
Even when there’s no one sitting there
But a chair is not a house
And a house is not a home
When there’s no one there to hold you tight
And no one there you can kiss good night

A room is still a room
Even when there’s nothing there but gloom
But a room is not a house
And a house is not a home
When the two of us are far apart
And one of us has a broken heart

Now and then I call your name
And suddenly your face appears
But it’s just a crazy game
When it ends it ends in tears

Darling, have a heart
Don’t let one mistake keep us apart
I’m not meant to live alone.
Turn this house into a home
When I climb the stairs and turn the key
Oh, please be there still in love with me.

tajuk dia: tanyalah mak kau

2006-04-16T01:49:00.000+08:00

Untitled

2006-04-16T01:29:00.000+08:00

I t(h)rust in you, hand

bear me a son.

Kesetiaan

2006-04-16T01:24:00.000+08:00

Jika,
cintaku yang dulu
adalah penghalang dosa
yang sepemeluk tebal dindingnya

sedang otot-otot yang lalu lalang
diamati mataku yang keranjang

Penipu besarlah aku.

with a little help from my friends

2006-04-16T01:06:00.000+08:00

1. Dont ask make-up tips from The Attorney General's ex-pet peacock:
He thinks Brooke Shields' monobrow is still in.

2. The new pilgrimage site of Buddhist monuments is 1st floor Danau Murni where you can find the leaning Buddha, the playing computer games Buddha, the screaming Buddha, and other Buddhas in a variety of poses.

The March Hare on a lonely April Saturday nite

2006-04-16T01:04:00.000+08:00

I am crazy, if craziness is the seedling of indecisiveness. Or over-optimism in multitasking a 5 year’s worth of effort in the duration of 1 month, only by thinking about it? If I am porcelain in place of wrinkles crack lines would crawl all over me like river tributaries, flowing, seeping, creeping from my skull down to my body. Which, is, maybe, most probably, the reason for my severe case of gastricitis last few nights ago.

What am I looking for? ( It used to be Balqis, or rather, Balqis-ness, but still, I cannot see the point of pursuing that anymore, for nobody’s looking) Which dreams to pursue then? Dreams of late, are only dreams for dream’s sake, no longer an objective. For perfection is the preventor of progress, the purveyor of waiting. Waiting for the right time, waiting for the right climate, right temperature, right person, right predicament. And while waiting, to kill time, useless things are carried out like habit. (which is ominous!)

But subconsciously I know some things do not require wait. Probably all things even. Some things (or all things too) do not require the ‘on your mark-get set-go’ stance before a sprint. Some things you just run with with abandon. Then you only know. You experience the out-of-breath-ness, the pounding of heart, the trickling of sweat. Then you stop, gasp for breath and run again, probably walk the rest of the way, and it becomes a habit.

Some people calls it ‘experience’. And with experience you get purpose.

I marvel at people who, at the tender age of 25 already knows how his life in the next 40 years would turn out, and readily settle down, not for the reason that one is already content with one’s standing, but for sheer confidence that things will fall gracefully in their respective places.

O’ how precarious is the road less followed. Yet how weary am I of standing in line.

How anxious am I to arrive. Damn dreams that make you sleep. Damn habits that kill time. Damn damn damn it.

Shoop pe doo bab bab. Shoop ee doo blab la bab. Oogle oogle oogle.

Pengawatinjaan

2006-03-28T20:11:00.000+08:00

a dose of crazy logic:

question: have u ever seen other people berak?

if no is your answer, then how do you justify that the way you've been doing it all your life is normal?

kebebasan bercakap hanyalah satu ideal

2005-12-22T01:24:00.000+08:00

aku rasa aku nak tulis apa-apa jek yang terlintas kat kepala otak aku ni.

*pause*

babi-lah. aku benci self-censure!!!!

this counts as one (1)

2005-12-10T00:31:00.000+08:00

updated 10/12/2005

Dodo of the Caucus Race

2005-11-22T21:07:00.000+08:00

excerpt from a website:

In the year 1598 AD, Portuguese sailors landing on the shores of the island of Mauritius discovered a previously unknown species of bird, the Dodo. Having been isolated by its island location from contact with humanity, the dodo greeted the new visitors with a child-like innocence. The sailors mistook the gentle spirit of the dodo, and its lack of fear of the new predators, as stupidity. They dubbed the bird "dodo" (meaning something similar to a simpleton in the Portuguese tongue). Many dodo were killed by the human visitors, and those that survived man had to face the introduced animals. Dogs and pigs soon became feral when introduced to the Mauritian eco-system. By the year 1681, the last dodo had died, and the world was left worse with its passing.

i wonder would there be excitement if suddenly a dodo showed up after such a long presumed extinction?

Tora datang lagi dengan permainan hidung badut

2005-11-08T21:49:00.000+08:00

Badut, badut, ke mari sebentar.
Kau nampak si sufi yang sedang menari?

Pergi tolak dia, biar jatuh tersungkur
Biar hidungnya penyek macam babi

Kemudian cabut hidung merahmu
(mesti kau ingat untuk ganti hidung sufi, bukan?)
Bukan, bukan, untuk disumbat ke lubang juburmu.

Sufi yang arif takkan memikat si sesat dengan pusingan mistiknya
Badut dengan hidung merah takkan buat aku ketawa

Habis apa yang aku cari?
Balqis, balqis yang dengan menyinsing kainnya hilang kegelapan seluruh alam.

that i would be good to be bad

2005-11-07T22:31:00.000+08:00

a dose of crazy logic:

If, in heaven we would be granted anything that we wished for,

Would it be theologically correct for us to be good in this lifetime so that in the afterlife we could commit sin?

on how to take compliments

2005-11-07T00:50:00.000+08:00

I find many people do not take compliments very well. In return of a compliment, they would always point out a larger flaw on their part (to display 'humbleness'), or express skepticism to the conveyor of the compliment ("ahhh... what an awfully sweet talker you are..."). I disagree with this form of compliment taking.

Hence, whenever that mamat James Blunt comes on the radio singing that one particular song, I'm like,

"Thank you, thank you, thank you"

hahahahhaha

Raya!!!

2005-11-06T23:27:00.000+08:00

raya....

brings different meaning to different people.
this year raya for me is like a semester break. one week of rest. and tomorrow, i will be back at work. i don't know what prompts me to write at such a late hour like this, i have just arrived from kampong after toiling through hideous traffic jam- on the highway. maybe the ting-tong ness.

cuti cuti like this gave me ample time to reflect. too much time i guess.

in the course of my friendship with friends i'm- always melukut di tepi gantang. always datang lambat. always whining. always dependant. always what have you.

(i sometimes hate myself for it) but i love everybody.

so this raya,

i am sorry friends,

for not being as posh as Bettina Chu

i am sorry for not being as technically efficient as Jasnita Khor

i am sorry i am not a bimbo like Wardina

i am sorry i am not as fashionable as Mel Gibson

i am sorry i am not as vocally talented as Zaiton Sameon

i am sorry i am not an event manager like Shida Puki

i am sorry i am not as funny as Peter & the Wolf

i am sorry i cannot laugh like a peacock like the Attorney General's pet

i am sorry i am not the centre of the universe like Khatijah Ibrahim.

i am deeply, deeply sorry.

Selamat Hari Raya. Maaf Zahir Batin.

This may still be relevant

2005-09-24T12:58:00.000+08:00

K.

My name is Khairil.

Am I K in your book?*

Therein lies my hope. To grace the pages of your history. However insignificant the chapter is. However transient.

To draw your attention I must withhold mine. Aloofness is my weapon, though every turn of my face against yours would strain my neck as if it is tautly leashed to the gaze of your saucer-like eyes.

Thus aloofness is your weapon too, deprive me of trivial hellos and wretched I shall be. Pat my arm to signify goodbye or peck my thigh for ‘goodnight’, and I shall sleep like a toddler content with a day’s worth of attention seeking tantrums.

For your attention is precious, like water to a stranded traveler. I cup my hands secretly to drink it in, and if it trickles through my fingers I shall trail them to my forearms, my tongue like dogs on a fox hunt.

Why did I give you away? Maybe an unspoken “You were on loan till I get back”. My heart was guarded up by idealisms, restrained by memories, pent-up emotions building all these years. Only to surface when your anchor is dropped. Is it too late? Maybe. And yet you still bobbed towards me. A restrained partiality. You, like me, are on a leash. That leash was built on the fact that your other current half was a spectator of your life’s events. But tell me, does land owners spectators make?

Who lays the rules who should be loved? Why, in a world full of wrongs one should be rightly loved?

I would still be waiting then, for ideal grounds where one stood when one is 18 would not necessarily be firmly held when one is 3, nay 9 years older.

