Saturday, December 28, 2013

My tendency to be acute in my relations to the world is the very thing that makes me withdraw so often.

Friday, December 6, 2013


What do I say to the moon
    so alive in mock darkness?
The sea flays itself unto rocks
    grinding them to sand
Gravitating in eternal unrest.

The Sea speaks;
      Dear distant one, 
I send the winds beseeching you
      I swallow the earth raw for you
Will you not release me?

In silence, 
       the moon is unyielding.


Tempest you have taken my mind
left me gazing at the moon
       talking to the winds.

The winds have thrown me off its back        
       gone silent
I have fallen from the Sun
       I am haunted by the Sea

I shall pack my bones
        retire to the desert.

Saturday, November 30, 2013


Bagai ditanda bara
Sedih berlegar disebalik tawa
Sungai putih hantui mimpi
Angin dingin hilang, tinggal sepi
Langit suci meninggi, memudar
Gelap gerhana kekal malah mekar.

Friday, November 29, 2013


Dalam gelap hiba menjelma 
Sedih berputik, mencakar, menjerit
Dalam lelap jiwa diterpa
Pedih terdetik, membakar, merobek.

Perit setimpal, perit dipintal
Diulu hati, diikat mati
Sakit mengelar, sakit menjalar
Dahulu mati, pinta hati.

Thursday, October 17, 2013

Vista of my present being

I suppose in the end I only want significance at a personal level, a private gratification if you will. Meaning that is lasting only to myself and persons I deem important. The world at large disenchant me. Mainly because any 'marks' one makes in this world ultimately ends in one of the two books of deeds. Reward or Sin. To please whom? That is the question. Because in the end, this world and people when viewed from the distances of one's mind, disappoints. The extreme magnifying of details, the close examination of things; close persons, their relations to you, nature immediately surrounding you, the light shining through leaves of a tree you are sitting under, passages in a book, their significance bearing upon your personal worldviews etc. Only these bear the vestiges of wonderment. Moments of reprieve from paralysing mundanity.

Things pertaining to the stark presence of being. A tangible reality. The reality of existing. Of the inevitability of death. The inevitability of death in a sense that one should not waste time chasing indefinites that are quite clearly not pertaining to what comes after. To exist in that pure state of being. 

What a weak willed creature I am, trapped in my mind, forever chastising my unseemly lack of fortitude. One can be too hard on one's self (as with the case of Maya) but one is more often than not too lenient on the self. 

Perhaps I have simply grown more averse to the chasing of intangibles. I simply want to savour them for what they are and not let loose wild efforts of trying to capture these flighty shadows. It is a safer way of existing for the disillusioned idealist. The forgoing of dream chasing for the contentment of living a small and acutely personal existence with only one long term goal; the betterment of the self for the self. To seek to be good for the greater good. The greater good that transcends time and this world, encompassing both; this life, the after, the self, society.

Sometimes I think I am angry and cynical but really, I think I am only hopeful and terrified of being so.

I withdraw now.

Wednesday, October 2, 2013


A sullen silence hangs in the air
upon waking to sunlight streaming
her softly breathing figure a blessing
in her presence, I rest my rectitude

By the wuthers of my raving mind
By the blooming of her gentle smile
her scented dreams drifts into mine
appeasing my fearful spirit

    Inviolable flower, darling consort,
      from the deluge of my tempest
         my last refuge, my last resort.

Tuesday, October 1, 2013


Like a ship at sea
    I sail by courage and loyalty
My cresting passions
   cry unreserved challenge
Undulating before me
    into lines of poetry.

By my enduring spirit
    I summon you, my tempest.

Sunday, September 15, 2013


Roaring waves crashing
    against jagged stone cliffs;
standing darkly defiant
    against a sea's violence.

Warring winds screaming
    against wizened prone trees;
standing nobly pliant
    against a storm's imminence.

Welcoming a brewing deluge
    surrendering in providence;
smiling blithely standing
    free of diffidence.

Saturday, September 14, 2013


Why does the wind so gallantly
          offers me his cold hands?
Do thoughts dance with him like sunshine
          glowing, solitary and buoyant?

O wind, do you lift the angels as you do birds?
          carry prayers as you do rain?
Do you bear witness to this world?
            do you bear witness to me?

Why does the wind accompany the lonely,
          embracing them with the might of melancholy?
Do dreams fall about him like leaves
          gently, sorrily, towards the ground?

O wind, do you travel the world
           whispering your wordless woes?
Do you seek the oceans and the heavens
           for someone who is listening?
                       – If so, you've found me.

Saturday, August 31, 2013

A dreaming

Have you ever having suddenly been roused from sleep, wholly disoriented, you look at the white walls change colour from light yellow to orange. Reflected in your room, you witnessed the exact moment the sun sets? It happened over the span of a second. It was that brief. You had just woken up and you saw this. You do not remember what you dreamt about but as suddenly as you jolted out of your sleep, a violent pang of sadness grabbed you by the throat and you lay paralysed at its mercy. This sudden momentous sadness simply bored down upon you as swiftly as a lioness  pounced onto the neck of a gazelle. A graceful savage act that rendered you helpless.

I've never felt so disarmed. I wondered what it was I dreamt about that had me wakened into such deep sadness. I don't think it mattered. I think it was the changing of the orange rays that flooded my room. My soul must have grasped in that briefness of the reflected sunset that time is passing. And I saw it passed by me, alone. It was as if Time manifested before me in an apparition and greeted me warmly. But I was alone.

What beautiful sadness it was. I acutely remember its suddenness, which made it unlike any other laborious melancholy. A moment of feeling that surged pure, from within my soul, without the confines of any worldly thought. I simply felt without coming to a feeling. It came to me.

Saturday, August 24, 2013

The Sea of Fertility: Book 2

"His old age shone with cheerful detachment, like the winter sun shining through white paper stretched over a latticework of fine, aged wood, not in the least warped, beyond which patches of snow lay here and there on the ground."
                                                                                            ~ Runaway Horses, Yukio Mishima

Now, this is how a real author writes. Only a true artist could see this beauty. The words come easy when one can see beauty. When one do not see it, there is no helping it.

Thursday, August 22, 2013


Night-time is no stranger to me. We've seen enough of each other.

I am sad still but next time (if ever), I'll just grit my teeth and resist any urge to write anything about anything and just wait til it passes.

Friday, August 16, 2013

Good Morning

I think I need to start writing in a journal again. I've abstained for so long I think I'm ready.

Woke up to the Sun streaming into my room, reflecting white rays onto the ceiling that radiate into the shape of a fan due to the way the curtains are tied. The world outside my window framed in a sloping triangle of azure blue sky void of clouds, metallic silhouette of distant skyscrapers and a band of blinding white roofs. 

High-pitched laughter of frolicking children in the nearby nursery and the whistling, chirping birds lent an air of sweet innocence befitting the starting of a day.

I reached for my glasses perching precariously atop a stack of books and put them on. I am never truly awake until I put my glasses on. The blurriness of vision, I associate with a dreaming state.

S. had just finished performing solat dhuha. Her slender white hands hidden within the folds of her white telekung, cupped in the offering of a prayer. Head bowed, dark eyes down cast, she wore a doleful expression that subdued her vivacious beauty into an image of purity and piousness.

