Haha no. No battle. Tomorrow I'll be leaving for Madinah and then Makkah to perform my Umrah. Happy and scared. You can probably figure out why. But people tell me this is how they feel every time they're going there.
So how's life? How's family, friends, work, studies? How, indeed. As if you and I can sum up the days and months into concise, socially acceptable sentences. And I could never figure out if I'm supposed to tell the truth or just say "fine" every time.
I haven't been writing for the longest time. In fact, the last time I wrote was probably for the previous blog post. Yup, didn't even keep a diary. More than a year ago and how am I doing? Not very good. I feel like a dirty sink, plugged up after a round of dish-washing. No, make that numerous rounds of dish-washing. So now I have bits and pieces of bones and wilted veggies and clotted gravy in me that I cannot remove because I haven't unplugged the sink. I haven't drained the dirty water so the bits and pieces are swirling merrily away. Writing is probably the greatest plunger of all, so I should get back into it.
Hey, I know! I should make it my 2015 resolution. Write a little something everyday, or be a dirty sink. (Very persuasive)
17.1.15
27.9.13
The Calling...
...that I've been looking for all these years, I've found it. It wasn't exactly a momentous occasion, but a gradual realization that I could, perhaps, do this for a living...
It was during the 3-month long semester break and I was facing a metaphorical brick wall. I had bought 50 notebooks a few months before with the idea that I could draw on them and sell them online. The first few books were fine; I drew the sigils of the main noble houses of Game of Thrones (can you tell that I'm a GoT geek?) and they looked awesome.
But after that, my pool of inspiration dried up. I found myself floundering for anything that might sell (I spent RM240, man!) and when I couldn't find it, my confidence was gone too. I was resigned to the fact that I might not get my investment back, much less make a profit. And so I threw myself into freelance writing (basically reviews of headphones) and exercised my atrophying writing muscle. But then I stumbled upon lettering...
A friend (bless her kind heart) has asked me to draw on a few books for her so she could jot down lecture notes in them. I was actively searching for an epiphany on Pinterest when I came across lettering. Sean Wes was the first lettering maestro I've ever checked out, and his work is beautiful. There's something about drawing letters that appealed to me and I gave it a try. Hours were spent on simple block letters, and those hours could have gone on forever. I never tired of it.
Sean Wes suggested that amateurs like me should first study the history of all the letter styles (serif, sans serif, blackletter, etc). I tried, I really did, but patience was never my strong suit. I'm usually cautious and analytical (or so I say), but when I find something that feels right, my heart dictates that I must jump in whooping. And so I did.
So what was my shortcut? I copied. Mind you, I didn't plagiarize other people's work, but took what I liked from them and replicated it. I also searched for fonts on online, and arranged letters into words. That's what I do; arrange and copy. That doesn't make me a real artist, true, but arranging takes some art too. Money is slowly trickling in; lettering is a painstaking business and any hopes for fast cash have long flown out of my window. But I don't mind. Every hour I spend on my drawings (each book takes approximately 3 hours to complete) is an hour I willingly spend.
What's the lesson of this story? I think there are several. Firstly, when you're facing a brick wall, Google ways to scale that wall. Secondly, when you find something you truly love, seize the opportunity with both hands. Throttle the mistakes out of that opportunity. Thirdly, shortcuts are inevitable, but that doesn't mean you can't build up the skills. You just have to make allowances for more mistakes.
P.s. I was recently made Head Editor of AIKOL Press! It's a publication for the law faculty of my university. I've always dreamed of becoming a Head Editor of something. A newspaper, a magazine... So this is a dream come true. Thank you Allah.
It was during the 3-month long semester break and I was facing a metaphorical brick wall. I had bought 50 notebooks a few months before with the idea that I could draw on them and sell them online. The first few books were fine; I drew the sigils of the main noble houses of Game of Thrones (can you tell that I'm a GoT geek?) and they looked awesome.
But after that, my pool of inspiration dried up. I found myself floundering for anything that might sell (I spent RM240, man!) and when I couldn't find it, my confidence was gone too. I was resigned to the fact that I might not get my investment back, much less make a profit. And so I threw myself into freelance writing (basically reviews of headphones) and exercised my atrophying writing muscle. But then I stumbled upon lettering...