Waiting, but in the meantime kill time. ( I can’t just let you have all the fun can I?)

Call me Dorian Gray.

* from The English Patient

ada apa dengan mir? (I)

2005-08-28T01:47:00.000+08:00

I walked into the rain that night armoured with a copy of Kosmo above my head, the only umbrella surrendered gallantly to the only lady among us. After a meagre distance the dryness of the paper withered away like my restraint. Thus i flung away the soggy melch that was the newspaper and ran. Ran to the locally-assembled car. Let it be. A wet sprint at Dataran Merdeka at night time. ( with a Japanese guy learning Bahasa Melayu hot at my heels) (oh, no, not with a katana with intentions to severe my head) ( how far have we come from that year that was 1942?) Post-listening to patriotic poems about Merdeka by greats the likes of A Samad Said and such, only to remember a recitation of Kob Baju Kot, by Sabri Yunus. Such liberation.

wasn't it romantic? You beautiful gorgeousness you.

you know i love you, babe.

I love you too.

Too bad we're not attracted to each other.

Yeah, too bad.

The Lover of Many Things

2005-08-18T00:09:00.000+08:00

What do you hate most?

Heat. Crows. Homework. House Lizards in Jars of Formalin. Watching Accumulated Saliva Drip from a Downward-pointing Trumpet. The Smell of Chickens Cooped in Cages Ready for Slaughter. Posers. Poyo-ness. Waiting. A Pimple. So-called Religious People Who Thinks They Are Holier-Than-Thou. Exclusivity When You’re Excluded. Zara Salesgirls Who Thinks They Own the Clothing Line. Unanswered calls. Uncertainty. Lack of Choice. The Truth About Yourself. Ownership. A lie.

What do you love most?

Many (things).

How ironic it is that we use one word to represent more than one.

How we are able to pin point what we loathe, but cannot identify what we love.

The Hater of Specific Things. The Lover of the General.

"Bang, bang, buleh tak kita ekspresikan diri kita dalam bentuk puisi dan lagu?" "Baik" "Tuai padi antara masak, esok jangan layu layuan, intai kami an

2005-07-14T00:23:00.000+08:00

tara nampak, esok jangan rindu rinduan......"

Buat H, M, B, dan segerombolan konsonan lain yang terlintas di fikiran

Puisi Depresan

(Tribusi untuk Oletta Adams, yang berjaya membuatku depresan, aku benci kau)

Apa kata kita lari sayang?
(Pernah kau guna perkataan itu?)
Sayang.

Jauh dari semua-
Tanggungan, ikatan, bagasi yang lebih had muatan

Atau

Apa kata kita berdiri saja di tengah hujan
Dan dongak
Biarkan butir-butir air
Berbatu datangnya dari atas sana
Menyasar ke muka
Ke bahu
Ke ubun-ubun
(biar masuk akal ke otak)
Sakitkah?
Atau segarkah?

Dua pendosa dibasuh langit luas terbuka
Dicuci sucikah kita?
Jikalau kau sejuk ke marilah, peluklah aku
Atau biar terpaku kaku di sana kau, di sini aku
_____

Luka ini biarku tanggung
Bagai anak yang dikandung
Kadang-kadang ku usap girang
Ku tersenyum seorang
Di kala lain mata bergenang

Biar sampai sembuh
Rasa di hati jangan diasuh

______

Adat bermain di halaman orang
kalau datang tak berundang
walau dijemput bertandang
Meskipun dipelawa bermalam

Apabila esok fajar menjelang
Kita kena tahu jalan pulang

______

Kalau lah benar cinta itu datang sekelip mata
Mengapa mata ini tidak buta

Akibat kering

bertahun tak berkedip.

To know who you are

2005-07-05T23:51:00.000+08:00

A dear friend once taught me, that to know who you are is to know who you are not.

The realization of truth would confront one in the face with a harsher blow when one deals with the reverse.

It is with more conviction and concentrated perseverance that one would deny what one is not, rather than admit what one is.

You are not Paris Hilton.
You are not Hugh Dancy.

But you are also not poor.
And you are definitely not ugly.

“You are hopeless”, they think.
“I am hopeful”, you say.
You are the opposite of what you are not

Courtney Love wears lipstick to work

2005-07-05T23:48:00.000+08:00

Love is the lost of conscience.

Love is devoid of sanity.

Love is craziness, loony-ness, eccentricity.

Love is spontaneity

Love is intoxication

Calculative-ness is not love. Deliberation is not love.

Scrutiny is not love.

Perfection is not love. (though love could be the road to perfection)

(If these things are prevalent, acquire another object to love. Which is impossible, for genuine love is an unplanned whim)

You stumble upon love or get in its way.

You do not get love because it’s there.

You do not get love because it’s an obvious (or only) choice.

You pursue love simply because you desire for it.

Virginia Kennedy

2005-06-19T16:09:00.000+08:00

i am very fickle-minded. seriously.

wait a minute, i take that back.

three weddings and one helluva weekend

2005-06-10T21:17:00.000+08:00

three weddings that occupied my weekend.

one in Ipoh.

one in Shah Alam.

one in Rawang.

three crazy bitches on their way to Ipoh screaming

to

one Mariah album.

three gorgeous ladies dressed to kill

one Tom Abang Saufi

and

one gorgeous hunk in green baju Melayu (hehe)

making haste to Shah Alam

three half-hours late.

one stylish dinner at the Concorde.

one unnecessary valet parking.

one million photo opportunities afterwards

one unexpected ride to Rawang

three fashionistas looking as if they're going to catch a wayang

three sessions of great conversations

three weddings

one helluva weekend.

euphimism 101: 1

2005-05-27T20:44:00.000+08:00

another way of declaring that you're soooo 'nice and sweet' without coming across as smug:

"if i eat curry I'll be growing breasts and a pussy"

One day in the __th Age of the Sun

2005-05-12T20:10:00.000+08:00

Thus Elentari the Lady of the Heavens, Queen of the Stars whispered to his ear, “should I bequeath upon you one day, in this age of the Sun, to go forth, beyond Belegaer the Western Sea, to the east, to the shores of the Mortal Lands, how should you spend it?”

So he, whose eyes kindled with light from the Stars, and whose walk is illuminated like the glow of the Moon, answered, “I, of a race whose happiness is greatest and sorrow is deepest have fled to the Undying Lands bearing a wound I thought could heal under the light of the Valar, but in vain.

Thus the ship of Cirdan I shall embark, and seek in the Mortal Lands, one from the line of the great Kings of the North, one whose brow the Yellow Face shines ever upon, for the hands of those spawned from Kings of old are the hands of a healer.”

There is no thousand-year ache a day couldn’t heal.

i hate to break the news my babies, but....

2005-05-12T19:55:00.000+08:00

i am soooo going to die.

but i don't know when.

but so do you.

and neither do you.

don't we all?

cameron diaz is marrying justin timberlake

2005-05-08T00:36:00.000+08:00

it is so fucking cold in Cameron Highlands the food takes forever to cook.

boy i am only human

2005-04-19T12:07:00.000+08:00

i am sooo not a god. i am only an entity in this universe, an object where my existence between another object articulates a space, and the space where i occupy myself cannot be occupied by another entity at the same exact time.

rest assured i can think of different places and different people even when i am at a different place, though.

therefore, even when i seem to overlook some people, doesn't mean they are not remembered, and doesn't mean they are not dearest.

i am only human, subject to the tide of consequences.

promises

2005-04-04T22:08:00.000+08:00

when making promises,
bear in mind that

always, forever and never

are too strong words to use.

it usually happens in the evenings

2005-04-04T21:35:00.000+08:00

It usually happens in the evenings, nearing dusk, when all things seem to bustle in a last burst before it starts to quiet and retreat for the day– the birds, people and all else.
You’d see some boys taking their sweaty t-shirts off heading indoors after a game in the field, their backs against the crimson sky that would gradually become dark.
Then a sudden but soft breeze would blow upon your face. You close your eyes, the more to feel it, as if the breeze would take the form of a palm wiping across your cheek.
Why have I seen these before, you’d ask, in your brief moment of darkness.

Or in the night, when all stirred none, save for some writhing bodies that would creak beds. Or a single cricket’s racket or rustling leaves casting lingerie-like silhouettes that would dance through windowpanes.
Then a soft sweet music from a transmitter radio, slightly muted, as if heard from afar, but strangely clear, cutting through the still darkness.
Then you’d ask, why have I been here before?