I sat up, pulled my quilt closer around me and turned on the heater, expectant of the resulting warmth and whirring noise that reminds me of crickets. S. briskly got up and set about folding the prayer mat and telekung. She trotted out of the room and came bursting back in moments later. 

I observed her quietly. S. carefully handled the green vase full of wilted pink lilies on her desk, placing it onto the grey carpeted floors of our bedroom. With languid gentleness she started unwrapping a bouquet of white lilies she received on Monday. Sitting cross-legged, singing a love song as she arranged the yet to bloom stalks. After adjusting the pink ribbon at the neck of the vase she addressed me, her white forehead bearing a single crease, mouth slightly upturned. "But they're wilted aren't they?"

I appraised the bowed light green heads of the lilies, only some have glimpses of the white petals hidden within.
"Maybe they'll look better once they bloomed."

"But then they'll be heavier." She retorted. Mimicking the sound of a sob, she leaned against the foot of my bed, despondent. "I want to wrap them back in a bouquet. At least they'll look pretty lying on my desk." I nodded in approval.

As S. proceeded with her task, she put on a familiar love song on her phone and hummed along to it. I gazed outside the window, squinting. The room is now warmer.

Thursday, August 15, 2013

SS #3

I am overly critical of things. I read another page of SS and my whole conviction's been unseated from me as if  a rug pulled from beneath my feet.

Perhaps there's nothing to it after all. I shouldn't worry about my well-being in relations to it (other darker concerns shadow that anxiety).

I shall write of it no more. Save one, once I am done.


SS #1

One reads of a lover's rapture having the other return their passions thus achieving her desires, then one reads of the friend's repose having pacified the other by relinquishing his own desire.

I love that Mishima chooses to juxtapose the two. One puts Kiyoaki in a position of counterpoise (over Satoko) while the other in a position of equipoise (with Shigekuni).

P.S. While I'm on the subject of Spring Snow, let's just mention that I adore the scene on pages 9 - 10. I adore it equally as much as the scene I've just ranted about above (chapters 12 - 13).

Tuesday, August 13, 2013


And I destined to be the vague wraith from the past, ever struggling for ambiguous motivations, is eternally the one who seeks to leave and stay. Yet being single-minded in certain things, I vainly agonise over dusty one-sided proclamations of undying loyalty, only to cease after realizing it's futility and foolishness. I endeavoured to simultaneously annihilate and immortalize what was real and fantasy.

But it was all but a game. I deigned to think that it was an elaborate game involving the gamut of human emotions ranging from the innocent to the decadent, encompassing pure earnestness to villifying indifference.

I write this now from an island, having segregated myself from any such childish capriciousness. I do not gaze at the Sky with clouds of asinine magnanimous thoughts anymore. Although I admit, in this particular moment of reminiscing, I taste my bitterness and savour its fullness. I felt slighted by you & my own foolishness. This needs to be said (again. A thousand times over).

To be completely honest (as I seem to be in the mood for it right now), this drunken  display of old wounds is the effects of my reading a book. I have not read, truly read a book in a while now. I have forgotten what it was like to explore the vagaries of human motivations in such beautiful passages.

The book came by your hand. No, simply left behind. That distinction I am now fully capable of making now that I am not affected by you anymore. 

Again, what can anybody construe this for anything but-, I shall say no more. I expect this to please you, no matter how superficially. Though I understand that it might not affect you at all. Not anymore, not ever, in fact. See how desolate I actually am?

In this frame of mind, in this indulgent moment, I acknowledge what I have (finally) discarded. We are not meant for the proximity that I idealised. 

Spring Snow

I can't believe I've let it sit on my shelf unread for about a year. I am quite in love with it.

Sunday, August 11, 2013


For the ever solitary soul, ever in pursuit of ideals unspoken, learns the joys and sadness of the wayfarer en route in a foreign land. He sees a majestic sight; a mountain, the sea, the setting of the Sun, its splendour overjoys him but he has none to share it with so the beauty ends with a muted loneliness.

I am one such soul. 


Before Stars were made
upon the Night Sky to decorate,
their Souls were fashioned together
their hands, written for each other
lovingly, faithfully, forever.

Their Love will be,
the cave, the lake, the winds, 
shelter, stillness, vigor
the thorn, the roots, the flower,
grief, strength, pleasure.

Though Stars burn out
Life gives out,
For the Love that is written,
   Of Death is transcendent.


At one of the open houses today I found this really pretty girl with a really pretty room who reads (e.g The Catcher In The Rye). Bet she goes to those Buku Jalanan events. I've a bit of a crush on her room. Love the Mucha posters.

Friday, August 9, 2013


I feel like writing the 'Camel Scene' for my HH. It's supposed to be the starting of chapter 2, where Hafiz will meet a white pregnant camel and name her Kawthar. She'll be standing with a herd of shaggy bactrian camels eating cacti flowers under the moon's gentle glow. She'll be his companion for a while. They'll encounter a djinn snake, an oasis guarded by a black swan, and an Arabian horse dying in quicksand. She'll take him through the snowing desert to the foot of the mountain.

Here I am writing about the thing I'm supposed to write. I'll do this later. Let's call this brainstorming shall we?


The imam started the khutbah Raya with references to Al-baqarah ayat 185 interlaced with takbirs. I am pleased that I recognised the ayat. Thanks to those Qur'an weekly Quranic Gems by Nouman Ali Khan.

I've got a cold for a week now. It's dampening my mood but it'll clear up soon hopefully.

Normalities aside, I actually feel rather concussed. It just seems to me that I've left too many goals hanging. I say I try to be good and all that but really, do I really?

*sigh* I read As-Saff's translation just now. Because the imam also mentioned some wonderful things about the strength of women, mothers in Islam, about Musa AS's mother and step mother specifically, he stresses on surahs al-qasas, as-saff and another Surah I can't remember. All so he could illustrate the point that Allah SWT does things He does not need to but He is afterall The Most Gracious and the Best of Planners. 

So, as-saff, it says God dislikes people who 'say they do things they didn't do'. Fasik.

I fear for myself. Constantly. The need to be able to remain khusyuk in my prayers is ever growing because I keep catching myself failing.

I feel displaced. The killing of time is smudging the edges of my reality.

Friday, August 2, 2013


Ramadhan at home has been wonderful. I cannot express how grateful I am to be able to spend most of Ramadhan at home. I look forward to next year. I am going back to Melbourne tomorrow night. Tonight was my last night of tarawih at Surau Al-Madani.

I will miss our Indonesian ustadh's lovely, lovely recitation. He sounds so young, his recitation clear, modest. Absolutely beautiful. If sounds are images, what comes to mind is of a cool breeze blowing across grassland on the slope of a mountain. Blue, sun-gold, green. Cool, airy, earthy. Lapang, tenang, sederhana.

In Melbourne, Winter will greet me.

I am even more determined this time. I am a wayfarer, seeking knowledge in a foreign land across the Sea. I once again will assume the role of Stranger & Knowledge Seeker.

Allah musta'an.

Monday, July 29, 2013


There are many things I wish to shed
There are many things I wish to acquire
There are many things I wish to keep,
Among them,
       You intersect between the three.

