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.."
29.9.12
Concepts and Theories.
There's a great possibility that deviation from the title may occur, but never mind, thoughts must roam free.
It struck me just now how other people's opinions shape our own. Did this thought originate from me, or did yours seep into my brain and give birth to a hybrid? Or did it mindlessly multiply and I just got a copy?
Opinions are hateful, necessary things. I, for one will own up that I am particularly susceptible to other people's. Pardon the analogy, but I feel like batches of wet clay, perpetually baked to permanence. I was born to conform. I was born to nod, to be ready with a quick smile and assure that everything's fine, to parrot. I was born to adopt your stand.
How I fought against this inherent weakness. How I fought to let my own opinions be natives and have the rule of the land. How I stilled myself from the reflex fortification of your statements. I too, have a conscience, a blunt blade I try to sharpen, guided by religion and past experiences. To relinquish, if you are true and right, would be just. But to say yes when it should have been a no! To smile when it should have been a frown! Therein lies the disgust I feel for myself.
I fail often, to shoulder my responsibility; the expression of my opinion. It need not be verbal. A look or smile is all it would have taken to communicate. How many honourable, needful words have I uttered? I forget, that as much as other people's opinions influence me, mine too have power over them. Many ugly things could I have checked, many beautiful thoughts could I have helped bloom.
We are connected by more than just species, nationality, ethnicity, or blood. This essence of self that I tried to explain, makes us extremely dependent on one another. So take care that what we say, advise or express are halal and good, lest we shape others wrongly. Because we do have that power. We do.
It struck me just now how other people's opinions shape our own. Did this thought originate from me, or did yours seep into my brain and give birth to a hybrid? Or did it mindlessly multiply and I just got a copy?
Opinions are hateful, necessary things. I, for one will own up that I am particularly susceptible to other people's. Pardon the analogy, but I feel like batches of wet clay, perpetually baked to permanence. I was born to conform. I was born to nod, to be ready with a quick smile and assure that everything's fine, to parrot. I was born to adopt your stand.
How I fought against this inherent weakness. How I fought to let my own opinions be natives and have the rule of the land. How I stilled myself from the reflex fortification of your statements. I too, have a conscience, a blunt blade I try to sharpen, guided by religion and past experiences. To relinquish, if you are true and right, would be just. But to say yes when it should have been a no! To smile when it should have been a frown! Therein lies the disgust I feel for myself.
I fail often, to shoulder my responsibility; the expression of my opinion. It need not be verbal. A look or smile is all it would have taken to communicate. How many honourable, needful words have I uttered? I forget, that as much as other people's opinions influence me, mine too have power over them. Many ugly things could I have checked, many beautiful thoughts could I have helped bloom.
We are connected by more than just species, nationality, ethnicity, or blood. This essence of self that I tried to explain, makes us extremely dependent on one another. So take care that what we say, advise or express are halal and good, lest we shape others wrongly. Because we do have that power. We do.
6.8.12
Guess What?
What?
It doesn't have to be all or nothing
except in your relationship with God
It's okay to have something, anything
and things-in-between
And that is not a cause for despair
See, no one told me
that you're supposed to hold on to yourself
And not distribute it like wealth
Not much is free in this world,
much less yourself
So let's barter
A system of exchange
An apple for an apple
No more and no less
But then I remember
Mutuality is a fallacy
Well, maybe in feelings
The scales are different
since no one's buying at the same store
So let's have something then
Because it's better than nothing
Never mind that something is bile,
and nothing is milk-and-water
Better have some flavours in your life eh?
Let's have anything
Let's have all the flowers and pleasantries
The Happy Birthdays and Congratulations
The unmemorable How You Dos and I'm Okays
Because anything is better than nothing
The hardest are things-in-between
The midway between what you want
and what you're not strong enough for
But you know what?
It's all okay
They're parts of human nature
And so parts of us
There are people who walk with you
Those who outrun you and never look back
Some who do
People who you jog away from but smile at
because honestly, they smell too bad
But are nice people all the same
See, if you do it
Why can't they?
You could be someone's strong-smelling friend
Nice to see
but don't get close
And you might never know
It's a shame to be nothing
so let's be anything
No one told me
It's possible to be good friends with somebody
And not say
"This is my heart.
It's for you to do as you please."
I used to say all-or-nothing
I gave them my all
And guess what I'm left with?
Nothing.
and things-in-between
And that is not a cause for despair
See, no one told me
that you're supposed to hold on to yourself
And not distribute it like wealth
Not much is free in this world,
much less yourself
So let's barter
A system of exchange
An apple for an apple
No more and no less
But then I remember
Mutuality is a fallacy
Well, maybe in feelings
The scales are different
since no one's buying at the same store
So let's have something then
Because it's better than nothing
Never mind that something is bile,
and nothing is milk-and-water
Better have some flavours in your life eh?
Let's have anything
Let's have all the flowers and pleasantries
The Happy Birthdays and Congratulations
The unmemorable How You Dos and I'm Okays
Because anything is better than nothing
The hardest are things-in-between
The midway between what you want
and what you're not strong enough for
But you know what?
It's all okay
They're parts of human nature
And so parts of us
There are people who walk with you
Those who outrun you and never look back
Some who do
People who you jog away from but smile at
because honestly, they smell too bad
But are nice people all the same
See, if you do it
Why can't they?
You could be someone's strong-smelling friend
Nice to see
but don't get close
And you might never know
It's a shame to be nothing
so let's be anything
No one told me
It's possible to be good friends with somebody
And not say
"This is my heart.
It's for you to do as you please."
I used to say all-or-nothing
I gave them my all
And guess what I'm left with?