If mechanistic theories were to be believed in, then perhaps everything that we encounter is a repetition (or rotation) of everything that has happened. Or, at least, the overall pattern of everything that has happened. ( But how come I opened this entry with the description of details, you wonder? Maybe it was not the description of details, for example, i did not say, what colour the t-shirts the boys wore, what their names are, or what sweet music played. Perhaps these are the mold in which the more detailed details are inserted)

Observe, from Eduardo del Rio (Rius) on mechanistic (metaphysics) belief,
“Nature is immutable, subject to the cause and effect of rotary motion like machines”
“Society changes very little for the metaphysician, except by repeating itself mechanically, eg wars, hungers, governments etc)

Hence the dictum, ‘history repeats itself’. Maybe Banda Acheh was Pompeii revisited?

Or the things that we know that we’re putting ourselves go through when embarking on a relationship:
The first sight. The stolen glimpses and when you notice the person is looking back at you. Going through all the trouble to secure a first conversation, perhaps a first date. Saying something unbelievably corny at the first try. Then the conversations. Long, endless conversations that delve deep into the wee hours of the morning. The classic telephone conversation where neither says anything but still holding on to the phone for the fact that there’s that somebody at the other line is enough fodder.

The drama that follows before committing to the relationship. When the unsure becomes certain. The quality times together- (please fill in). the jotting electric shocks. Then the quarrels. The reconciliation. The love that is stronger than before. The betrayal. The forgiveness and the contrition. The waning of the spark. The break up. Adjusting to being almost back to strangers. The back-for-sex-after breakup. Getting over each other. The pact of ‘let’s-be-friends’. Getting on with each other’s lives. The distance that facilitates one’s getting on with their lives. A liar one would be if one’s relationship were without these things.

Perhaps that is why so many of my friends that was in a long relationship (say 2-4 years, an ample time to go through all of above) would end up together again after they break-up. And again and again. Such is ‘cinta agung’. for ‘cinta agung’ is meant to be.

Wrote Oscar Wilde:
“…all that it demonstrated was that our future would be the same as our past, and that the sin we had done once, and with loathing, we would do many times and with joy”

or sang Bjork:
“have you seen the Niagara Falls?”
“ I have seen water, it’s water that’s all”
“the Eiffel Tower and the Empire State?”
“My pulse was as high on my very first date”

(How can one experience a rotation of experience without going through the experiences that makes up the image bank in the first place? Maybe the base is in similar mold, but the details are different or vice versa. But then, what about the ‘first-est’ experience, you’d ask. Beats me.)

What is new experience but a derivation of a former experience?
Perhaps then, we need just one.
Just one, and we’ve seen it all.

p/s But I do have an insatiable thirst for new experiences though. Take me out dancing. Take me everywhere- Taman Burung to dine with the hornbills, up a mountain top to shake hands with Mahathir, to Frangipani where kisses fly amidst designer labels, to see Jit Murad as ‘Malaikat Yang Lalu’, to Sepang where people mock coital positions on the racetrack, to Hamley’s to gape at the train sets on the 3rd Floor, to Zoo Negara to see pink flamingoes………

There is more to life out there. And I don’t care if it’s just a derivation of former experience. Former experiences make me comfortable, because it gives me familiarity of environment. New ones promises new thrills.

Post-coital (but eager for second helping) dessert

2005-04-04T15:13:00.000+08:00

He nestled his head in the nook she made between her arm and her chest.

“Why do you like to sleep this way?”

“Nothing beats your bosom as a pillow.”

Nyum-nyum.

“It has raisins on top”

Nyum-nyum.

Nyum-nyum.

p/s (sorry in advance for deliberate slight perverseness, but i have much confidence u guys can handle all these, unlike some people in the parliament)

Be careful my sons and daughters

2005-03-31T16:42:00.000+08:00

Be careful when you put someone too high up on a pedestal.

The farthest you would probably reach her/him could be just around the feet.

amplified sound of the heart (or Bonnie Tyler's a two-hit wonder)

2005-03-28T15:12:00.000+08:00

She nestled her head in the nook he made between his arm and his chest.

“Why do you like to sleep this way?”

“I like to hear your heartbeat.”

Dup-dup.

“It beats with mine”

Dup-dup.

Dup-dup.

Puisi Depresan

2005-03-25T15:05:00.000+08:00

Bisa ku katup mataku malam ini
Untuk mengangankan dirimu
Biarlah aku tak bangun lagi
Kerna mimpi lebih indah dari fakta hari ini
Dan cerita kita lebih cantik
Bila diputarbalik

Biarlah bantalku ganti bahumu
Dan hamparan selimutku
samaran dakapmu
Tak jemu aku dengan lenaku
Kerna mimpi itu menurut-
Caturan kehendak benakku

Biarlah sawang-sawang
yang menyapu mukaku
Ku kira urai rambutmu
dan harum kemenyan
Wangian kau sembur di badan
Atau serangga yang melata
Ku sangka usapan jemarimu penuh cinta

Mataku tak mahu buka
Kerna kasihmu segar di alam baka.

prose: eat my shorts!

2005-03-25T14:56:00.000+08:00

(read like Regina George)
I wish I’d be more quick witted and laser-tounged. And a bit bitchy. Then I’d be like, so cool like J. Lo or something.

In pursuing this education I happen to watch a movie which brings me to the conclusion that ANY movie that includes cross-dressing or rich, spoiled Caucasian girl should be like, tremendously, funny. Like, totally.

Examples,
“Your mum is so stupid she went to Gucci to buy Fendi and stuff”

“Your mum is so old her breast milk is powdered”

"Your mum is so stupid she exercises to lose weight, when she can get lipo or something"

So I tried to like, sporadically formulate some original ones, and hopefully I get to use them like, some day:

(to an obese person)
“you’d better be covered in batter cause you’re so gonna be deep fat fried in hell”

(to a person with yellow teeth)
“Is that a canary in your mouth?”

(to Mel Gibson)
“You former male model”

(to reply to a girl with a cellulite-laden butt the size of Australia when she says ‘kiss my ass’)
“that is such a big area to cover”

(to an acne prone person)
“Pizza is not a face towel”

And the crème de la crème,
“Your mum shops at Kamdar”

on physical appearance, love and stuff

2005-03-17T20:13:00.000+08:00

(i)
whoever came up with the dictum opposites attract must be virtous to self esteem challenged people

observe:
#1 if you think your partner is ugly,
bear in mind that you should be fucking gorgeous

#2 if you think YOU are ugly,
you'd still be able to sleep well knowing that you'll get a fucking gorgeous partner

so either way, you're advantageous
(so it applies> if you'd like a model girlfriend/boyfriend, just hope that you're fucking ugly)

(ii)
would Einstein be taken seriously if he looked like Brad Pitt?

(iii)
How can one person who is loathed by everybody has a partner who thinks he's everything? like, what do you see in her, gal? like, seriously.

which brings the question, which is better:

to be liked by everybody but loved by none
or to be disliked by everybody but loved, adored, put on a pedestal by one. (it takes only one, in the whole wide world)

iv)
If you like people paying you compliments that goes something like "Hey, you look like Brad Pitt" or Julia Roberts or Leonardo Dicaprio or whatever,

boy, you sure hate yourself don't you?

v)
have you ever dreamed,

If you have mixed Brazilian blood, and also have a bit of Caucasian and perhaps some of Persian ancestry, obviously you should be fucking gorgeous
but

If you have mixed Brazilian blood, and also have a bit of Caucasian and perhaps some of Persian ancestry, but still end up ugly, boy, that is fucking pathetic man. membazir!

moral of the story:
be grateful for whatever you have. at the very least you have a face.

p/s hey guys!! sorry i didn't update like since forever! (been figuring out my life lately) hope u enjoy this one. and oh, monochrome people and the remnants of my kin enam tahun good luck you guys!

prose: my lonely valentine

2005-02-14T14:13:00.000+08:00

imagine:

a lover that sits at the edge of the bed of the other during visits in the night shifts the burden of her body unto the mattress, awakens the asleep

lovers that slip into the soul of each other as if the body is a shared hide

noses that meet to rub for the first time generates electric currents that wickedly tingles the whole body

end of imagination.

all tell-tale signs show another lonely valentine's day.

perhaps that stupid Cupid should wear glasses so he can take a better aim at me.

Anyway, Happy Valentine's Day y'all.

p/s anyone knows who originally sang 'My Funny Valentine'?
i've got to have that.

is this a prose? : i'm giving it a shot

2005-01-31T13:26:00.000+08:00

to err is human,

to forgive, divine.

to send reports of it,

is Windows XP.

prose: mad hatter at Friday's

2005-01-28T16:58:00.000+08:00

Last few Fridays, a man suddenly collapsed during Friday prayers. His breathing sounded like a slaughtered bull. Some men near him quit their prayers and helped to send the man to a hospital, while some just remained unperturbedly (kononnya, I don’t know) khusyuk. Me? I didn’t know there was a collapsed man until after the prayers. (no, not that i am khusyuk but rather because i was praying on the lawn, i was late hehe)

What ARE we supposed to do in times like that? Do we quit and run when Jewish soldiers are opening fire towards the jemaah or do we just stay in devotion and pray for divine help or die hopefully in iman?