Thursday, July 25, 2013

Words like Water

The imam's sweetly melancholic recitation rolled over me, undulating like waves. Foams of recognition washed over the shores of my mind: I try to spear words & phrases that I know. 

Eternity. Home. Jannah. Rivers flow beneath. Jahannam. Fire. Severe. Punishment. Losers. Mockers. Good tidings. Guidance. Most Gracious. Most merciful. Wills. Heart. Astray. Straigh path. Syukur. Sun. Moon. Stars. Sky. Zuriat. Father. Wife. Rasul. Shaytan. Man. Say. Mukmin. Fear Me. Love. Ease. Hardship. Angels. Those who. Shining. Earth. Hayat. Akhirat. Mountains. Ayat (Signs). Ummul Kitab. Coolness of the eyes. Hearing. Sight. Patience. Knowledge. Wakil. Wali. Criterion. Creation. Most Great. Praise be to Allah. Glorious is Allah. ... ... ...

I know so little...

I try to catch them and hold them in, but they run through the cracks of my mind. I try to remember that He sees into our hearts, but sometimes I drown, not in Whiteness but in the Shadows of worldly worries. 

So I look again for the sea of consciousness, for the peace that comes with it, to purify & quench my soul.

Saturday, July 20, 2013


When deciding to alter the nature / course of a relationship, success can only be measured by whether or not one's perception of it has been altered. I.e. whether or not one's reactions to the other person have altered. 

Sometimes one slips and forgets that the impetus for the alteration is due to some unchangeable factor, a factor that is out of one's control to alter, so instead one alters one's self, one's perception of the relations. Is not was. Sometimes one forgets and slips back into the old, battered shell & hope still for things that are not meant to be.

Then one remembers and the change grows ever more deeper into the heart. Until its roots penetrates every living memory of the past, the seed for change must be watered with a quietly despairing  hope.

Attachments to things in this hayat al-dunya is destined to be a tragedy. So I look beyond the constellations for a promise everlasting.

Friday, July 12, 2013


When reading, I tire of the philosophy of the godless. 

I admire the pretty sentences, sometimes. But the message conveyed, the 'meaning' is no longer lost on me. I was confused, I did not (do not still) know enough to understand that these 'principles' they moan / preach of are but borned of man's inevitable hopelessness

There are isolated gems somewhere in their meandering writings that can be taken to heart. Absolutely. Al-ghazali did mention in the ihya something about not dismissing truths (for they are self-manifest) even if they come from the mind of one in 'error'. But when forced to wade through the swamp of godlessness just to stumble over said gems, I lack the fortitude for it these days.

Oh but I do admire pretty sentences, it's just in my nature. Sometimes they just stick to my mind. E.g.
"Angry, and half in love with her, and tremendously sorry, I turned away."
                                                                           The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

I probably have a thing for Nick Carraway. He's like Charles Ryder in Waugh's Brideshead. The initially seemingly naive, closet romantic, somewhat distant, verging on heartless, outsider observer. I like spectator characters. I can relate with them. They always end up tragically disillusioned. Helplessly they let themselves be enamoured by a glamorous character whom they are keenly aware of being broken / vulnerable. They hitch a ride, things are rosy and perfect for a while. Then disaster strikes and they come to full realization of these characters's flaws, how they actually willingly poison themselves. Then they leave, carrying a mark in their hearts, having sold a piece of their soul. Quietly slinking back into reality, moderate and a little older.

So human. Lovely. Yes. I like those kind of books more perhaps. They treat the characters unaplogetically but tenderly, humanely. It's got to do with the authors bottom line I guess. I can't stand Kundera. Or Sartre. Or Palahniuk (not anymore phew). Or Plath (for more personal reasons than anything perhaps). Kerouac though, he's special. He's the spectator outsider but he's really writing about himself. If he wasn't so neurotic I'd probably like On the Road a lot more.

Meh. Just give me a good ol children's paperback and I'd be contented. I'd rather read of innocence  at the moment. Besides I've got Star Wars on my mind anyway.

Monday, July 8, 2013

Red Cave

Sometimes I dream of a cave.

Soft red dirt spread over hard ground. Rough uneven walls that leave red dust clinging to your palms. A small  fire in a shallow pit in the ground keeping you warm. The flames kept alive with dry grass and twigs, you watch them shrivel into ash, crackling, hypnotic. Its light cast a display of shadows, dancing across the red walls. 

The mouth of the cave frames the cold Moon and her stellar subjects. Songs of the Night reach you with clarity and along with them, visions of the Night fill your mind; the humming desert locusts rubbing their legs on their wings, howling wolves courting the Moon, yipping wild dogs hunting in a pack. 

In my red cave, I gaze at my hands, tracing the map of red lines criss-crossing my palms. 

Friday, July 5, 2013

A familiar darkness

When you feel yourself fade a little and shadows start to stalk the edges of your mind. The threat of a familiar darkness descends upon you seemingly out of nowhere & everywhere.

It is a reminder that you have distanced from your Rabb.

The only light that can outshine the ever growing darkness surging about you, within you, is Islam.

So pray, kiss the ground a little longer.

Between two rights

It's hard to know which is the 'right' thing to do sometimes. One can choose the 'rational' (e.g. lawful) right or the 'emotional' (I.e. compassionate) right.

Which 'right' decision is the best one? It doesn't feel 'right' when kindness is sacrificed for the sake of 'keeping one's word' (amanah). But so is vice versa isn't it? Or is it considered as sticking your neck out for someone you consider a  friend? Both ends in an offending; of the amanah or of the friend.

I don't know. But deep down we always know what biases lies in the heart. 

Monday, June 24, 2013

On Cognizance

It is a self-referential word isn't it? "Meta". The cognizance of one's cognizance is the foundation of Humility.

"The first stage of Humility is to force yourself." - Sh. Hamza Yusuf

Focus on the self & be mindful of others as far as it does no harm.

Mollify yourself, reproach your thoughts, scrutinize your failures, remember them, then forgive yourself & forge on.

Change afterall is an act not a concept.

Sunday, June 9, 2013

On believing

I've constructed a dwelling in my mind where I can go when I need to separate myself from my heart. I've also cleared a path in the forest of my heart so I know there's always a way out when I get lost in my emotions.

But best of all, I have something that resides in both my heart & mind, it's like a cool lake where I can go to drink, swim or meditate; a belief:

That no matter what, Allah SWT is near.

People, the world, life what joys / heartache / conflicts / comfort that they bring, He who governs all, is always with the patient.

With reliance on He who provides all, one is thereof sufficient & free.

Saturday, June 8, 2013


Because Hafiz does not know that the binary sunset signify the ephemerality of his rebirth. A brief visiting not material enough to be called an 'existence', hence his inability to leave footsteps in the sand. Brief because the dreamscapes he is to traverse are but reflections of the 'real world' which in turn is also but a 'mirage'.

A lucid journey through the human subconscious aided but by the very thing that governs human behaviour - Emotions. Unadulterated by a 'worldly personality' (thus his amnesia in the sunset scene). In other words, pure.

In essence, if a man could be, even if just briefly, just a man, is his inherent nature not good? Flawed but good. 