Nothing.
15.6.12
Handcrafted.
For the past week I have been devoid of culture. I didn't go looking for it. When not harassed by my kinfolk, I watched Season 6 of Supernatural and followed it up with Battleship. Although freshly laundered clothes were folded at an unseen-before speed parallel to these times, it was not the 'right' kind of culture. Sigh. What does it take for me to stop sabotaging myself?
I miss using emails. They were reminiscent of letters and I was (and still am) a big fan of letter-writing. I miss it primarily because it's not instantaneous. You get an email today and you can reply tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, or even in February. The sender will never know that you left the email stewing in your inbox on purpose. Ignorance is truly bliss. You'd be spared from confrontations that would ensue should the sender be aware of your intentional delay. "How come you replied her Wall post and not mine?!" is not a question you can really provide a satisfactory answer to. What if you're the sender of that email? It would be a lot easier to cheerfully make excuses for the recipient. What you don't know won't hurt you. Some aspects of human nature must be concealed for feathers-unruffled, feelings-benign communication.
Another aspect of using emails (or letters) that I particularly adore is that it allows me to stare at the screen blankly for stretches of time in between typing, collecting my thoughts. It would not be socially acceptable to make the person you're instant-messaging wait for 20 minutes for each reply, would it? I need time to be funny. My wit has to be summoned from wherever it's been napping and needs to be prodded until it's fully awake. My funniness is not a knee-jerk reaction. As a result, I am reduced to standard phrases in SMSes and IMs. I appear dull and awkward when in fact I am highly amusing.
I want whatever thought that I translate into the physical world, via speech or writing, to be beautiful. Whatever I offer to the world must be handcrafted and as close to perfection as it can get. Think of a thought (wow, paradox!) as a piece of paper. Plain, uninspiring. Are you going to hand just that to the world? What revolution would it catalyze? But you know, if someone's asking you if you're going to the loo, yes or no would suffice. It's unlikely that a lengthy reply would change the world in any way.
"It is indeed, the destination of which the journey I am desirous of making, due to a crippling pain I harbour inside of me, which constitutes the utmost urgency."
I can go on if let loose. But back to that paper. What if when speaking or writing, I present to the world an origami crane. Or rabbit. Delicately folded to produce an aesthetically-pleasing form. A thing that has meaning. Something the world would hesitate to discard. Something rational, backed with evidence, and strengthened with truth and conviction. Whatever I produce would be far more substantial if I take the time to think, compose, and phrase it to loveliness.
What I am not saying is that you cannot figuratively fold origami cranes and rabbits in instantaneous communication. Rather, there is more pressure to fire off replies like your whole existence depends on it, especially if you're communicating with several people at the same time. It's like trying to juggle teacups. Dangerous and confusing. Beauty takes effort and effort takes time.
That one-liner concludes my pseudo-philosophical musings for today. Pray that I won't succumb to the siren call of uTorrent and download Season 7 of Supernatural. Pray for me.
P.s. 3-month holiday!
I miss using emails. They were reminiscent of letters and I was (and still am) a big fan of letter-writing. I miss it primarily because it's not instantaneous. You get an email today and you can reply tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, or even in February. The sender will never know that you left the email stewing in your inbox on purpose. Ignorance is truly bliss. You'd be spared from confrontations that would ensue should the sender be aware of your intentional delay. "How come you replied her Wall post and not mine?!" is not a question you can really provide a satisfactory answer to. What if you're the sender of that email? It would be a lot easier to cheerfully make excuses for the recipient. What you don't know won't hurt you. Some aspects of human nature must be concealed for feathers-unruffled, feelings-benign communication.
Another aspect of using emails (or letters) that I particularly adore is that it allows me to stare at the screen blankly for stretches of time in between typing, collecting my thoughts. It would not be socially acceptable to make the person you're instant-messaging wait for 20 minutes for each reply, would it? I need time to be funny. My wit has to be summoned from wherever it's been napping and needs to be prodded until it's fully awake. My funniness is not a knee-jerk reaction. As a result, I am reduced to standard phrases in SMSes and IMs. I appear dull and awkward when in fact I am highly amusing.
I want whatever thought that I translate into the physical world, via speech or writing, to be beautiful. Whatever I offer to the world must be handcrafted and as close to perfection as it can get. Think of a thought (wow, paradox!) as a piece of paper. Plain, uninspiring. Are you going to hand just that to the world? What revolution would it catalyze? But you know, if someone's asking you if you're going to the loo, yes or no would suffice. It's unlikely that a lengthy reply would change the world in any way.
"It is indeed, the destination of which the journey I am desirous of making, due to a crippling pain I harbour inside of me, which constitutes the utmost urgency."
I can go on if let loose. But back to that paper. What if when speaking or writing, I present to the world an origami crane. Or rabbit. Delicately folded to produce an aesthetically-pleasing form. A thing that has meaning. Something the world would hesitate to discard. Something rational, backed with evidence, and strengthened with truth and conviction. Whatever I produce would be far more substantial if I take the time to think, compose, and phrase it to loveliness.
What I am not saying is that you cannot figuratively fold origami cranes and rabbits in instantaneous communication. Rather, there is more pressure to fire off replies like your whole existence depends on it, especially if you're communicating with several people at the same time. It's like trying to juggle teacups. Dangerous and confusing. Beauty takes effort and effort takes time.
That one-liner concludes my pseudo-philosophical musings for today. Pray that I won't succumb to the siren call of uTorrent and download Season 7 of Supernatural. Pray for me.
P.s. 3-month holiday!
30.3.12
Silent Agitation.
Agitation is the antonym of serenity. And I feel far from serene these days.