If one runs, what would it show? Does it show cowardice for running, or is it an ikhtiar to avoid danger? Which one displays a stronger iman, the one who just accepts his fate or the one who actually did something to save his life? Or, does the one who runs show that he would readily denounce his religion when faced with the slightest threat for being a Muslim?

Or, is it when you are khusyuk you should be oblivious to your surroundings because you are transcended beyond the physical to offer your sacred prayer to God? So technically nothing else should matter, be it war, be it business, be it family, all that will come AFTER you finish your solat, should you die so be it or should you live so be it. And, this khusyuk-ness is your iman and it will guide you in whatever you do, should you run or should you stay in prayer?

Very tricky. And scary too. Let’s just wish our imans are intact.

disclaimer: I'm NOT religious as in Persatuan Mahasiswa Islam religious, okay babes??

On a less tricky note,

Flowing clothes like robes, cloaks, and even sarongs makes you feel ethereal and at the same time regal, especially when descending wide steps with a gusty wind giving life to your frolicsome frock. Think Eowyn at Edoras.

But then a sick thought crossed my mind. And a degrading experience is not unhelpful either. What if,

In a prayer hall where the space is limited and you need to squeeze in behind another saf. Your headroom during sujud is barely adequate. Then suddenly the person in front-of-you’s (TPIFOY) loose sarong was blown up and it caught over your head. You embarrassedly hoped that the cloth would just slide back. It didn’t. You have no choice but to get up from your sujud (you wouldn’t want to sujud forever and let everyone see this degrading situation). And you get up, with your head inside the sarong of TPIFOY. You just better hope he’s not going commando that day.

So people, better wear trousers instead of sarongs. Even those people who wear jubah sometimes wear trousers inside. Or, tie your sarong neatly and closely, like when you are wearing a sampin. Do have your underwear on when wearing a sarong. And don’t distance yourself too closely to the person in front of you. Or, just shove off the sarong if it caught on your head.

Ladies and gentlemen, your dose of crazy logic from the friendly people at crazylogicpopstartour.blogspot.com.

Remember folks, It’s crazy, but it can logically happen! ekekekekekeek

prosa: Eidul Adha

2005-01-20T15:06:00.000+08:00

Selamat Hari Raya Qurban!

if you want to wish a friend who is repeating Urban Studio (fifth year architecture) please make sure you do not spell 'korban' that way. Those people can be very sensitive.

anyway, one raya haji which is very memorable for me is that one year where the family slaughtered a buffalo. and then the family, with relatives and friends hanged the carcass and lapah the meat in our very own garden. then we cooked a big portion of 1/3 of the meat (1/3 was for our own use, 1/3 went to relatives, and 1/3 went to the poor) in a big pot for the kenduri. at one corner of the garden you can see a small party barbequeing some meat over some charcoal. ever wonder what barbequed buffalo meat sans marinade taste like?

"rasa macam ghebau (taste like a buffalo)" was my youngest brother's comment, spitting it out disgustedly.

The ladies were busy inside the house preparing for the kenduri. and all these happened not without noise and clamour.

So if you have seen 'My Big Fat Greek Wedding ' where the Greek family roasted a lamb on a spit in their garden, you'll get the picture.

minus the dancing, of course.

prose: meskateers

2005-01-18T13:54:00.000+08:00

whenever i hear people mention halwa meskat (or the other kueh) this story would always put a secret grin on my face. in a fair dining hall, where we lay our scene.....

"You alls, try la makan ni...sedap ni" (proudly taking out something yellow and gooey and sticky looking)

"Apa benda ni?"

"Kalau you all nak tau... ni la halwa meskat, kueh dari Penang..." (beaming)

(the other guys taking a bite of the stuff)
"babe, apsal rasa cam puding jagung jek?"

"eh, ye ke......." (red in the face)

ekekekekekekek.

prose: Wan Nur Sunami Wan Albakri

2005-01-15T21:38:00.000+08:00

(this is from verbal sources, and as is with verbal sources, subject to exaggeration and liquid evidence)

I was a bit apprehensive when a friend told me (on Boxing Day) that his house we were in was shaking earlier that morning. It came out with a casual inquiry as to where we parked our car, and when we told him it was at the immediate ground floor of the 4 storey flat he recommended that we move it outside the building’s footprint. In my mind I was thinking, great, save the car first, we can always buy our lives at a used life sale, after being persuaded by a typical used life salesman. (but what were I myself to do, I ponder, were I to face such circumstance?)

I, who rummaged through the Technical Report on the Collapse of Highland Towers for several semesters, feared it was a structural defect.

(I had no opportunity to news because I was attending a wedding) The realization that it was an earthquake came to me with a phone call from my Dad in London who saw it on CNN. When I got home, my brother told me about my eldest grandmother’s kenduri (which I had to forgo) being washed by a big wave.

Those few weeks saw Kampong Kuala Muda, Seberang Perai Pulau Pinang in a bit of commotion. Main roads are full of parked cars (beachfront resident’s, aid worker’s, curious people’s), victims relocated to a school, and some residents clearing dried mud from their houses (like mat salleh shoveling snow from their compounds in winter).

And conversations-

“depa dok peghati nu apa dia benda putih-putih sepanjang-panjang laut tu dok mai dekat”

“dia mai tinggi bumbung sekolah”

“nasib baik la takdak oghang pi cari kepah, pasai masa jadi tu, ayaq tenang, takdak ribut takdak apa, dia mai tiba-tiba”

“perahu orang ke laut habih, depa jumpa balik bersusun kat pulau tengah tu, bercampoq pukat hang pukat aku”

It was fortunate that there were several kenduri in the area, making the villagers lively and busily scurrying about, instead of lazily dozing inside their houses or leisurely collecting kepahs at the beach (under the very noses of harm) typical of an uneventful Sunday. It was easier to alert and herd people who are already up on their feet.

In the event of the big waves hitting the beach during the kenduri, as related by my brother (please note that this portion of the kampong is not as badly struck as elsewhere, the houses are still standing, and only one life was claimed):

- people hurriedly saving their cars
- some fled to safety, some abandoned the scene where help might be needed, some even fled back home but soon realized they forgot a relative at the scene,
- some would remain at the affected houses, indifferent to a probability of a recurring onslaught
- couldn’t care less to confirm whose boat was seen in the sea prior to the tsunami (and who might be dead), and to check if there are family members missing after the waves hit
- nobody informed the authorities (police, firemen, paramedics, even the ketua kampong) of the incident

What we can learn from these incidents is that in spite of living long in a peaceful existence we are ill-prepared and sometimes fail to be reasonable in event of such disasters. Some were concerned more that the kenduri was ruined when it should be a cause for reflection that it unintentionally helped to save lives. (and what were I myself to do, I ponder, were I to face such circumstance? In these cases, I was just the outsider looking in) Butter has indeed made us fat.

And then there was the aftermath. When charity is politicized, the benevolence of philanthropists worldwide who handed in huge amounts of money in aid of the victims is misplaced. Those who were truly needy of the fund, whose wrecked perahus severed their sole source of living, were given only a small consolation while the remainder of it goes to close relatives and neighbours of the distributor of the aid, who were not in the least affected. Even to this day I can see people smilingly walking a-hippity-hop with free mattresses collected at the aid points, to their houses some few kilometers away from the affected areas.

There were also the greedy. When aid workers distributing the relief funds called for names and found out that the person was absent from the meeting, they would ask for a representative. One villager would bear the responsibility, in fact, of at least three names which gave him at least RM2000 in funds, only to act oblivious of the money when claimed by the rightful recipients. There was also a family from as far as Perak (when the hell did a tsunami hit Perak? Are you asking for one? I hope you get one, and I hope you won’t survive, that you are macerated and bloated in all your repulsive greediness) trying to claim a piece of the pie, and RELA members suspected of breaking in temporarily evacuated houses which they were supposed to be guarding (the police was obliged to take over to prevent this incident from recurring). I just hope this sad state of affairs is corrected pronto.

Even a wall of water this magnitude cannot wash the filth out of the hearts of men.

shitus poemus: mosquito

2005-01-14T10:41:00.000+08:00

when buzzing annoyingly in your ear,
thus depriving you of a peaceful slumber,
a nyamuk (mosquito) is a nyamuk no longer,

that nyamuk is babiiiiiiiii!!!!!!!!!!

prose: my friend's dream of hazy Genting

2005-01-12T14:17:00.000+08:00

my friend related this dream (thanks for this inspirational piece, awan!!) Apparently he was reading the Top Ten Richest People in Malaysia.

he dreamed going to a glamorous function, where he met the son of Lim Goh Tong. He asked him, "what is the secret of your success?"