Sunday, June 2, 2013

The Awakening

Burgundy night Sky, starlessly hazy
Gazing heavenwards, I feel the edges of my reality 
Stretched thin, clawing, the far reaches
Of an ungraspable galaxy

This world is a design
a fabrication, magnificent & unfulfilling
One endlessly vapid lucid dream
Filled with longing
         For the eternal beyond.

Thursday, May 30, 2013

On tawakkal & taqwa

In the face of adversity, when one despairs, it is a sign of reliance on the self. A reminder, that our reliance should be (as it truly is), only on God.

In the face of difficulties, when one complains, it is a sign of ingratitude. A reminder, that our compliance in our servitude is our gratitude.

A true believer is one who practices patience. And patience, is a lesson that needs to be relearned every day (I read this somewhere but I can't for the life of me remember the source - I've a feeling it's some Jedi thing from Star Wars haha).

I must remember, no, practice this more often.

Friday, May 17, 2013


Today I khatam Qur'an for the 2nd time in my life. Yes, only the 2nd. Still, It marks a progress in my desire to become a better muslimah. Inshallah.


Tuesday, May 14, 2013


Hanyut dalam kelam
Dipinggir paya silam
Merakit-rakit ke tebing
Hati ditangan kujinjing

Siulan angin memberani
Ciuman bulan mengiringi
Dalam pelukan malam
Kuredah hutan hitam.

Sunday, May 12, 2013


Hutan belantara ini kujejaki
sekali lagi
demi mencari kelibat masa lampau
suatu ketika, suatu masa
dimana kesepian mula menjalar
             — Akarnya ingin kubakar

Monday, May 6, 2013

. . .

I'm actually pretty  very sad that I can't attend my brother's engagement seeing that the possibility of my attending the wedding next year is pretty much zilch.

I keep missing ALL the weddings. Cousins etc.


*goes and merajuk sorang2*

Sunday, May 5, 2013

On being reasonable

I am fascinated by the subtlety of human behaviour (I hope that didn't come across as too pretentious). How things said / not said could mean this / that. I used to have such grand delusions of people. That they are capable of flitting from one end of an emotional spectrum to another in the miliseconds of hesitancy. 

Well, I believe they do, we do, I do. We are afterall such marvelously emotional beings.

I just think sometimes one can hope too much that another could feel so much. Or really I'm just a bit too taken by secrecy. Liken it to some great unspoken sacrifice.

I should really just take what people say at face value. Deduce their motivations by evidences instead of great leaps of faith based on my subjective perception. 

Always it is martyrdom. I'm obsessed with the idea. Then again, looking for this noble trait in the average person is really my own fault. I can only turn to accounts of Rasulullah SAW's character, the people around him and of course, my own little league of fictional characters.

Quietly, she slips back into her untrusting nature. (Yes, I totally did just narrate myself). Although, the untrusting being tends to be so unforgiving, which is a vice.

Oh to be noble.

Monday, April 29, 2013


Something innumerable by nature
ungraspable by the mind
unfathomable by the heart
something you will never have
foreign to the touch
that your thoughts reel
your eyes roll and your soul
spasm in sheer desperation
of wanting to know it
this impossible yearning
for the unattainable
the way it gnaws your bones
claws your insides
and fracture your sanity
some thing, unnameable,
unreachable, inconceivable
all-consuming, all-ravishing
thoroughly irrevocable
of its unforgiving existence,
 this thing has set you on fire,
irredeemably, deliriously,
desirious of
       -The unknown.

Something moldy from the drafts folder

Saturday, April 27, 2013


Feel it,
Feel the coldness of the unfeeling
their heartless hearts,
their joyless joys,

But feel also
The suffering of your suffering
And forgive
Them, yourself with them,

We meet in the end
This dissonance too must end.

Thursday, April 25, 2013

Of yearning

That nameless yearning for solitude, for estrangement from this world, that some sometimes mistake for a yearning for death, it's actually for God isn't it?

For Truth. For certainty of happiness.

When a soul would no longer feel cleaved. Raw, bleeding, dying. All of its tribulations unseen seeing that a soul is not corporeal.

The island of peace one finds when reading the Qur'an, praying, dzikiring, is a soul's only solace, only reprieve.

Wednesday, April 24, 2013


I shall walk my solitary walk
Until my end comes
And alone, everybody will be
With nought but their own company.

In all honesty

I have discarded all notions of trying to 'come across' to anybody. Not that I have ever cared much, which I can testify by my utter lack of concern with people back in high school (and now even).

There was an odd thing going on in high school. I and a friend of mine, we were not 'in the scene' so to speak. We were not exactly outcasts, no, those unfortunate souls were picked on, bullied. They had no voice. They were ridiculed openly, mercilessly and nobody ever cared to do anything about it.

But that's not what I'm talking about here. You see, it seems like we were living on different planes from our peers or something. We were there but we were not 'in'. I suppose our talents made us distinguished, respected even.

I know this for a fact because it used to be a thing that whenever I decided to speak up about something, I was listened to or regarded warily by my peers. For example, when other people tell the class/peer to 'shut up', it's usually responded with a retaliation, a joke, or no reaction at all. When I said 'shut up', the effect was different. Maybe because I simply spoke very little & when I do it is something of an occasion. Eventful even. And when I asked a classmate in the middle of verbally abusing another, the kid seemed to feel intimidated. I was not their kind, the usual responses did not apply to me.

All that is well and good but I have been trying to change these past few years. Especially here in Melbourne. People think me the quiet kind but when they get to know me, the easy-going joke-cracking sort.

I actually do that. Crack jokes. I do it all the time with my room mate / in usrahs (the only social activity I engage in hahah). I'm not sure why because I most certainly don't do it with my family or friends-friends. Old friends. Humor is just a buffer anyway. It draws attention away from yourself in the most wholesome way possible. Being too quiet actually draws attention more than when you simply speak every now and then. Blend in.

That being said, I don't feel like people-pleasing anymore. *sigh* Let's just say I'd just rather not say anything then speak and be met with the oh so predictable responses. People do not surprise me. 

You say one thing and they say what they think of what you said. Pass judgment. I have met very few people that are actually good 'listeners'. I tend to let people yap away and tell them what they like to hear (mostly) just because it's easier. Well screw that. 

I am done. Shite people ought to know how shitty they are when they are being shitty. Nobody is perfect, as the saying goes. I shall mete out ample amounts of dead silence when I deem appropriate.

I shall not cling to the past or ideas anymore. I will let people go, even those that I call my people. I am just so very tired of being the one who makes efforts. Who plans & reaches out.

Nobody deserves my loyalty. Not anymore. I am done being disappointed.

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

On the subject of 'dudes'

Some people equate being single to being miserable. As if it is a curse that needs to be lifted. The metaphorical tower, the metaphorical enchanted sleep, that there will be a 'prince' who will 'rescue' you from your 'prison' that is quite simply 'being single'. 

Especially girls. All they ever talk, tweet etc. about is this guy or that guy, weddings, honeymoons. I concede that marriage-talk is somewhat more productive (if talking is ever).

So the eternal question of "Kamu, bila lagi?" flung towards you, over & over again is just, annoying. 