I am detached. From people, from moments. Losing the ability to immerse yourself in a moment is a depressing thing.
Your friend makes a joke. It's funny. You start to laugh. And halfway, your mind detaches, separates itself from your feelings. You start to analyse what you're doing. What am I doing here? Where should I put my hand? How long should I laugh?
You look down to yourself and ask why. Why am I not here? You wonder where you are. In doing so you have lost the moment, and another joy is denied.
There are some days when I'm able to laugh with total abandon. Days when I talk and don't suddenly trail off to listen to my voice. But the loneliness on days other than these is suffocating. I am in a glass box.. You don't make sense to me and I to you.
Who's to blame for this but me? I've settled myself into a routine of absorbing and taking in, that I've forgotten to leave my mark where I stand.
I read, but what do I do with the knowledge I've gained? I learn, but what have I done with my lessons? I interact, but what do I leave people with?
Watch, listen, and take in. That's all we ever do nowadays. Not that there's anything wrong with being an onlooker, collecting our thoughts. We have compassionate ones. Funny ones. Profound ones. But ultimately, what we do define who we are, not thoughts. I want to be able to say with certainty that not only do I exist, I live and live well.
I want to be able to say "My name is Aina", and that is explanation enough. This is not a matter of satisfying a need for fame, although as a human being that does exist for me. It's about being and feeling better.
This quote has left a deep impact.
"It's easy to die for Allah. But it's far harder and better to live for Him."
Pray. Read. Learn. Think. Try. Create.
I am detached. From people, from moments. Losing the ability to immerse yourself in a moment is a depressing thing.
Your friend makes a joke. It's funny. You start to laugh. And halfway, your mind detaches, separates itself from your feelings. You start to analyse what you're doing. What am I doing here? Where should I put my hand? How long should I laugh?
You look down to yourself and ask why. Why am I not here? You wonder where you are. In doing so you have lost the moment, and another joy is denied.
There are some days when I'm able to laugh with total abandon. Days when I talk and don't suddenly trail off to listen to my voice. But the loneliness on days other than these is suffocating. I am in a glass box.. You don't make sense to me and I to you.
Who's to blame for this but me? I've settled myself into a routine of absorbing and taking in, that I've forgotten to leave my mark where I stand.
I read, but what do I do with the knowledge I've gained? I learn, but what have I done with my lessons? I interact, but what do I leave people with?
Watch, listen, and take in. That's all we ever do nowadays. Not that there's anything wrong with being an onlooker, collecting our thoughts. We have compassionate ones. Funny ones. Profound ones. But ultimately, what we do define who we are, not thoughts. I want to be able to say with certainty that not only do I exist, I live and live well.
I want to be able to say "My name is Aina", and that is explanation enough. This is not a matter of satisfying a need for fame, although as a human being that does exist for me. It's about being and feeling better.
This quote has left a deep impact.
"It's easy to die for Allah. But it's far harder and better to live for Him."
Pray. Read. Learn. Think. Try. Create.
24.3.12
27.12.11
Best Author That Ever Lived.
It's no secret that I love books of the fantasy and science fiction genres (zombies!), but they are not the sort a chap returns to again and again. Classics are called classics for a reason; they are timeless and induce tears and laughter whether you read them at 14 or 41.
I'd be lying if I say that I am a most devoted fan, since the ones I've read have jumbled up to produce this sentence, "I think I've read Jane Austen.."
Yes, one full stop must be accompanied by another.
However, there is one author whose works I hold dear to my heart, for the trials and tribulations of the characters are very real and simple, you can't help but invest your heart in them. Jane Austen may be of greater fame, but Louisa May Alcott makes me chuckle even if I'm not reading one of her books at the time.
Praise and exaggerated applause do not turn a reader's head, as I very well know, so let me illustrate her at her best with an excerpt from "Jo's Boys".
I'd be lying if I say that I am a most devoted fan, since the ones I've read have jumbled up to produce this sentence, "I think I've read Jane Austen.."
Yes, one full stop must be accompanied by another.
However, there is one author whose works I hold dear to my heart, for the trials and tribulations of the characters are very real and simple, you can't help but invest your heart in them. Jane Austen may be of greater fame, but Louisa May Alcott makes me chuckle even if I'm not reading one of her books at the time.
Praise and exaggerated applause do not turn a reader's head, as I very well know, so let me illustrate her at her best with an excerpt from "Jo's Boys".
Mrs Jo had her hands full as President's lady, and the mother of Ted; for it took all the power and skill of that energetic woman to get her son into his Sunday best.
Not that he objected to be well arrayed; far from it; he adored good clothes, and owing to his great height already revelled in a dress-suit, bequeathed him by a dandy friend. The effect was very funny; but he would wear it in spite of the jeers of his mates, and sighed vainly for a beaver, because his stern parent drew the line there. He pleaded that English lads of ten wore them and were 'no end nobby'; but his mother only answered, with a consoling pat of the yellow mane:Teddy is Mrs Jo's son of about 16, and Rob is his elder brother. Mrs Jo is the wife of the President of a college, and in the excerpt they were preparing for the graduation ceremony. This piece is from Chapter 18, which I received with much grinning, so I hope you did too.
'My child, you are absurd enough now; if I let you add a tall hat, Plumfield wouldn't hold either of us, such would be the scorn and derision of all beholders. Content yourself with looking like the ghost of a waiter, and don't ask for the most ridiculous head-gear in the known world.'