He answered, "have a good breakfast."

prose: proverbs(?) closer to heart

2005-01-05T13:34:00.000+08:00

one who laughs last,

will be laughed at, reason being: lambat pikap.

prose: beg kulit kak long (or, eldest sister's leather bag)

2005-01-03T14:16:00.000+08:00

You employ a piece of leather, strong durable yarn, a steel buckle, all of these things assembled to correspond to a certain unity. And what is the result of that unity? A bag.

Observe; leather + yarn + buckle or lock = bag (or, specifically a leather bag)

(of course this equation could also make up shoes, or even anything, therefore it has a prerequisite of:

handle or strap + storage compartment + bigger than a purse = bag

Or, any other equations attributable to a ‘bag’. surely you guys know what a bag is don’t you?)

On its own, the bag is beautiful. It is therefore; much admired and is put on display. After all, leather ages to be more beautiful.

Over time, however, it collects dust. Dust is not a requisite to achieve a bag. Dust does not correspond to that unity which brings this state of beauty; in fact, it deters it. It is a foreign entity (aptly called ‘foreign entity’ because even without it, it can also be a bag, nevertheless).

Observe; leather + yarn + steel buckle + dust = ugly bag

(A foreign entity does not necessarily deter its beauty. For example,

Leather + yarn + steel buckle + silver pendants = beautiful bag

of course, ‘taste’ would also have to be taken into consideration, for a bag with silver pendants could also be poorly designed, thus ugly, but this is a hypothetical thingy, to provide a clarity of concept)

So what do you do when a bag turns ugly the result of accumulated dust?
You dust it. So it becomes itself again, in all its pureness.
Thus it is beautiful again, in its unity.

by the way, how much would a bag of this stature cost, anyone?

2005!

2005-01-01T01:17:00.000+08:00

let's party like it's 2005? nope, never happened.

i always longed, back in my stuck-in-the-studio days ( not that it's a million years ago) that i would celebrate new year, merdeka and whatever like other merry makers-congregrate at Dataran Merdeka, new year dinner with friends or whatever. but this recent new year's eve i find myself stuck again, in my room now, also staring at the pc, besides watching endless telly. if that were my azam, i'm afraid i failed. anyhow, in view of the recent happenings of tsunami (my kampung was affected) there would be no cause for celebration, and staying at home minding my own business is not so bad after all.

so what happened last year? i don't remember much. last year was like a fleeting memory. there were events, like our pre graduation dinner which was a blast, the parting of enam tahun, the seminar at Marriot, Return of the King, the buka puasa with green curry etc, but on the personal level, i couldn't make out whatever improvement that i have achieved. (wait! perhaps, being able to sing at karaoke in front of other people without embarrassment. haha big deal.)

my friends and i have this thing that we fondly call 'the forever list'. this is a list of the things that we dream of having or doing, but it takes like, forever to be realized.

so ladies and gentleman, i present you, in no particular order, my forever list for 2005 ( heck, this could be my forever list for forever!) :

1) yoga classes
2) a weight gain diet
3) a morning person routine which includes jogging to start the day
4) swimming lessons
5) exploring the streets of Singapore on foot
6) organizing and writing my blog ideas (yes, this takes forever!)
7) furnishing my apartment-to-be
8) reading a Salman Rushdie
9) bone china tea set
10) love

i hope achieving all these things would make me a better person, who enjoys this life and living it to the fullest.

wishing u all a fantastic year ahead.
happy new year!

poem: Pekan

2004-12-20T10:34:00.000+08:00

another Malay poem in haiku-like format. written in Pekan during my measured drawing about 5 years ago. we were having an evening stroll near a river adjacent to a royal resthouse.

Pekan

Si dayang-dayang
ke sungai mandi petang

Tertawa riang.

prose: 13th anniversary

2004-12-16T00:03:00.000+08:00

I was greeted this morning by an sms from an old friend wishing me ‘Selamat ulangtahun ke 13 perkenalan kita, 16 Dec 1991’.

If it weren’t for this sms, I wouldn’t remember this date at all. I don’t remember dates very well. But I’m such a sucker for things like these. Just don’t get me started. I can say many things about this day, 13 years ago. And I can say endless things between that day and 5 years afterwards.
So I think I would succinctly sum it all up-

The best 5 years of my life

(so far).

To Batch 36, Happy 13th Anniversary.
Thanks for everything.

poem: Tetamu

2004-12-15T16:14:00.000+08:00

Malay poem in a haiku-like format, but disregarding the number of syllables.

Tetamu

Kupu-kupu terbang petang
Hinggap di lampu kalimantang

Ada orang nak datang.

prose: vanity

2004-12-13T15:29:00.000+08:00

The ultimate male vanity is getting an erection when looking at your own reflection in the mirror.

The ultimate female vanity is having other females getting an erection when looking at you.

Or so I’ve been told.

prose: The Incredibles!! (read like a 1950's newscaster)

2004-12-09T14:32:00.000+08:00

This is most probably one of the more meaningful movies I have seen this year. The premise of the movie is a solid foundation in itself, added with the well-thought details, renders it to be a far cry from the usually hollow, shallow and bimbo-istic action movies.

This ‘animated feature’, usually dubbed as ‘cartoons’ meant for the consumption of pre-mumayiz children is more ‘grown-up’ than most life action movies in the line of XXX (Vin Diesel, yuckkk), Fair Game (the Cindy Crawford one, yuckk) , to name a few, are. Try tuning in to any Astro movie channels during the afternoon fillers for MORE examples of fucking STUPID, no-brainer movies with clichéd lines you’d used to think mat salleh film makers are incapable of producing.

*Ehem* (got carried away there). Well, anyhow, the movie poses this question> what happens when people of privilege is stripped of that privilege and forced to live like regular people. While this concept has already been explored elsewhere as in the movie ‘The Last Emperor’, or Sue Townsend’s novel ‘The Queen and I’, a super-hero’s super-ordinary privileged life is a twist loony enough for *ehem* a ‘cartoon’. And it is undeniably interesting too.

The paradoxical statement, ‘When everybody is special, no one is’, immediately made me decide that this movie is a damn good one.

I think we can all learn something from........ The Incredibles!!!!! (1950's newscaster again)

*Of course, the fact that the outing is a rare all-siblings one, with milk shakes afterwards at McDonald’s Greenlane (after an hour of sesat mencari jalan due to heavy downpour) would help make it meaningful too.

prose: reminiscing raya

2004-12-09T03:41:00.000+08:00

This year’s Raya is not as enjoyable as last years’s. Maybe because I spent a week fasting at home, so the built up of the anticipation and eagerness to ‘balik kampung’ was effectively waned. The only thing that was to relish was the rare gathering of my siblings.

My Raya this year seemed to be about food. Like a food festival where you can just walk in and sample the food, I seriously think that the lady of the house would make it a point to stand out (so as to attract a stream of guests), resulting in different dishes at respective homes. Menu in the households of some family friends and relatives on the first of Raya:

On another point, (though it may sound conceited ) I’d like to declare, there is no other soto, not even in Johor (the famed Soto Kebun Teh pun kalah beb!) that is richer, more delicious, more satisfying, than Soto Mak Aku. This is the only dish that I have ever gone for the 3rd-4th helpings in a single seating.

Tak percaya sudah.

prose: reminiscing breakfast at 7pm (sometimes 7:30)

2004-12-06T13:50:00.000+08:00

Soooo last month.

It was already 8pm. He had just eaten a few pieces of char kuey and a murtabak.
Maneuvering his lithe body amidst the grocery boxes he had packed with his junk accumulated in the duration of 6 years of his study, he sashayed his way to the corner skeletal plastic tubes-and-plywood shelves he called his wardrobe. And it is still not empty.

Still a lot to do, he thought, rather panicky. Yesterday he received an SMS from a friend saying, ‘Congrats, grad jugak u at last. Dtg KL skarang.’ Touching, and just the motivation to get him start packing with haste.
Gosh, I’ll never make it at 9!

A ring from his handphone.
“You dah sampai mana?”
“I belum abis kemas”, he replied amidst giggles of embarrassment. He would now be almost always known as the guy who is always slow. “ I rasa I bertolak esok pagi la. Tengahari sampai la kot.”
“You make sure sampai sempat bukak puasa. Flight I kena patah balik sebab ribut. So I’m stuck here. At least dapat jugak jumpa you. Divine intervention jek!”