A friend (bless her kind heart) has asked me to draw on a few books for her so she could jot down lecture notes in them. I was actively searching for an epiphany on Pinterest when I came across lettering. Sean Wes was the first lettering maestro I've ever checked out, and his work is beautiful. There's something about drawing letters that appealed to me and I gave it a try. Hours were spent on simple block letters, and those hours could have gone on forever. I never tired of it.
Sean Wes suggested that amateurs like me should first study the history of all the letter styles (serif, sans serif, blackletter, etc). I tried, I really did, but patience was never my strong suit. I'm usually cautious and analytical (or so I say), but when I find something that feels right, my heart dictates that I must jump in whooping. And so I did.
So what was my shortcut? I copied. Mind you, I didn't plagiarize other people's work, but took what I liked from them and replicated it. I also searched for fonts on online, and arranged letters into words. That's what I do; arrange and copy. That doesn't make me a real artist, true, but arranging takes some art too. Money is slowly trickling in; lettering is a painstaking business and any hopes for fast cash have long flown out of my window. But I don't mind. Every hour I spend on my drawings (each book takes approximately 3 hours to complete) is an hour I willingly spend.
What's the lesson of this story? I think there are several. Firstly, when you're facing a brick wall, Google ways to scale that wall. Secondly, when you find something you truly love, seize the opportunity with both hands. Throttle the mistakes out of that opportunity. Thirdly, shortcuts are inevitable, but that doesn't mean you can't build up the skills. You just have to make allowances for more mistakes.
P.s. I was recently made Head Editor of AIKOL Press! It's a publication for the law faculty of my university. I've always dreamed of becoming a Head Editor of something. A newspaper, a magazine... So this is a dream come true. Thank you Allah.
26.7.13
Twilight vs Harry Potter
Harry Potter is a whole new world unto itself. I started on the series when I was 9 and went through all manners of madness and anxiety waiting for the instalments. You can say that it was my childhood. But Twilight was my teenage saga; I came across it at the anguished age of 14. Yes, Harry Potter addresses many issues, from racism to heartbreak to sacrifice.
But who can say for certain that they clearly saw these things when they read the series as a child or a teenager? I didn't. I felt for Harry, I shipped Ron and Hermione, I cried for Sirius, I loathed Snape (before I knew his pain), and I smiled indulgently at Dobby. Not once did I recognize that the Mudblood-pure blood dichotomy as a reflection of something closer to our Muggle world. All I did was feel.
And in the same manner, my teenage, unhappy self felt for Bella in Twilight. For me, it was never about Edward. Loneliness made me feel that having someone who cares for me almost obsessively like he does for Bella wouldn't actually be a bad thing. Ultimately, though, I was drawn to Bella's pain.
When you're in your teens, heartbreak is a big thing. You don't have enough wisdom in you to feel that the hurting phase will pass. It's a tear-filled road with no end in sight. Everything is just so HOPELESS. And so Stephenie Meyer's description of Bella's state after Edward left her resonated. Hermione was strong after Ron left, but I didn't feel strong. I wasn't catatonic or numb by any means; there were actually happy moments with friends and family.
But contemplations during quiet moments felt exactly like it. I thought that my inner self was unmoving and unseeing in a haze of pain. I didn't jump off a cliff just so I could hear Edward's voice, but I wished desperately, so desperately for a way to be happy again. I read about Bella and thought, this is how I feel. This. This. This. It was therapy.
Grieving is a natural process. Addressing the pain is an important step. If you don't know what you're feeling, how can you get over it? I started with New Moon, which for me was the book that said it all, and went back to Twilight, which was a reminiscence of happy times. Eclipse justified holding out for the person who broke your heart, no matter how crazy it looked. And Breaking Dawn was where Bella was happy, which was what I wanted for myself. After that, I moved on.
That's all. It was never about the plot. It was never about the sparkly vampires. There are hundreds of variations of the vampire lore with plots cheesier than Twilight, and I don't see people throwing tomatoes at them. The saga put words to what I cannot say, and for that I will always think of it with gratitude.
13.5.13
Highway
I've come a long way since CFS.
I've come a long way since high school.
Heck, I've come a long way since primary school.
I've come a long way, period.