Denied this noble badge of manhood, Ted soothed his wounded soul by appearing in collars of an amazing height and stiffness, and ties which were the wonder of all female eyes. This freak was a sort of vengeance on his hard-hearted mother; for the collars drove the laundress to despair, never being just right, and the ties required such art in the tying that three women sometimes laboured long before--like Beau Brummel--he turned from a heap of 'failures' with the welcome words: 'That will do.' Rob was devoted on these trying occasions, his own toilet being distinguished only by its speed, simplicity, and neatness. Ted was usually in a frenzy before he was suited, and roars, whistles, commands, and groans were heard from the den wherein the Lion raged and the Lamb patiently toiled. Mrs Jo bore it till boots were hurled and a rain of hair-brushes set in, then, fearing for the safety of her eldest, she would go to the rescue, and by a wise mixture of fun and authority finally succeed in persuading Ted that he was 'a thing of beauty', if not 'a joy for ever'. At last he would stalk majestically forth, imprisoned in collars compared to which those worn by Dickens's afflicted Biler were trifles not worth mentioning. The dresscoat was a little loose in the shoulders, but allowed a noble expanse of glossy bosom to be seen, and with a delicate handkerchief negligently drooping at the proper angle, had a truly fine effect. Boots that shone, and likewise pinched, appeared at one end of the 'long, black clothes-pin'--as Josie called him---and a youthful but solemn face at the other, carried at an angle which, if long continued, would have resulted in spinal curvature. Light gloves, a cane, and--oh, bitter drop in the cup of joy!--an ignominious straw hat, not to mention a choice floweret in the buttonhole, and a festoon of watchguard below, finished off this impressive boy.
'How's that for style?' he asked, appearing to his mother and cousins whom he was to escort to the hall on this particular occasion.
A shout of laughter greeted him, followed by exclamations of horror; for he had artfully added the little blond moustache he often wore when acting. It was very becoming, and seemed the only balm to heal the wound made by the loss of the beloved hat.
'Take it off this moment, you audacious boy! What would your father say to such a prank on this day when we must all behave our best?' said Mrs Jo, trying to frown, but privately thinking that among the many youths about her none were so beautiful and original as her long son.
'Let him wear it, Aunty; it's so becoming. No one will ever guess he isn't eighteen at least,' cried Josie, to whom disguise of any sort was always charming.
'Father won't observe it; he'll be absorbed in his big-wigs and the girls. No matter if he does, he'll enjoy the joke and introduce me as his oldest son. Rob is nowhere when I'm in full fig'; and Ted took the stage with a tragic stalk, like Hamlet in a tail-coat and choker.
'My son, obey me!' and when Mrs Jo spoke in that tone her word was law. Later, however, the moustache appeared, and many strangers firmly believed that there were three young Bhaers. So Ted found one ray of joy to light his gloom.
26.11.11
On A Tightrope.
I'm like a.. sponge.
I cannot be used to wash dishes, nor am I light. Sadly, the last part is especially true.
Sponges can soak up water. They can soak up a lot of water in a short time, notwithstanding their small size. However, there is no real degree of permanence to their ability to hold water. When you lift the sponge up, the water will drip out. Let's compare this to a container. Provided that there are no leaks, a container can hold water indefinitely (let us not get into evaporation!). Provided you have good equilibrium, the water will not spill out from said container.
Let's superimpose this analogy on the workings of my brain. I've been relying on my ability to remember secondary school syllabus after only brief scans on nights before examinations for years, even through foundation studies. I had got on okay. And like the water that drips out, all the knowledge that I've gained through my school years cannot be recalled anymore. I've simply forgotten. The process of 'remember, write, forget' is far from desirable as of now. I want what I've learned and what I will learn to reside in my mind permanently. I want to be able to discuss with friends about what we've learned in class, instead of just being able to discuss it with examination sheets. I want what I know in my mind to inspire me to do great things. I want the learning process to actually mean something.
I'm already trying to change this, by immersing the sponge in a container of water indefinitely. Does this make sense? So, here's to a new year (according to the Muslim calendar), here's to learning for the sake of learning, and here's to learning for the sake of earning Allah's pleasure.
Salam Maal Hijrah!
I cannot be used to wash dishes, nor am I light. Sadly, the last part is especially true.
Sponges can soak up water. They can soak up a lot of water in a short time, notwithstanding their small size. However, there is no real degree of permanence to their ability to hold water. When you lift the sponge up, the water will drip out. Let's compare this to a container. Provided that there are no leaks, a container can hold water indefinitely (let us not get into evaporation!). Provided you have good equilibrium, the water will not spill out from said container.
Let's superimpose this analogy on the workings of my brain. I've been relying on my ability to remember secondary school syllabus after only brief scans on nights before examinations for years, even through foundation studies. I had got on okay. And like the water that drips out, all the knowledge that I've gained through my school years cannot be recalled anymore. I've simply forgotten. The process of 'remember, write, forget' is far from desirable as of now. I want what I've learned and what I will learn to reside in my mind permanently. I want to be able to discuss with friends about what we've learned in class, instead of just being able to discuss it with examination sheets. I want what I know in my mind to inspire me to do great things. I want the learning process to actually mean something.
I'm already trying to change this, by immersing the sponge in a container of water indefinitely. Does this make sense? So, here's to a new year (according to the Muslim calendar), here's to learning for the sake of learning, and here's to learning for the sake of earning Allah's pleasure.
Salam Maal Hijrah!
26.10.11
The new Blogger is weird.
Hello! I am waving cheerily and behaving in the most unapologetic manner, although I have deserted this humble abode of thoughts for close to two months. Or is it already two?
When one puts on one's glasses and really look for reasons to feel happy, one will find many (if you're not short-sighted don't put on glasses, they'll make you go cross-eyed). That's how I feel right now. I'm currently in the first year of my Bachelor of Law studies in International Islamic University Malaysia. And I am happy. Everywhere I turn, I see mountains and truly, I couldn't ask for a more beautiful university.