I don't need a 'dude' to ensure my happiness. I'm self-sufficient on that aspect, thanks very much. So you girlfriends can go spill your souls and drown in giggles all you like. I do not need another to affirm my existence.

I do not belie my life to the attaining of the 'perfect' man. Such things are written. There will be a time for it. Just because we're in our 20s doesn't mean anything. 

Heck, we might even die first. I'd much rather chew on that.

Contra Mundum

I am positively miffed by the dissent I am met with in regards to my fangirling. It has always been this way. People are so predictably disappointing. They see your passion and deem it 'mindless' because they do not understand. 

The finer points of being interested, to actually be interested in anything is that you are able to appreciate the finer points that the casual glancing most definitely will miss.

Most infuriating of all among these people is that some of them think they're not judgmental! The nerve. What then do you call measuring another's views in the frame of your own and proclaim your decidedly biased  and UNSOLICITED opinions? Pompous hypocrites. (Yes I can be as scathing as I like here). 

To my fellow fangirls / fanboys out there, CONTRA MUNDUM my friends, CONTRA MUNDUM. Let the hoi polloi caterwaul their apathy ridden unimaginative views. 

Fwuh. Now I feel a bit better. 

Saturday, April 13, 2013

Acronym: GFFA

            The suns bathed the desert in an orange glow, their scorching heat mellowed by the approaching dusk. A lone figure trudged up a sloping sand dune, his tattered brown cloak billowing softly behind him. Once he reached the top he paused to gaze at the twin sunset. 
He lingered, hoping the beauty before him would move his dead but still beating heart. 
He felt nothing. The silence that echoed through the Force since the genocide reverberated still.  It had only been a week, what was he expecting? A lesser man would have screamed, cried or at least sighed but not Obi-Wan Kenobi. He clung still to the principles of his extinct kind. He was Jedi. Despair is not the way of the Jedi. It was important, more than ever before that he should uphold their beliefs.

            The wind picked up, whistling. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, enjoying its soothing caress, smoothing away the creases between his brows. It made him look a little younger, unguarded. This was the only indulgence he could afford. Sleep was no reprieve. Jedi do not have nightmares but things have changed. This was it, his slice of escapism. Breathing deeply, he let his arms hang loose and focused on relaxing his muscles. Before, he would have reached for the Force, flooding his extremities with its warmth. In its present state, the Force offered no such comfort. Loss sang throughout the gouges of silence. No. He had to learn to meditate without its aid.


Obi-Wan whirled around, his eyes wild, icy panic coursed through his veins. The metal of his lightsaber felt cold in his palm, wrenching him back to reality. It had happened again. He had heard the phantom voice of his former Padawan. It was as if the planet was threatening to drive him to insanity. Tatooine, homeplanet of Anakin Skywalker. These whispers always triggered blind panic in his part. It was disturbing. He disliked how disarming it was. What was more irksome to the Jedi Master was that the voice sounded young and innocent. It was Anakin. His Anakin. The brother and friend he used to know. All that was no more.

Hues of purple bled from the orange-red horizon. Darkness was coming. Memories of Anakin’s, no, Vader’s yellow-red eyes flashed in Obi-Wan’s mind. He could smell the pungent ash of Mustafar, He could feel the heat of the lava licking at his skin. Most of all, he could taste the betrayal. Such was the memory of a Jedi. Obi-Wan blinked. He clipped his lightsaber back to his belt, its weight against his hip comforting. He tugged his tattered cloak closer to his body and inserted his hands into the opposite sleeves as was his habit when feeling exposed. It was cold now. Obi-Wan let go of the moment and walked on.  There is no emotion, there is peace.

Note: Unwittingly, you've read a vignette star wars fanfic written by me. Hah. Maybe I'll write more and put it up on Idk. We'll see. Let's call this No Country For Old Men - Prolouge Set immediately after Episode III: Revenge of The Sith. The aftermath of Order 66. Obi-Wan's life in the deserts of Tatooine as he kept a watchful eye over young Luke. 


Dear you,

The multitudes that lies in the way I regard you, is forever lost. Seeing as it never came to light, even though I did lead you to the source, expectantly. These machinations ingrained within me, all but settled as rust into the skeleton of my mind. Desperately I tried to coax from you what I thought I was deserving of. But truly, all that I felt, some of it I still feel, was all imaginary. A beautiful & dark illusion. The produce of my own twisted mind. You are like a diamond. You reflect yet I thought you shined. Still, you are precious to me, not as you previously were perhaps but still.

Unforgiving is all that I am. I wanted from you what you could not, cannot ever, grant me. I have always known. Such attachment in my part. Always, in my part alone.

Regardless, you give to me what you can. What you give others. Equality. I think it is a strong suit in you. Impersonal.

My loyalty to you is not a thing of the past. It is battered I admit but it is rooted still in every sinew of my heart.

Never doubt that.

What this drunken confession aim to achieve is (as ever) something that eludes me.

I am Werther never in love. I am Meursault staring at the Sun, without a gun.

I confront my desires, aware of their aimlessness. Wanton and undirected.

Still this is not Love. Please never misconstrue this incognito feeling I feel for you as that lifeless imitation.

Very sincerely yours,

P.S. I'll recoil at this display by tomorrow, I'm sure. It's a vicious cycle. Longer hiatuses but unbroken.

Tuesday, April 9, 2013


More than anything, I've always wanted to be calm, quiet & impenetrable. But I feel too much. I emphatize, I cry. A terrible flaw if you ask me.

I find it disappointing sometimes that I should be quite so attached to people. My people anyway.

I revere empathy.

Monday, April 8, 2013


I exist in my realities, this illusion, not striving (not hard enough) for that 'Great End' al-ghazali spoke of;

"Know, O beloved, that man was not created in jest or at random, but marvellously made and for some great end."

It's not a good thing to dwell on your weaknesses, I know. To reflect & ponder it a while keeps you humble but to wallow? It breaches the realm of self-indulgence.

I try to be mindful of my thoughts (unintentional Obi-Wan reference, I swear), motivations & actions. I chastise myself quietly all the time. I wonder what it's like to not have ill thoughts. Everybody probably has some of them I imagine.

Again, it comes back to active learning of the Quran and hadiths. To reach that serenity in our dealings. To be that calm and stoic yet still be kind and gentle.

I idealise the quest to ennoble the self. Good character is the testament of a believer. Good character comes from awareness. Awareness from knowledge. All leading to that thirst for Goodness. To want to gain the pleasure of The One.

Sincerity only comes from purity. Purity from humility. Humility from Piety.

I idealize, I'm not doing enough. This I realize.

Saturday, April 6, 2013


I'm not kidding when I refer to Melbourne as a prison. I'm on voluntary confinement (solitary, when roomie's not around, which is fine by me. She's sweet btw). 

It's just that sometimes I just want to go out & drive or something. Walking is cool. It's fine. But you're just never, alone. Ever. There's always someone walking too. I don't like that. I only ever walk when I need to go to the pick something up at the local post office anyway.

Not in a city. You're never alone, but at the same time you always are. It's weird. Not that I go out, much or at all for the matter. What I'm saying is, I get sick of myself sometimes.

I get sick of my routine. I find stability in it, comfort too, to an extent but it's crippling. It really is.