For someone who dislikes change, I've changed so much. For one, I'm not as timid as I was back then. I'm simultaneously quieter and louder. I've gotten the rein of my feelings and have managed, most of the time, to keep them under control. I'm happier. I understand things more. Most of the time I manage to stop publishing my life for the world to see.
And I tolerate less.
I know sometimes I give the impression that I've become this cold and aloof Aina, but the reality is, I can't do the old me anymore. Meek, everything-okay Aina. The yes man. Cowardly and ever-obliging. A person with lax morals. A person who, for the duration of 5 years in high school, has managed to disappoint her family repeatedly.
That me might have been a crowd favourite, but it was not mine. Not by a long shot. I've set standards for myself now, and I need to keep to them.
I have regrets, sure. Most of my friendships have faded into obscurity. Some were broken clear off. All I can do is cherish them in my heart, because it's not my place to do more. At times, the old adage 'Berkawan biar seribu.." plays up my insecurities. I don't have a thousand acquaintances, much less friends. So what does that make me? A jerk?
I want to stop playing the victim. I want to stop needing people to apologize to me for their imagined wrongs. I want to be strong. I want respect, but still possess a heart big enough to accept people who don't give it to me.
My biggest fear is regress.
I've come a long way since high school.
Heck, I've come a long way since primary school.
I've come a long way, period.
For someone who dislikes change, I've changed so much. For one, I'm not as timid as I was back then. I'm simultaneously quieter and louder. I've gotten the rein of my feelings and have managed, most of the time, to keep them under control. I'm happier. I understand things more. Most of the time I manage to stop publishing my life for the world to see.
And I tolerate less.
I know sometimes I give the impression that I've become this cold and aloof Aina, but the reality is, I can't do the old me anymore. Meek, everything-okay Aina. The yes man. Cowardly and ever-obliging. A person with lax morals. A person who, for the duration of 5 years in high school, has managed to disappoint her family repeatedly.
That me might have been a crowd favourite, but it was not mine. Not by a long shot. I've set standards for myself now, and I need to keep to them.
I have regrets, sure. Most of my friendships have faded into obscurity. Some were broken clear off. All I can do is cherish them in my heart, because it's not my place to do more. At times, the old adage 'Berkawan biar seribu.." plays up my insecurities. I don't have a thousand acquaintances, much less friends. So what does that make me? A jerk?
I want to stop playing the victim. I want to stop needing people to apologize to me for their imagined wrongs. I want to be strong. I want respect, but still possess a heart big enough to accept people who don't give it to me.
My biggest fear is regress.
10.12.12
Passing Through Smiling.
It's easy to be happy these days. A joy to wear my own skin. My own brand.
It's not as if all have been rosy lately. I still make the same mistakes, treacherous thoughts still reverberate in my skull, and sometimes my mouth needs to be sewn shut.
But I do my self-depreciation in private. As bittersweet as it is for me no one needs to see. For every error in judgement I whisper "And you said you would be better" and heave a laden sigh.
Then I go out of that room and try to be better. As I walk and friends and acquaintances say Hi, I confine my mistakes to my own body and be happy.
Happy that I'm in IIUM and doing a degree; there's still so much to learn. Happy that I'm comfortable in my clothes. Happy when others say Hi because no matter how tiny I'm a part of someone else's memory. Happy that I've come to be fond of myself, even when I know its truth.
And I think, "Lord, thank you for this life." Sins, pain and loneliness, our consciousness is a beautiful gift and everything else is a miracle.
"And she smiles unto herself.."
It's not as if all have been rosy lately. I still make the same mistakes, treacherous thoughts still reverberate in my skull, and sometimes my mouth needs to be sewn shut.
But I do my self-depreciation in private. As bittersweet as it is for me no one needs to see. For every error in judgement I whisper "And you said you would be better" and heave a laden sigh.
Then I go out of that room and try to be better. As I walk and friends and acquaintances say Hi, I confine my mistakes to my own body and be happy.
Happy that I'm in IIUM and doing a degree; there's still so much to learn. Happy that I'm comfortable in my clothes. Happy when others say Hi because no matter how tiny I'm a part of someone else's memory. Happy that I've come to be fond of myself, even when I know its truth.
And I think, "Lord, thank you for this life." Sins, pain and loneliness, our consciousness is a beautiful gift and everything else is a miracle.
"And she smiles unto herself.."
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