I never thought I'd be reading Law. I can honestly say that it has never crossed my mind. But Allah has put me in this position, and I am (again) happy that I find myself liking it. No regrets.
But there's this one question that had settled itself deep in the walls of my heart (right) from the moment I knew that I was going to read Law. Is it wrong to have no desire for a career?
Ambitions, I have plenty. And they belong to the domestic category. Simply said (with no pretense of giving them fancy names), I'd like to be a wife and a mother. I'd like the pretty details that will come with those two titles; a white house, a small garden,.. But I am realistic, and I acknowledge that monies do not grow on trees nor can they be fished out of seas. Before starting a family, I would have to work for a few years to pay for the down payments of the house, the car,.. There's also my parents, Adam, and Azad to think of. Nothing would satisfy me more than to pay for their my parents' expenses and the boys' education. I know my responsibilities.. But do I have to fall in love with them?
Do I have to dream about having a job? Truly, I've searched my heart (laugh please) and find the desire lacking. There's no "I want to be..", only "I could be..". It makes for awkward moments during ice-breaking sessions in tutorials. The lecturer will almost always require us to state our ambition and I would be furiously thinking up a lie to offer. Lecturer, lawyer, legal adviser.. It changes everytime. I'm ashamed to say that I've never had the courage to say that I think I shouldn't be limiting myself to pre-conceived plans. I think that when the time comes for me to get a job, I'll take a path that seems most suitable and go on from there. I think that I should be open to possibilities.
I wonder what adults would think of me, a 19 year old talking about not wanting a career and having a family?
What do you think?
When one puts on one's glasses and really look for reasons to feel happy, one will find many (if you're not short-sighted don't put on glasses, they'll make you go cross-eyed). That's how I feel right now. I'm currently in the first year of my Bachelor of Law studies in International Islamic University Malaysia. And I am happy. Everywhere I turn, I see mountains and truly, I couldn't ask for a more beautiful university.
I never thought I'd be reading Law. I can honestly say that it has never crossed my mind. But Allah has put me in this position, and I am (again) happy that I find myself liking it. No regrets.
But there's this one question that had settled itself deep in the walls of my heart (right) from the moment I knew that I was going to read Law. Is it wrong to have no desire for a career?
Ambitions, I have plenty. And they belong to the domestic category. Simply said (with no pretense of giving them fancy names), I'd like to be a wife and a mother. I'd like the pretty details that will come with those two titles; a white house, a small garden,.. But I am realistic, and I acknowledge that monies do not grow on trees nor can they be fished out of seas. Before starting a family, I would have to work for a few years to pay for the down payments of the house, the car,.. There's also my parents, Adam, and Azad to think of. Nothing would satisfy me more than to pay for their my parents' expenses and the boys' education. I know my responsibilities.. But do I have to fall in love with them?
Do I have to dream about having a job? Truly, I've searched my heart (laugh please) and find the desire lacking. There's no "I want to be..", only "I could be..". It makes for awkward moments during ice-breaking sessions in tutorials. The lecturer will almost always require us to state our ambition and I would be furiously thinking up a lie to offer. Lecturer, lawyer, legal adviser.. It changes everytime. I'm ashamed to say that I've never had the courage to say that I think I shouldn't be limiting myself to pre-conceived plans. I think that when the time comes for me to get a job, I'll take a path that seems most suitable and go on from there. I think that I should be open to possibilities.
I wonder what adults would think of me, a 19 year old talking about not wanting a career and having a family?
What do you think?
2.9.11
Which Celebrity Do You Look Like?
The fact that I am severely faint-hearted is perhaps, widely-known. I can barely go anywhere (dark) without company. Human company, not the supernatural kind! But little do you know that I am addicted to horror movies. It's like a fix; I'd watch a horror movie and regret it for two or three weeks after. My mind's eye would be seeing the paranormal 'character' in the aforementioned movie everywhere, making adrenaline circulate in my veins a wee bit more than the average person. Horror is my favourite genre still.
I'm currently seeing characters from the movie Insidious, in case you're wondering.
Anyway, no movie, can top the classic Ju-On. It's my recurring nightmare, fear, and torturous addiction. So much so that even my 4 year old brother, Azad constantly taunts me with it. "Aina, Ju-On atas pokok tu!".
Whatever.
Once in a while, he'd bully me into loading Ju-On's trailer on Youtube after convincing me that we'd be watching it together. Almost always, he'd slip under the table or hide behind me (because he's scared), leaving me to watch the trailer alone. Me, being the addict that I am would watch it until the end. For that Azad, I would be forever grateful. Moving on; one day I remarked that he looked like Toshio. He's the ghost son of the main ghost, Kayako in Ju-On. Trust me, you don't want to find the little boy sitting on your bed.. Or in your cupboard. Since then, Azad has been obsessed with impersonating Toshio, and I have been excitedly coaching him on how to act.
Here's a photo of Azad replicating Toshio's iconic, fear-inspiring pose.
It's a work in progress.
You might be wondering why I didn't put up a photo of the character for comparison purposes. I intended to and have already Googled it, but after taking one look at the many freaky little boys staring at me from the laptop screen, it's best that you take it upon yourself to Google it. I insist, because it is now 3 a.m.
Also, I'd like to take this opportunity to disclose an original pantun.
Syaitan dilepaskan pabila Syawal tiba,
Perangai penakut telah bermula,
Hari lebaran disambut bersama,
Zahir dan batin maaf dipinta.