The next day he embarked on his postponed journey up north at noon (he had just finished packing). His car was like a caravan, every available space encroached to the brim. Taking last glimpses of papers scattered by mini cyclones in the empty spaces of his rented former residence he sighed under heavy breath, This is it. My last walk from here. This place isn’t so wretched after all. So many fond memories too. His brief melodrama was intercepted by a vibration in his pocket.

That phone call again.
“You dah sampai ke?”
“I baru jek bertolak!”
“I dah agak dah”
“Ala…dalam pukul 4 sampai le..sempat punya”
“You make sure aa... We all dah nak prepare prepare ni.”
“Ok. Sampai kang I call.”

Despite all the packing drama, the ride and road seemed to be bottle-neck-free. Perfect, in fact - light drizzle, light traffic (the Raya exodus have not yet started) and travel soundtrack by Dewa. That is, until he stopped to answer nature’s call at Flyover Ayer Keroh.

He came back to the car, turned on the key and – no ignition. Shit.
Now what am I going to do? He tried finding the rest area’s manager only to find his room vacant. So instead, he calmly called the PLUS emergency line like he usually did (this is not the 1st time he encountered car problem on the highway). The only thing that bothers him now is time.

The PLUS team arrived an hour and a half later only to push his car to start ignition (which he can actually ask just about anybody at the rest area-DUH!)

A half hour before breakfast he arrived at The Venue, the smell of cooking and familiar voices indoors were never more welcoming. A glad smile arched his lips. He entered, salam amidst boisterous cheerful enquiries and gave a hug. He looked at their faces.

Such a warm nest this is.

poem: Hidup Aneka Pilihan

2004-10-28T13:10:00.000+08:00

(life with multiple choices) = as in multiple choice questions like in PMR objective papers.

this poem is about reassuring one self, a prayer and hope maybe.

dedicated to the batch Enam Tahun, thank u for being there. good luck making the choices in our next stage of life. we made it and we'll make it again! (and it doesn't work without you)

Hidup Aneka Pilihan

Pagi yang gemilang
Di luar sana ada terang
Langit luas bumi terbentang

mendung kita jangan berulang
kita 'kan cemerlang

Kita 'kan cemerlang.

prose: On why my body mass refuses to grow

2004-10-21T02:07:00.000+08:00

While everybody I know has obtained a certain ‘secondary growth’ (as in stem of plants do) in abdominal girth (not that I want a protruding belly, only that I want more body mass), I have maintained my lanky, slim, proportions through the years since childhood. I have tried eating much, cramming as much diary based and fatty meat products every mealtime during my 3-month-end-of-semester break. I have gained 2 kg, only to have the mass evaporate into the atmosphere the moment the semester starts.

I think I have thought of something to blame for my body’s lack of tendency to grow.

Re-evaluating conventional thought, equilibrium is not the result of appeasing chaos. Instead, equilibrium is the result of the collision of contradicting chaos(es) (or, opposing forces) that cancels out each other, thus achieving equilibrium.

There would be two sides to everything. Two extremes. On one extreme would be the deemed negative side, and on the other would be the deemed positive side. Like the Taoist concept of yin and yang. Why I said ‘deemed’? Because to each his own. Example, one would find black to be more desirable than white. Thus, black (even though white is conventionally positive) can be on the positive side.

Take for example – economy. On one side would be the totally free market, and on the other extreme would be totally social economy, or communism (I have to check this back and edit). On one side there is no limit to the economy, driven by the profit motive and on the other hand the economy is controlled, the profits shared equally by means of government intervention. Of course, in the so-called ‘real world’ there is no such thing as anything that is ‘totally’ something. Such conditions would only exist hypothetically, because no system is fool-proof. Therefore what exists in the ‘real’ world’ is only found in between these two extremes, whether it is nearer to one end or the other. Malaysia, for example is considered a free market, because it leans towards that extreme, even though there is some kind of government intervention like the duty on imported cars and such.

What about a 50-50 condition? This is when one reaches equilibrium. If an election comes out with a 50-50 result there would be mixed government. One would see this as undesirable because progress would be slow, or no progress at all, for every action the governing party is to take, there would be an equally opposing action from the ‘opposition party’.

Or like an unmoving, static object. In order for it to be moved, a force would have to be applied to it. But according to Newton’s Law, every force would have an opposing force, like say, friction. For the object to move the driving force must be greater than the opposing force. Thus the state of equilibrium is broken and the object progresses.

People say war makes progress (in fact, many historians marked developments with reference to the World Wars). I tend to find some truth in this, because of the explanation beforehand. War is chaos. Tension is chaos. Peace makes people idle.

That being said, let’s get back to my psycho analysis of myself. I am self-contradicting. I think in every personal thoughts that I have or want for myself would always be contradicted, for reasons of humility, modesty or even to conform to social perceptions, conventional stereotypes and what people expect of me.

For example, if I am mad at somebody, I would always think that is it really substantial to be mad? What are the socially accepted conditions for me to be mad? I would search from memory a precedence of a person in my immediate community that was mad and relate the incident to mine and evaluate, is it ok to be mad? And in the end I would not be mad or I would suppress my anger because I find this particular incident is not too big a deal for me to blow my hats off.

Another example (in the line of thinking) - “Ornaments give character, for the onlooker to appreciate details at a closer range”
But,
“Ornaments are a crime. The more people get civilized, the more people do away with ornaments because they appreciate the purity of something”
But then,
“Ornaments are what make old shop houses so beautiful, even till this day, compared to the Spartan modern ones devoid of decoration”
But then again,
“Simple lines are best, kerawang kerawang is so kampung”

Or,
“it is unfair to ask so much out of a single person”
But,
“with love, you get all of the above”

So in every decision I would always find that there would always be a contradicting thought to hold me back. In other words, I have problems of making decisions. I am always taking the middle road. I do the swiss. Thus I am in equilibrium. Thus I do not progress.

In chaos theory there is also a concept called fractals. The concept is that we can view a fragment of something and it describes the bigger picture in the same way. For example, the fluctuations on a market price graph for cotton in a day would be the same as the graph for a month and a year. Or, the profile of a rock from a mountain would be same as the profile of the mountain itself.

I would think that, if I, as a whole, would not progress, my thoughts always contradicting itself, then the building blocks of my body, my cells would also dictate a similar path. They would not progress. They do not expand. They are introverted. They fear the environment. They are static. They are idle.

And that is why I think, ladies and gentlemen, my body refuses to grow.

Hehe.

poem: My core

2004-10-10T21:04:00.000+08:00

this poem i wrote during these weeks nearing submission. It's one of those days when the sun is shining from your arse, and you feel like a million bucks. a source of sanity in times of peril. just don't hate me, i'm just exaggerating my enjoyment of hot cocoa.

My core

This cup of cocoa is my core
and the breeze is my blanket
yumminess swirls within my stomach.

Precious, it seeps to my pores
and i shall be as delicious.

Worker ants march down my thighs
i smell of sweetness

Savour me
i am sin.

prose: battle wounds

2004-10-10T19:00:00.000+08:00

i have once said to myself, the workings of my *rchitectural life will not be published here. i have this thought of what happens in my life is enough in the 'real' world, my virtual world would consist of pink cotton candies, rolling hills, white rabbits frolicking in green meadows.

the last 36 hours was a tumultous experience, one of the many i have faced. i was deprived of sleep (try 1 hour in two days), eat (pow + teh ais for the whole day) and was nearly handicapped (i got this cramp in my legs and spent days limping). now my mouth is parched, i think my weight dropped 4-5 kgs, my posture is terrible, my eyes are blurry.

i was battling Sauron on the behalf of the whole of Middle-Earth. to think that it would be a relief when it was all over? it did not. it gave me a lingering sense of continuance. not a full-stop as with many submissions before this.

why? maybe it is still a maybe. on one hand i'd be free. on the other i would be immortalised here. it is a 50/50 chance. it's like walking with a snare around your neck. u never know. i can just hope.

2 hours to 3 o'clock yesterday i was panic stricken. my pc was having constipation, i've got to find other pcs to do my work. this time round i was known as the guy who uses everything- photoshop, illustrator, manual 3-d, sketchup, 3d max, you name it. not just that, i also have to be parasitic at other people's workstation?

help came from where you least expected. such a touching moment. gratefullness swells within me.

thank you liza minelli and mandragiri.
i am much indebted, even words cannot express.

prose: Merdeka or Mengelat?