Summers & Winters in Malaysia. Autumns & Springs in Melbourne. The cycle continues.
Another metaphorical bullet through the head & you realise what a low-life you are.

How does one ever shake off the feeling of being hypocritical?

Tuesday, April 2, 2013


At what point exactly do passions turn into obsessions that consumes more of you than should be allowed, in such a way that you unintentionally (or very much intentionally) sacrifice what is important for what only seemed to be important?

There's a fine line between being enthusiastic about something and being a complete fanatic. There are after all many kinds of idolatry that people aren't particularly aware of. Need to be very careful with this.

This concerns me. I'm the average fangirl who invests herself into fandoms. Plural, yes. I don't think I'm into all of them all at once, one at a time. I've phases. Typical anti-social behaviour perhaps.

The thing about all these nonsense is, they reek of dunia. Part of the nafs I suppose. My particular weakness. Mind you, I feel it important that I'm especially hard on myself because I need to give myself reality checks every now and then. So I keep toeing the line so to speak.

I can't be like them pure, focused, kakak naqibahs that seem to only take pleasure in doing good. They seem to be wholly undistracted by shite things (like I am). They always say that it's not an easy journey, to give up on these duniawi things. Ibadah being the purifying practice that governs their daily lives.

I haven't the strength of character to suddenly give up my fandom things (...I'm just not on that level yet. Pray that I will someday), I just need to remind myself, constantly, to not get too distracted.

To desire what God desire for us. To live life seeking the pleasure of The One. To taste the sweetness of iman, all the time. The straight path that I always need to remind myself of (Why usrah is instrumental as part of one's tarbiyyah btw).

With that, I greet April. Hello, hello.

p.s. I haven't penned a poem in such a while now. I don't have any feelings about it either. Just an observation.

Wednesday, March 27, 2013


Redeemed by the presence of another, knowing that life exist yet beside you. Within the confines of my bare & white room, I take comfort in my room mate's softly breathing figure.

A casual silence suffused with that unspoken, familiar, longing for...I'd like to say 'Home' but that's not quite it. Sometimes it's starkly clear to me, how irredeemably vacillating I am.

I want, need, something more. More than this. 

Somewhere in my darkening mind, I realize that I, no longer have ambitions. I am comfortable, yes. I am perfectly fine with the path my life seems to be motioning for. I have more than accepted my current fate.

But I'm always the prospective kind. I look forward, to a fault. Abandoning the "here & now" (Star Wars reference for you there). 

I look for 'causes' to champion, something to fill the void. I like to be passionate. Love it. And this is where I lose myself. That hunger can't ever be satisfied with these fleeting fancies I preoccupy myself with. I'm perfectly aware of it.

Therein lies the rub (Hamlet y'all). Knowing a fault doesn't necessarily trigger a remedy. In fact, it just irritates, nags and worries. 

It's so easy to distract myself from my dilemmas. Right now though I want to be lucid. I am far from the Muslimah I should be (God, another Star Wars reference). See? I can't even be serious anymore. I jest with myself, for what else is there to do?

There is an answer for that, of course: Trust Allah SWT.

Friday, March 22, 2013

Not to love

When you decide to do / not do something you've always had not done / done, there is that one burning question, demanding to be answered:

What has changed?

Unravelling our own ulterior motives is not easy. Self-deception is a complex & organic defence mechanism.

Change is difficult. An upheaval of a system that works, used to work or at least seemed to.

Want / need, right / wrong. Spectrums of infinite shades. How can anybody not feel lost?

Occasionally though someone, having perceived you as the 'discerning type', puts you on the spot with questions. They ask you to analyse their motives, ask how you 'feel' about them. You know your answer will affect a change in them if you're not careful.

What do you say?

It all boils down to you in the end. To your view of your relationship with the person. To tell them what they need / want to hear. Lying is easy if you don't care.

But I care. I always do. I want to always do. And when I can't afford to, made to not want to, I suffer.

Hence, I make no effort to deepen any seemingly promising bonds with most people. What I already have is enough.

I contemplate all this in the shade of my iron clad desire to not love. To not love so I can truly love.

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Imagine Dragons

What I listen to these days. Headphones + lying quietly in bed / a walk. Essentially, letting the world fade. Disappearing into a trance of simply breathing in & out. A meditative state to just take it all in. All as in life. Appreciating Life as it is, a state of being alive.

People are so tiresome. Not specific persons per se. I won't sum this up as my latent misanthropy (as I sometimes do) either. I view the hoi polloi as a kind of pollution. Crowds akin to smogs / exhaust fumes. In excess, unintentionally, they are toxic.

It's more of a collecting of the self. So I withdraw & wage war upon myself. To conquer the core of my being, I walk alone.

Saturday, March 16, 2013

Rose coloured glass

View from my window here in Melbourne. Roomie cellotaped her rose to the glass. Lovely thing.

Sometimes though you just need to view things through rose coloured glasses.

Through my sadness

In the dead of the night I look out the window & look for something living. There were but the trees & the winds blowing gently, as if reassuring me that I wasn't alone. I stared, stared & stared only to start gazing at my hands. How foreign they seem. That this warmth, this flesh wrapped around bones, the skin cladding it that I was touching, that they seem very convincingly mine. Oh, but I know better. I am a soul, this body is temporary. I feel, my body does not. I experience the world through my senses but how I interpret them, how I process them, that is my existence. That is who I am. I am a soul blown into a body, both of which a blessing from The One, The Creator. This 'life', it is utterly absurd. There is no meaning on this earth. Hence, what comes after is what is promised to us. Why we must strive to simply be on this earth & preserve our souls the best we can, to remember what we've forgotten, so we we could return to that beyond.

So we live.

Monday, March 11, 2013

Le Morte d'Arthur (fanart)

Title: Le Morte d'Arthur (The Dead Arthur)
Medium: poster colour, pens, one A4 paper for each panel

I managed to finish this before I head back to Melbourne yesterday. This is basically the part where King Arthur breathed his last in the BBC Merlin finale. I love the show because it highlights friendship & loyalty as something equal to or even greater than romantic love. A very under-rated variant of Love.

"Arthur is not just a king. He is The Once and Future King. Take heart, for when Albion's need is greatest, Arthur will rise again."   
                                                                                                                                       —  Kilgharrah, The Last Dragon.

Saturday, March 9, 2013

The company I keep

Contrary to popular opinion (of me), I don't actually fancy being solitary. I just prefer my own company when what available company are those whom I don't particularly care to keep. And I'm a rather particular person. My taste in character is what hampers me from being 'social'. 

I can be 'social', and 'talk more' given that the other party is receptive & interesting. Generally I define 'interesting' as people who read (note: ppl who read chick-flicks only don't count as ppl who 'read'). Y'know, the kind worth investing your energy in conversation with. Not the sort you'd talk about the weather, general small talk, *insert a myriad of humdrum topics*.

Friends = people that I regularly talk to &  hang out with. I go to great lengths to keep in touch with them (even if they study in Malaysia or the U.K. or new zealand etc. & I can only meet up with once in a blue moon (shout out to you, Maya heh). People whose thoughts I am privy to just as mine equally are to them. People that I actually miss when not around. 