Eid Mubarak everyone! Maaf zahir dan batin!
I'm currently seeing characters from the movie Insidious, in case you're wondering.
Anyway, no movie, can top the classic Ju-On. It's my recurring nightmare, fear, and torturous addiction. So much so that even my 4 year old brother, Azad constantly taunts me with it. "Aina, Ju-On atas pokok tu!".
Whatever.
Once in a while, he'd bully me into loading Ju-On's trailer on Youtube after convincing me that we'd be watching it together. Almost always, he'd slip under the table or hide behind me (because he's scared), leaving me to watch the trailer alone. Me, being the addict that I am would watch it until the end. For that Azad, I would be forever grateful. Moving on; one day I remarked that he looked like Toshio. He's the ghost son of the main ghost, Kayako in Ju-On. Trust me, you don't want to find the little boy sitting on your bed.. Or in your cupboard. Since then, Azad has been obsessed with impersonating Toshio, and I have been excitedly coaching him on how to act.
Here's a photo of Azad replicating Toshio's iconic, fear-inspiring pose.
 |
| The real Toshio widens his black-rimmed eyes and he does not smile! |
You might be wondering why I didn't put up a photo of the character for comparison purposes. I intended to and have already Googled it, but after taking one look at the many freaky little boys staring at me from the laptop screen, it's best that you take it upon yourself to Google it. I insist, because it is now 3 a.m.
Also, I'd like to take this opportunity to disclose an original pantun.
Syaitan dilepaskan pabila Syawal tiba,
Perangai penakut telah bermula,
Hari lebaran disambut bersama,
Zahir dan batin maaf dipinta.
Eid Mubarak everyone! Maaf zahir dan batin!
12.8.11
Abstinence
The month of 5 a.m. wake up calls, eating (blindly) while sleeping, great interest in time (what time is it now?), dragging feet around instead of walking properly, vacant eyes and slumped postures, Asian Food Channel being the most-watched channel, animosity and resentment towards young siblings young enough to be able to eat, when even a vegetable looks good, extreme hygiene (must have fourth shower), where everyone is taking a leaf out of a bear's book and hibernates, where cakes, ice creams and ice-cold drinks are the stuff of daydreams, people behaving like shopaholics when at a bazaar, Jakel being crowded (hard to find parking spot), ears being sensitive to the sound of Azans, sitting at the dining table 10-30 minutes before sunset (gotta be prepared ya know), smiles and silence when the first sip is taken (or 3 or 4 gulps), stomachs being bloated with water, difficulty performing the Rukuk of Maghrib prayers, sleeping directly after Maghrib prayers, performing Tarawih prayers blearily (or.. is that just me?), suppers and midnight snacks.
It's also the month of asking for forgiveness and trying to forgive, seeing the difference between a full man who smiles and a hungry one that smiles too, friendly reminders about The Deen, of warm wishes, where the seeds of change are planted, being in the shoes of those who go hungry for 12 months a year, being with family and enjoying their company, productive silence, quiet pleasure after performing the 8 Rakaat of Tarawih, or 20, letting go of all the rage and anger, of not saying things that do not need to be said, it's the month of trying, of trying so hard to be good, and failing in some days and succeeding in most.
Happy Ramadhan everyone! BarakAllahufikum.
13.7.11
Lightbulb Flashes.
We all have moments where we chance upon something, new, in our minds.
That's just a long-winded way of saying sometimes we get new ideas. Haha.
It could be a poem, a line, an illustration, a system, a product design, a solution, a way of putting clothes together, a blog post,.. It could be anything. Anything that is born from the electrical activities of your brain (OH GOD IS THIS CORRECT?!) and flashes in front of your mind's eye. Do you get what I mean? I don't know in what form your ideas come to you, but mine come in images.
Phew, trying to explain an abstract concept such as this after five months of not using my brain is almost like doing abs pilates. Not easy and not a pretty picture! Hahahaha okay I'm going off track.
So, what do you do when you get these world-shattering revelations?
I jot them down. The first ever idea that I committed onto paper was the opening lines and plot structure of a story that I wanted to submit for an essay competition. Nothing came out of it, I felt that the story wasn't good enough, but the idea remains in existence. The paper that I wrote it on was pasted onto a sketchbook. And thus, 'Lightbulb Edition One' was born. Now, I have in total four editions of said 'Lightbulb', all of which I fill cover to cover with explanations and illustrations of my ideas.
You might be wondering, and even if you're not, I insist upon enlightening you. What kind of ideas do I get that's enough to fill four books? (Technically, 3 and a half, as Edition 4 is relatively new)
Well, here's a few..
1. The how-to of writing song lyrics. For who? To who? What's the peak (chorus)?
2. What I think a library's system should be like.
3. A web-based business - a site that caters to the interests of high school graduates (after SPM). You'd like to learn knitting? We can pinpoint you to the nearest class! It was an idea developed with 3 other friends, and we decided to call the site 'The After Party'.
Hey, nobody said your ideas have to rational, much less non-embarrassing. Haha.
All I'm saying is, why keep those bright ideas in your head, where they have a tendency to get lost and be misplaced? Idea books are the same as diaries. One day you're gonna flip through the pages and laugh and maybe put one or two ideas into action. Wouldn't it be frustrating if a period of creativity goes undocumented, and years into the future someone else succeeds where you haven't? Ideas are treasures of the mind, and you should treat them as such. You'll never know which of your many ideas will help you make it big.
Below are some links that can help juice your creative brain. (Creative juices, get it?) They are examples of ingenuity that I know many will appreciate.
So, what do you do when you get these world-shattering revelations?