2004-08-31T22:24:00.000+08:00

merdeka!

prose: in anticipation

2004-08-28T14:22:00.000+08:00

Dear Bjork,
(icelandic sonic landscape architect that puzzles me!!)

i wait in much anticipation and indescribable violent excitement for your new album Medulla. i count the days and hope that it passes quicker, though it is not rightly so, for my thesis submission day would also creep nearer. but fuck theses that stole my youth. this is nourishment!

i wait for the day when i will, like a child, unpack the cd as if it is a box of chocolates. put my headphones on and feel the rhythms resonate within my eardrums and feel every cell in my body vibrate to your tunes. they rejuvenate me!

i wait to marvel at how u approach your music this time. your music evolves everytime with a new album. i heard through the grape vine that it will be acapella-like music, all vocals, but with you, it wouldn't be any typical motown-sounding music. it would be like drapes, and you, like an interior designer that tosses and twirls them here and there about a room, all these flowing translucent fabric, layers upon layers. they envelope me!

in the meantime, i will satisfy myself with 'mouth's cradle' one of your new tracks i found on the internet and reruns of you performing 'generous palmstroke' in a chapel somewhere in Europe, on my pc.

sorry i didn't catch your performance at the opening of the Olympics.

your stalking fan,

Khairil

prose: Death II

2004-08-22T00:21:00.000+08:00

(hope this works). this is the conclusion to the first prose entitled 'Death'. Is it a wall or is it a portal?

I choose: 'portal'.

the ribbons represent our paths in life. the portal represents birth and death. there are two sides of the portal, representing the two realms that we alternate to and fro.

before we came into being, there would be the idea of us to come into being. same goes for everything that is created. preceding the act of creation, is the idea to create.

therefore we would find two alternates, the realm of being and the realm of non-being. before we are born, and after we are being born. the life as we live it, and the afterlife.

and where do these two alternates meet?
at the portal that is birth. at the portal that is death.

from the realm of non being we go through birth to being. then we go through life, and die, by going through death to live the afterlife.

so many paths that are laid before us, which do we choose? and many paths of others do we cross in our lives.

think of these premises:

Premise 1: God is Baqa'. Baqa' means 'Eternal', 'Perpetual', 'Kekal'.

Premise 2: God is Ilmun. which means 'Who Knows All', 'Yang Maha Mengetahui'.

Premise 3: God is Qidam. which means 'the beginning'. He is the beginning of all things.

Premise 4: God's creation is fana, which is the opposite of baqa'. it means 'temporary'.

Conclusion:

From Premise 1 and 3, we know that the only One that is eternal is God. therefore, after going through the portal that is death to the 'afterlife', we would not stay there forever. we would 'die' again, just to concur to the mere reason that we are not eternal, that we are temporary. to 'die' again when we are in the afterlife means going through the same portal again. in some religions, the soul is 'reborn' in a new body as a new vehicle for the soul. so is it birth? or is it something else, which we haven't coined a term for yet?

from premise 3, we know that God readily existed. he is the Creator. nothing else precedes Him. But we also know from premise 2 that he readily knows everything, what has, what is and what will. the creation of humans would readily existed. this is of course assumptions on my part, from what littlest speck of understanding and my worship and praises of His Greatness. the zat of God is not to be discussed. the zat of God cannot even be attempted to be understood. what are we humble creatures against the mighty will of God?

therefore, depending on how we look at it, we are immortal. the idea of us is immortal. the difference is that our existence is preceded by God. our existence has a beginning. our immortality is subject to our journeys through and fro the portal. so this is temporariness. the alternating between realms, while the idea of us remains. so how many cycles of birth and death do we go through? maybe one, maybe various, i cannot say, but our existence has an end. God is the beginning and God is the end. He is Awal and He is Akhir.

so this is temporary, after all.

prose : interval> 'Mati'

2004-08-10T02:01:00.000+08:00

an interval on the discussion of death. this one is a favourite in my 'pillow sessions'. a conversation i had a few years back, when i was young(er) and naive. and i think it's a staple with jiwang couples everywhere. which answer means that Person 2 loves Person 1 more?

Person 1: kalau aku mati kau nangis tak? (if i die, would you cry for me?)

(Version A) Person 2: Nangis. (I would)

(Version B) Person 2: Jangan cakap pasal mati. (do not speak of death)

cast in your votes.

Prose: Death

2004-08-04T22:17:00.000+08:00

which part of all this is crazy logic, you ask? bear with me.

Death. sometimes taken as the ultimate solution to problems we have in life. recently a dear friend wrote of bouts with the angel of death. i wish him well. is it greener on the other side? what other side?

The President’s Commision, 1981, stated that
An individual who has sustained either
i) irreversible cessation of circulatory & respiratory functions
ii) irreversible cessation of all functions of the entire brain including the brain stem,
is considered DEAD. ( Charles A.Corr et al, 2000)

this is the secularist/scientific definition of death. These definitions, however, are based on purely functional aspects of the body’s mechanism. In these secularist Western scientific definitions the existence of a ‘soul’ is somewhat ‘overlooked’.

what do poets and philosophers think of death?

Death is man’s encounter with the reality of his mortality. A question of one’s control of his own life. It is considered by some to be a change or migration, rather than an extinction. It is a natural law, death is a corollary of birth. Death is simply an absence of life, a state of non-being, a converse of birth. It is a return to a state of unconsciousness. These are but a few ponderings on death. It is strengthened by accounts from the deemed wise and enlightened few.

Aristotle called death a kind of destruction or perishing that involves a change from being to non-being. Death is seen to involve a change in the very substance of the being. When a human dies, two important consequences follow:
i) there is no longer human present - instead, there is only a body or corpse
ii) there is no longer a person present – there is only the person’s remains

Another Greek philosopher, Socrates, gives this account of death when he was sentenced to death:

This thing that has come upon me must be good; and those of us who think that death is an evil must needs be mistaken. For the state of death is one of two things : either the dead man wholly ceases to be and loses all consciousness or…it is a change and a migration of the soul to another place. And if death is the absence of all consciousness, and like the sleep of one whose slumbers are unbroken by any dreams, it will be a wonderful gain…For it appears that all time is nothing more than a single night. But if death is a journey to another place, and what we are told is true – that all who have died are there – what good could be greater than this? What would you not give to converse with Orpheus and Musaeus and Hesiod and Homer? It would be an inexpressible happiness to converse with (heroes such as these) and to live with them and to examine them.

In this instance we can observe that Socrates posed the concept of death open to be contemplated. One could see death as the end, or the continuation of a journey.

Consider these ruba’iyat of Omar Khayyam :

Although I have a handsome face and colour,
Cheek like the tulips, form like the cypress,
It is not clear why the eternal Painter
Thus tricked me out for the dusty show-booth of earth.

When the cloud washes the tulip’s cheek at New Year,
Get up and make firmly for the wine-cup,
Because this green spot that today is your pleasure-ground
Tomorrow will all be growing out of your dust

Oh wise elder, get up earlier in the morning,
Look closely at that boy sifting dust;
Advise him, ‘Gently, gently sift
The brains of Kaikobad and eyes of Parviz.'
(Peter Avery et al, 1979)

From these stanzas we could see that Khayyam metaphorically envisioned that when a person dies, the substance of the person dissolved to become one with nature, or a ‘return’ to its original state (in this case with earth, for Muslims believed man was created from this element) and continues in some form or another.

One underlying structure that we could sense in all of these philosophical descriptions of death is that there is a ‘soul’, and that the physical body is just a vehicle in its journey, from the realm of the non-being to being and back.

What part of all this is crazy logic, u still ask?

to be continued.

poem: looking out of a window

2004-07-27T12:03:00.000+08:00

the 5th one in the "Oh!" series. my current state.

looking out of a window

Oh! How I love it when the window smiles
The endless blue where fluffy whites fly
and rolling greens for miles and miles

Sweetness, though in my heart is bile.

poem: Oh.

2004-07-19T00:55:00.000+08:00

the next next next one in the "Oh!" series. cheeky me.

Oh.

Oh! The mathematician great!
I was one of those you greet

"Selamat pagi murid-murid!"

prose: Birthday!

2004-07-15T18:52:00.000+08:00

Dear Chris Martin,
(wounded Trojan who will make a comeback)

My Birthday was a blast!! They got me a cake, and played 'Allah Selamatkan Kamu!' on mp3. afterwards they played 'YMCA', in which the lyrics at the opening of the song says "young man!" - they were playing sarcastic songs for me!

I really thought there would be no 'rumbling*' involved, for the cake was set in the studio, where a no-mess clause reigns (and a seminar was on the next day). i actually danced to the tune of YMCA in spite of this.

But suddenly i was dragged out of the studio, brought to the toilet (cleaning was easier) and *clobbered with eggs, serbuk kunyit and-

-and oh! even pee! before the plastic that held the pee was smashed on me I vommited my birthday cake out unto the protagonist's quiksilver t-shirt and he threw up back on me, and vice versa, and it continues until we are both covered with vomit, spit and pee. we actually had this taped, thanks to the technology of digicams.

at the end of it all, the mess was cleaned, the seminar went well, i got heaps of sms and calls from well wishers (including Celcom) and another fond memory is added to my bank. this i shall look back with a smirk on my face.

too bad you're not here.