Acquaintances = people I'm on friendly terms with but don't really keep in touch with (i.e. housemates, distant school peers).

I mean really, when you meet cool people, you just know you're going to be friends with them. 'Cool' as in those with common interests or uncommon interests that are interesting. 'Cool' as in your wavelengths just jive together regardless of em' matching perfectly or not at all. For example, there's this one girl me & a friend got to know via twitter. We met up a couple times over the summer break, and just hit it off (yes Huda, you hehe). 

Some people think they're interesting & unique & random & shizz when really they're just common with a extra seasoning of being plain annoying. I usually just humor these types & let em' please themselves while in my mind I quote Winnie the Pooh, "Oh, bother." Honestly, I prefer the company of people with no particular hobbies etc. but who are nice just to be around with. Quiet, pleasant, uncomplicated, most importantly non-annoying, ones.

I digress, what I'm really trying to do here is to debunk the whole 'go out, make friends' bs I've been lectured with over the years. You don't just 'make' friends, they come to you as the rizq comes to you from the Sky.

Saturday, March 2, 2013


The blue of the horizon
The mountains kneeling before it
The winding river ending at your feet
The trees lining it

The blue of your soul
The mountains of your mind
The rivers of your blood
The forest of your heart
There is a world within
          Walk, let your feet bleed.

Sunday, February 24, 2013


In an orbit, in a blind
In a darkness only you shined
Amidst the vastness of universe
Within the words of this verse
In an orbit, in a bind
To you I gravely gravitate.

Stellar star,
This is my supernova
in this blooming fire, so burns my wonder.

Friday, February 22, 2013


21 Feb - Sometimes frustration rears its ugly head and paralyses you until you realize it's a choice & remember to be pure.
            - Shapeshifter.
            - Finn, Cathal, "She just gave one druggie & one homeless person tea & biscuits in her own house. Don't, ever, underestimate yourself.", "He's always amazing me."

20 Feb - I will summon you with the entirety of my being, Into the depths of meaning, The discovery of it, The coming of it.
            - You were quite celestial indeed to me.

15 Feb - "I could weep everytime I read the honest truth about it like this."

14 Feb - Bangunan buatan manusia, bagaimana pula taman2 istana syurga?

13 Feb - Not once did I feel weary of the world.

12 Feb - Must never judge another based on their outward looks. Blonde old lady without hijab walked into the surau & started praying. I can hear her reciting the fatihah, praising Allah. I digress, is it because she's blonde tht I am impressed? What of the other girl not wearing a hijab? Malay? More critical of my ppl? Because of my presumptions of background? Hm. Reflect & improve yourself.
            - N k abdullah
            - Souvenirs: //Prague// Postcards - Mai, huda, 3D thingy, Tshirt, tote bag, Key chain - Adi, Magnet, Bookmark. //Paris// Perry, Disneyland magnet, Magnet, 2x baroque book. //London// Sherlock mug, 10 sherlock name cards - huda, huda, Gryffindor scarf, chocolate frog, Hogwarts pin, ferrari Adi, Evenstar, Nat geo shirt, Tie rack ties, 4 keychains, 2 tshirts, perfume, chocolates

11 Feb - Snow! gradually thicker, ones eyeline follow the gentle falling of the white fluff from the sky, hypnoytising. The layers of distance, 3D ness of it all. Wading through. With the wind, tides of snowfall change. A silent lullaby.
- Bond. You'll fall in love again & again, But friendship, isn't like that. You don't just make new friends. You grow up with friends. Time with them is the past the present the future. Time your memories. Memories your mind. Your mind your being. you. A part of you dies along with them.

10 Feb - coolness of the open window

9 Feb - Bakerloo line: oxford circus - hamleys, Picadilly: Knightsbridge - harrods nat geo 102 brompton rd, Circle line: St James park - buckingham palace, westminster - parliament / abbey / big ben / london eye, Tower hill - tower bridge

8 Feb - Tonight I serenade the dead
          - A fascination w grief, estrangement, death, breaking of a bond, tragedy of a separation , beyond repair, severation of two souls, cleavage of love, desperation of dying, briefness vulnerability of life heart

7 Feb - Hailing

5 Feb - Tahajjud bath
          - cities trains airports

4 Feb - 200-90 = 110 baki duit bill gas
          - Bath paddington 1:30, paddington watford 1, bus to tour 15min, 12 at watford, 1pm, train 9:15, 10:45 padd, 11:15 padd, 12:15 watford, 12:30 studio, tour starts at 1 pm, bath-padd, padd-watford, watford-studio, studio-watford 15min, watford-padd, 1hour

3 Feb - eiffl, arc de triomphe, disney, notre dame, versailles, grande palais, petit palais, louvre, d'orsay

2 Feb - 30km, uphill gravity, 50 fountains, pump fount up, fountaineers, 15km seine waterwheels louisiana middle America, 300 statues, adopt 8000 euros bench 1000, plaque name, originals in lourve, season summer fountains, path of the sun, first french operas, cat, absolute monarchy, court life ritual Louis 14, morning ceremony, 150 ppl, scratch

1 Feb - Juan in starbucks, this modern day n age rendered us suspicious of kindness.
          - Endless suitcase toting travellers.

31 Jan - Volcano lake
           - Gulls like paper aeroplanes in the night sky, Beggars kneeling, shivering on the cobbled street, the river mirroring the yellow street lights, spires and domes clawing the glowing sky, this is czech republic
           - light sabre Henry VI, 18th cen italian rivenna, balcony 2 grey banners lions gate, obelisk 2nd marie, faint lovers breath on the back of the neck 1981, big palace human zoo 1937 madagascar, WWII D-day grande palais, DVC Warsaw, is paris burning, wind, eisenhower, gen. charles de gaulle, missippi farmer.

30 Jan - Bridgette, Flying flag footsteps, Cold, Fear of the uniform, Suspicion, Thieves, the clock, vanity greed death Turks, non event trumpeter context, Ian Palach, Spies, the new president, metronome lost time whr Stalin MJ, death culy, alchemy devil 3 missing, Drahamerra coach hell hole, Rudolph 2, Ferdinand 2, Wenceslas, the sad president, lioness kiss feet handsome, celtic princess shoes bread, dungeons, defenestration, alchemists moat letter hung, castle 900yrs architecture, burnt castle, city of a 100 spires, 12 bridges, poke dude eyes out clock out copyright issue, petrin hill tower, golden lane, kafka's house, burn prague down only leave , twice, berlin, vienna, black madonna gables, guards uniform cost more than annual salary, 2 isms - communism, nazism.

29 Jan - 4am to the airport, Flight, snow quarters of whiteness, barren slush, hostile weather people rushing to get out of the cold, ragged loooking buses n trams but technologically advanced, quaint rooms, red n woody, white walls, biege floors, loadsa keys, Ferrari cafe, pizza, Charlse Bridge, The lights the cold the cobbled stones the river the reflection, "Seagulls. There's something romantic about seagulls in Europe." Beggars kneeling in the cold, Windy streets, Tourists, Statues, The spires, gothic looking, White buildings, Little shops, marionette, paintings, postcards, douchebag salesperson, Kafka, Love locks, nice bath, Milo sherlock mug at the end of the day.