I jot them down. The first ever idea that I committed onto paper was the opening lines and plot structure of a story that I wanted to submit for an essay competition. Nothing came out of it, I felt that the story wasn't good enough, but the idea remains in existence. The paper that I wrote it on was pasted onto a sketchbook. And thus, 'Lightbulb Edition One' was born. Now, I have in total four editions of said 'Lightbulb', all of which I fill cover to cover with explanations and illustrations of my ideas.
You might be wondering, and even if you're not, I insist upon enlightening you. What kind of ideas do I get that's enough to fill four books? (Technically, 3 and a half, as Edition 4 is relatively new)
Well, here's a few..
1. The how-to of writing song lyrics. For who? To who? What's the peak (chorus)?
2. What I think a library's system should be like.
3. A web-based business - a site that caters to the interests of high school graduates (after SPM). You'd like to learn knitting? We can pinpoint you to the nearest class! It was an idea developed with 3 other friends, and we decided to call the site 'The After Party'.
Hey, nobody said your ideas have to rational, much less non-embarrassing. Haha.
All I'm saying is, why keep those bright ideas in your head, where they have a tendency to get lost and be misplaced? Idea books are the same as diaries. One day you're gonna flip through the pages and laugh and maybe put one or two ideas into action. Wouldn't it be frustrating if a period of creativity goes undocumented, and years into the future someone else succeeds where you haven't? Ideas are treasures of the mind, and you should treat them as such. You'll never know which of your many ideas will help you make it big.
Below are some links that can help juice your creative brain. (Creative juices, get it?) They are examples of ingenuity that I know many will appreciate.
http://www.boredpanda.com/
P.S. You might want to try a hand at keeping a dream diary. Everyday upon waking up from sleep or a nap, write your dreams down. Try to record every detail. I kept one briefly when I was in Form 3 and the results were hilarious! Some were disturbing too but let's not get into that.
P.S. You might want to try a hand at keeping a dream diary. Everyday upon waking up from sleep or a nap, write your dreams down. Try to record every detail. I kept one briefly when I was in Form 3 and the results were hilarious! Some were disturbing too but let's not get into that.
1.6.11
38 Days.
Hello! I've been absent from Blogger for exactly that, 38 days. Well, maybe not exactly 38.. My calculating ability leaves a lot to be desired. Coupled with the fact that I by nature am not calculating, you got yourself a sweet thing.
Harhar.
Nonsensical introductions aside, hi! What have I been occupying myself with for the past 38 days you might ask? I've been tweeting, watching the hugely appealing Jensen Ackles on Supernatural Season 1, cleaning, going out with friends, going through blogshops feverishly, doing pilates (cough), and spending almost every other day in chlorinated water. That's right, swimming.
A refreshing passion.
One day my friend, Bil and I thought we'd go swimming at UiTM Shah Alam's pool. Never mind the fact that I couldn't swim, pretending to be a mermaid is a thoroughly enjoyable thing, gliding gracefully this way and another..
Let's move on to other details, for I believe I've embarrassed myself enough. Bil, the kind and patient soul that she is, taught me how to swim. She tried to teach me how to float, but I could only do it face-down. That'll be very useful when I drown.. But I had lots of fun. So we returned 2 weeks later with Sarah in tow (What do you mean in tow? She was driving!). By that time I had forgotten how to swim and had to be taught again. Sarah also tried to teach me how to tread water. You know, how to be in the water without having your feet touching the bottom. Sadly, I was unable to master it at the time for I did not possess the necessary arm and leg coordination. Arms and legs moving at the same time? Wow, that's too much for my brain to process. It's sad to be me.
Nevertheless! I returned again and again, these times with Azad and my mother. I'm both proud and happy to notify all of you (especially YOU, who said I can't swim!), that I can now swim freestyle, and is able to rotate my legs. Er, the arms will be rotated successfully in the next swimming session, insyaAllah. Also, I've to master breathing while swimming because one breath is not sufficient for one lap of the pool. Seriously.
Honestly, nothing compares to being in the cool water. When I'm in IIUM Gombak, I hope I'll be able to swim just as much. This hobby is here to stay.
P.S. Click here for IIUM's Sports and Recreational Centre. Anyone wants to be my swimming buddy in 3 months time?
P.P.S. Click here for UiTM Shah Alam's pool. Anyone wants to be my swimming buddy, like, now?
Harhar.
Nonsensical introductions aside, hi! What have I been occupying myself with for the past 38 days you might ask? I've been tweeting, watching the hugely appealing Jensen Ackles on Supernatural Season 1, cleaning, going out with friends, going through blogshops feverishly, doing pilates (cough), and spending almost every other day in chlorinated water. That's right, swimming.
A refreshing passion.
One day my friend, Bil and I thought we'd go swimming at UiTM Shah Alam's pool. Never mind the fact that I couldn't swim, pretending to be a mermaid is a thoroughly enjoyable thing, gliding gracefully this way and another..
Let's move on to other details, for I believe I've embarrassed myself enough. Bil, the kind and patient soul that she is, taught me how to swim. She tried to teach me how to float, but I could only do it face-down. That'll be very useful when I drown.. But I had lots of fun. So we returned 2 weeks later with Sarah in tow (What do you mean in tow? She was driving!). By that time I had forgotten how to swim and had to be taught again. Sarah also tried to teach me how to tread water. You know, how to be in the water without having your feet touching the bottom. Sadly, I was unable to master it at the time for I did not possess the necessary arm and leg coordination. Arms and legs moving at the same time? Wow, that's too much for my brain to process. It's sad to be me.