With warmest regards,
Khairil

play: Bastilles

2004-07-15T15:59:00.000+08:00

yesterday was my 25th Birthday. on special occasions i like to do special things. like patriotic things(?)

I am particularly interested in the way it is depicted how Indonesians treasure their language. My only exposure to the culture of the Indonesians is through their music and movies, a current rave in Malaysia. I have never been to Indonesia, though i have the privilege of conversation with some, courtesy of my parents entertaining guests from there at the house, and an exchange student at my University. What I will always remember from one conversation is how he describes the journey to Bandung - "seperti sebuah kisah cinta, (love story) gitu". This bit of poetry in a normal conversation.

In countries like Indonesia and Thailand their identity shows through and through. Here I feel we are stripped bare layer by layer. Our love for the future should not erase the past. Pokok yang menjulang tinggi masih berakar di bumi.

Ilham aku bertitik tolak dari drama Lantai T. Pinkie karya A. Samad Said, menggambarkan satu memori ketika harijadi aku beberapa tahun dulu.

drama: Bastille

Babak 4: Di hadapan Rumah Tumpangan Ah Kow, salah sebuah unit di deretan rumah kedai Cina Peranakan lama. Terdapat sebuah beca tempat Nyai duduk menunggu penarik beca. Semua kedai lain sudah tutup, dan cahaya hanya dari ruang laluan di depan rumah tumpangan.

Watak: Nyai Sunarti, Puteh Su.

Puteh Su: (Baru turun dari rumah tumpangan, membetul-betulkan rambut) Wah Nyai! Semalaman tak nampak kelibat kau. Ke mana kau?

Nyai Sunarti: Aku pergi menonton wayang gambar.

Puteh Su: (Berminat) Dengan siapa ya?

Nyai Sunarti: Teman-temanku, lelaki.

Puteh Su: Wah! Apa kau tak takut Tuan Delarossa?

Nyai Sunarti: Ah! Kedua-duanya pun berjawatan besar, berpangkat. Aku fikir hari jadiku ini, biarlah aku bebas sebentar dari Tuan Delarossa.

Puteh Su: (Dengan nada perli) Wah! Kau bermain politik ya Nyai?

Nyai Sunarti: (Ketawa) Ya! Politik! Cerita politik boleh bikin wayang! Tapi cerita semalam pun bagus juga, Su. Baru saja mula, aku sudah mahu kencing.

Puteh Su: Kau mahu kencing?

Nyai Sunarti: Ya. Terpaksalah aku tahan.

Puteh Su: Tapi kau kata kau bebas?

Nyai Sunarti: (Tersentak dan berfikir sejenak) Aku...aku menahan kencing.

prose: yummy days and saturdays

2004-07-10T13:02:00.000+08:00

two things why today i am suddenly (?) nostalgic.

today i woke up greeted by the prospects of a yummy day. the rumbling of thunder, overcast skies, smell of impending rain.

rain.

i love rain, or, the aftermath of rain. i think in every idealistic picture of bliss that plays in my head would include rain. If it rains, it means i get to wear my yummy clothes. snug, fuzzy, warm cozy clothes (ie sweaters and long-sleeved t-shirts, the highlands would be perpetual bliss!).

and to complement this state of fuzziness with something hot. like hot chocolate. i remember myself making my sister a cup of hot chocolate while waiting for my turn to hog the phone after midnight. such coziness!

picture these (with background drizzle):

i) sitting in a thatch-roofed wakaf, sipping hot black coffee and having 'ubi rebus'.

ii) strolling down a street off Orchard Road with a friend and admiring rows of conserved old shophouses in Singapore, at night time.

iii) sneaking out to have a walk with a friend while everybody else is cramped indoors with books to prepare for next day's exam. (heck, ANY midnight strolls with a friend, then)

iv) reading a book on the most comfortable sofa next to a fireplace (people, i am allowed to imagine) reading English Patient while on the radio, sings Norah Jones.

v) be animated by the falling of raindrops through your bedroom window with Anda Bunga's 'Tentang Seseorang' as the soundtrack.

vi) be drenched from head to foot, sitting in a restaurant and a caring friend insists that you eat something hot because he/she is concerned you might get hyperthermia.

and it is saturday.

when i was younger i used to get up very early on Saturdays to watch Saturday morning cartoons (the reason this is such a big deal is that i'm not supposed to wake up early, it's a no-school day!). My siblings would frolick a little bit around the house, eat cereal breakfast and frolick some more while waiting for the programme to start. the finale of the event would be eating dadih from the pasar tani.

those are the good ol' days. *sigh*

poem: my bed

2004-07-08T23:10:00.000+08:00

the next next one in the "Oh!" series

my bed

Oh! To hit the sack!
rest is all my body lack
rest the burden off my back

sink my contours in.

prose: meaningful conversations

2004-07-08T22:11:00.000+08:00

i love conversations. my idea of a perfect evening is a group of friends hanging out together, at a cozy eatery having nice, warm food while it's raining outside, and having a nice chit chat, instead of a night out at the club, where you end up all sweaty and tired and your body smells of smoke.

or a moment with a confidante, telling each other secrets or your present state of mind. from these conversations you get a wealth of (useless?) verbal knowledge like say, why is a country so reputedly rich like Brunei maintains a low profile.

i have many memories of such meaningful conversations.

these sessions of 'meaningful conversations' come from:

i)meaningful conversations
talks about family, about how we view ourselves, anecdotes from our past, about our ambitions, about our plans

ii) meaningful person
a person you have a liking to, who wins your favour, or simply your best friend, your confidante

iii) meaningful groups of people
an ensemble of people, that with a certain combination, intentionally or unintentionally strikes up a memorable evening

iv) meaningful places
on the rooftop, the water tank at the academic building, secret loft in a dormitory roof, on your backs, underneath the stars on the cricket turf, railway stations, alfresco dining areas, cozy eateries (like A&W PJ, Hua Mui Cafe at Jalan Dhoby JB, lounge at The Regent BB), your communal living room, your freshly-mowed lawn while having a nice small barbeque.

thus, in the end, i come to realize that what i call 'meaningful conversations', does not mean 'conversations'. sometimes non that was being spoken is remembered. it is the scene. how i walk from that scene feeling content. it is not made up of merely 'conversations', it is the company, as well as the ambience.

prose: current interest

2004-06-26T14:10:00.000+08:00

nowadays the paradoxical is very cool.

take for example : "i am a liar"

the statement cannot be true. because, if it's true, then he cannot be lying. so he is lying that he is a liar. If it's not true, then he is still lying, because he is saying an untruth.

like the end is the beginning is the end is the beginning is the end (from smashing pumpkins)

like a museum for commemorating death that celebrates life. how ironic.

enjoy this.

poem: sleep

2004-06-25T22:59:00.000+08:00

the next one in the "Oh" series.

sleep

Oh! What I'd do
for forty winks

the joy of dreams
food for the longing.

prose: my missing piece

2004-06-25T18:10:00.000+08:00

i used to ponder why is it that i choose (is it really choice or is this just a consolation to myself, still remains a mystery till this day)to remain single for so long. maybe because i'm surrounded with so many groups of friends. i call them 'crowds'. what i lack from one 'crowd' i harvest from another. in time i will be completed myself.

i gather from all around me, things that nourish and make me grow. Things that support me. I turn to them

for emotional support
for intellectual stimulation
for spiritual guidance
for familiarity of environment
for a confidante
for encouragement
for loyalty
for competition
for a secured relationship
for insults
for physical affections
for sexual intercourse
for meaningful conversations
for quality time
for warm embraces
for shared interests
for opposing opinions
for a mentor/patronage
for precedence
for example
for envious remarks
for assuring praises
for reality counter-checking
for financial assistance
for a chaperone
for marriage counselling
for recreational activities
for constructive criticisms
for transportation
for enlightenment
for verbal knowledge
for visual delight

I think, that it is unfair to expect so much from a single person.

I think, or to be more exact, i re-think, that with love, you can actually get from a single person,
all of the above.

poem : dunes

2004-06-23T23:21:00.000+08:00

This is one of the poems in the "Oh!" series.

dunes

Oh! Were I that piece of polyester
to touch that dune of flesh
you wear on your desert chest

Calm! My heaving breath.

poem: suffocrat

2004-06-21T14:10:00.000+08:00

suffocrat

I shall not gasp for air
even when my nostrils
are filled with raging currents

I shall catch a trout
and suck its gills
so i can breathe
and still keep my hands
and feet
and lungs.