           - Transport trains

28 Jan - 10.50 Sherlock, 3.50 bfast, 15 Oyster - debit, 2 lunch, Museum free, Harrods, Dinner, 9.11, 9.11, Deposit 10, 18.22, 16 pounds, 34.22

26 Jan - Fountain of truth & honesty.

23 Jan - To remember death, departure, separation, loss, grief, god, the afterlife, Jannah, till we meet again.      
           - Kamte.
           - Tali menali sahut bersahut.

20 Jan - Look upon another as an equal if not better
           - Ibrahim ayat 40
           - Silence of a hunter

5 Jan - Watched Marley & Me, cry.

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Too much for words

Prague, 31st January 2013
All that walking, through cities & time. All the people you met. All the things you saw, soaked in. Travelling is what it is, an experience. Everybody should try it God-willing. You find yourself in a state of active contemplation. You feel yourself age a little, which is a good thing. As you take the role of a nomad, and nothing else, you feel whole (it takes all I have to not stick an expletive for emphasis right there I tell ya).

Nothing is expected of you, nor do you expect anything of anything. You're a clean slate, ready and eager to discover. It's what 'feeling' alive feels like, I reckon. That 'infinite' feeling Charlie from The Perks of Being a Wallflower spoke of. Or not. Because it is not a moment. It doesn't pass. It is something you unearth from the soil of your very soul. From within, to without. 

In sum total, you know, just know that life is not some aimless self-sustainable force crawling flying through the passage of time. All the good that came my way, not once was I not reminded of their source.

No man is whole without knowing himself. The self is a soul. The soul, where does it come from? The origin of being, to which one will inevitably return to; it is what lies before & after life: God.

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

The perks of using blogger

Stuff don't get lost like scraps of paper with scribbles on em'. *frustrated* Oh, am home btw. Home sweet home. Been living out off a suitcase for about half a month now. It's nice to be home.

View from Malaysian Hall, U.K. room 309

Sunday, February 10, 2013

Day #15 - From London

Went out to see the world. Will be home by Tuesday 6:30pm (Malaysia time).

On Heathrow Connect, Paddington - Heathrow Airport to catch a flight to Prague,

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Le Morte d'Arthur

       So, I've been going through a few books about King Arthur & his knights of the round table, specifically to investigate how Arthur's death really went down (Yes I have a couple of books on the Arthurian legend, which I inherited from my brother. He likes em'). 

From what I've read, coupled with the things I read on the internet, there are two traditions of Arthur's disappearace, the "not dead, not really" and the "dead, definitely". 

Both begins with the last battle against the Saxons, where Arthur slays the traitor knight, Sir Mordred, and had Excalibur thrown into The Lake which surrounds the Isle of Avalon then:

1.Was put into a barge, released into The Lake and disappears into the Vale of Avalon, where he intends to be healed and will return if and when he's needed.

He said this to Sir Bedrivere*:
"Comfort yourself," answered King Arthur, "and do as best as you may. For you remain to bear word of me to those who are yet alive. For I must go into the Vale of Avalon there to be healed of my grevious wound. But be you sure that I will come again when the land of Britain has need of me, and the realm of Logres shall rise once more out of the darkness. But if you hear never more of me, pray for my soul.'   

I got this particular excerpt from Roger Lancelyn Green's version. Some versions also mentions Arthur waiting in a cave on the Isle of Avalon.

2. Arthur dies in battle. End of story. Read on the internet that this version of Arthur's death came about later than the versions of him not dying. 

3. There's also another version that says Arthur turns into a raven or this other black bird, the Cornish Chough. Read on the internet that in Wales and the West Country (south west region of England), Ravens are viewed as a royal bird. 

*sigh* so, he pretty much disappears at the end. I like that the Merlin BBC tv show is a modern retelling of the Arthurian legend. A young Merlin, his dynamics with a coming of age Arthur made the stories more relatable to my generation. 

       Ah, ignore me. I'm just really really sad that Arthur died and wants a happy ending for the show. It's just so tragic. Romeo & Juliet tragic, the way I see it. I hate-love sad endings. I just suffered through BBC Sherlock's fake suicide & House MD's version of the fake suicide (the show's homage to its Sherlock Holmes roots, you know, Doyle's The Reichenbach Falls - in which Doyle kills off Holmes along with his nemesis Moriarty but later resurrects Holmes due to public demand) not that it matters much because Wilson got cancer and was dying anyway though they have the courtesy to give the fans a semi-happy ending compromise by showing House and Wilson riding off into the sunset on motorbikes, Wilson's bucket list, road trip. Yeah, I've a terrible soft spot for bromances. Friendship is better than romance. I am now teetering on the edge of this turning into a tumblr post...

You know what, this post totally belongs on tumblr, not here but thing is, tumblr is a minefield at the moment. Gifs of the last episode all over the place. So here I am, posting this here.

I'm a fangirl in mourning is what I am. I have a metaphorical shard of metal from a metaphorical sword forged with dragon's breath in my chest. Direct Merlin reference for you right there. I think I need to pen a poem, to weep into words and hope it will ease my sorrowful heart. 
*Sir Bedivere - more about him here. Wiki page lol. He's pretty interesting himself.

Monday, January 21, 2013

My mien

Sometimes I ponder you
   the stillness around you
                                your weightless bearing
                                your unfeeling mystique.

I am the balustrade
   of your dark stairways
        the parapets
   of your crumbling walls
         the turrets
    of your black fortress.

Sometimes I ponder you
    the ardour I offer you
                               my fallowed heart
                               my marooned fortune.

I am a soul marked
by yours
I am an edifice
          of your likeness.


*weeps* Yes, I am one of those people who weep over deaths of fictional characters. I thrive and suffer with them, which is why I love reading in the first place. I'm talking about the silly tv show Merlin here though. It's the same thing really. Fandoms are just my thing.

But I'll confess here: Nothing tugs my heartstrings like the portrayal of unyielding loyalty.

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

'what fascinates A may bore the pants off B'

I'm a nobody playing at being a novelist. *sigh*  I gotta finish this darned ch.1 (yea, 'progress') and have somebody take a look at it. Thing is, nobody I know actually appreciate the fantasy genre. Well, there's 2 but...not really. 

As for that divine love vs. mortal love traversing dreamscapes with loadsa nature metaphors...thing I tried to write. It's on hiatus. As usual. That one's a serious one, don't think I've lived enough to actually do it justice. How does one who has not love (that kind of love, you know) write of love? Sure I can romanticize shit all I want but I don't think it'd be the same as someone who's really in love. Take Rilke say,

look how perfect that is...comparing Lou to a fountain, his desire to see the world through Lou, and only Lou. Sure, I don't believe in being quite so desperate, it's too indulgent and y'know it's a kind of idolatory that does not befit one who is grounded.

Again, what do I know anyway.

p.s. Photos from Rainer Maria Rilke & Lou Andreas Salome: The Correspondences, thanks mai for sharing.  

Saturday, January 5, 2013

For Javert

     Loyalty his uniform,
he wears the law on his sleeves
and sings of Justice.
    Just as his heart opened,
by the stars, abandoned
he dove into oblivion
    – A righteous heart, fallen.