Nevertheless! I returned again and again, these times with Azad and my mother. I'm both proud and happy to notify all of you (especially YOU, who said I can't swim!), that I can now swim freestyle, and is able to rotate my legs. Er, the arms will be rotated successfully in the next swimming session, insyaAllah. Also, I've to master breathing while swimming because one breath is not sufficient for one lap of the pool. Seriously.
Honestly, nothing compares to being in the cool water. When I'm in IIUM Gombak, I hope I'll be able to swim just as much. This hobby is here to stay.
P.S. Click here for IIUM's Sports and Recreational Centre. Anyone wants to be my swimming buddy in 3 months time?
P.P.S. Click here for UiTM Shah Alam's pool. Anyone wants to be my swimming buddy, like, now?
24.4.11
MashaAllah.
Halfway through the video, I cried. If only I could preserve the little girl's innocence and share it with other people, imagine how bright the future of the ummah would be?
When you're praying for a place in Jannah, be like Sister Khadeeja and pray that EVERYBODY in the whole wide world gets one too.
MashaAllah. :'-)
1.4.11
Artistic Episodes
When I was but a young child, I was very.. Fanciful. I indulged freely in my 'creative' whims and fancies. I painted and sewed, and attempted many activities in the name of art. In trying to improve the things that I had, I improvised, and that landed me in trouble with my mother (my father was quite a sport).
Although my whims and fancies were 'creative', they were also rather destructive. I often took less conventional routes. For example, instead of sewing (or mending) torn clothes, I tried to turn them into something different altogether, aided by my sharp friend, a pair of scissors. Baju lengan panjang jadi lengan pendek, seluar jeans tiba-tiba jadi skirt. Kalau baju dah ketat, gunting nak buat pencil case. A school bag that I thought had looked pretty boring was decorated with fabric paint. Buruk benor jadinya. I painted on paper regularly too, expressing my feelings and pouring out the essence of my being to produce pieces that were really, really abstract..
You see, I loved art, but I couldn't draw to save my life. I have no recollection of drawing in my kindergarten years, but I can confidently say that I failed spectacularly in Art from Standard 1 until Form 3. Straight C's, which was heartbreaking. Nevertheless, I carried on with my artistic endeavors and continued to produce wondrous items, which were only halfway done 90% of the time..
-_-
If you, dear reader, have stayed with me since I had started blogging, I'm sure you would have noticed that my mind flits from idea to idea like a greedy butterfly flits from flower to flower. Saya ini tidak konsisten, sering kali memulakan sesuatu projek dan kemudian meninggalkannya di tengah jalan. Iyelah, macam pembangunan zaman sekarang ni lah kan. Haha. I have a very short attention span. As you may well know. Juga menyumbang! Adalah ibu saya. When I attempted these projects, I did so without the consent of my mother. Dia melarang keras daripada melakukan benda-benda yang padanya tidak berfaedah. Namun, sebagai seorang anak yang degil lagi berpendirian tetap, I went ahead anyways. My courage knows no bounds. Haha. Let me illustrate with an example.
Me, busy painting in my room. Splashes of paint on the paper. Sudden knocks on the door. My mother asking me what I was doing. Me, panicking. Me, shoving the paper, paint, paint water under the bed. Me, pulling the duvet down to hide the illegal enterprise. Me, opening the door and putting on a suitably innocent expression. Me, going downstairs to do whatever it is that I wanted or was required to do. Me, forgetting the painting (and the paint water) completely and leaving them to rot. Under-the-bed was the address of many of the unfinished.
So there you have it. The.. Well I don't know how to summarize what I've just written.
I have discovered that I have an amazing talent of drawing stick figures.
Bye.
P.s. Today's topic was supposed to be only the opening paragraph, the entree, the appetizer.. But it ended up being a whole post. So next up! "I Miss Neil Buchanan".
Although my whims and fancies were 'creative', they were also rather destructive. I often took less conventional routes. For example, instead of sewing (or mending) torn clothes, I tried to turn them into something different altogether, aided by my sharp friend, a pair of scissors. Baju lengan panjang jadi lengan pendek, seluar jeans tiba-tiba jadi skirt. Kalau baju dah ketat, gunting nak buat pencil case. A school bag that I thought had looked pretty boring was decorated with fabric paint. Buruk benor jadinya. I painted on paper regularly too, expressing my feelings and pouring out the essence of my being to produce pieces that were really, really abstract..
You see, I loved art, but I couldn't draw to save my life. I have no recollection of drawing in my kindergarten years, but I can confidently say that I failed spectacularly in Art from Standard 1 until Form 3. Straight C's, which was heartbreaking. Nevertheless, I carried on with my artistic endeavors and continued to produce wondrous items, which were only halfway done 90% of the time..
-_-
If you, dear reader, have stayed with me since I had started blogging, I'm sure you would have noticed that my mind flits from idea to idea like a greedy butterfly flits from flower to flower. Saya ini tidak konsisten, sering kali memulakan sesuatu projek dan kemudian meninggalkannya di tengah jalan. Iyelah, macam pembangunan zaman sekarang ni lah kan. Haha. I have a very short attention span. As you may well know. Juga menyumbang! Adalah ibu saya. When I attempted these projects, I did so without the consent of my mother. Dia melarang keras daripada melakukan benda-benda yang padanya tidak berfaedah. Namun, sebagai seorang anak yang degil lagi berpendirian tetap, I went ahead anyways. My courage knows no bounds. Haha. Let me illustrate with an example.
Me, busy painting in my room. Splashes of paint on the paper. Sudden knocks on the door. My mother asking me what I was doing. Me, panicking. Me, shoving the paper, paint, paint water under the bed. Me, pulling the duvet down to hide the illegal enterprise. Me, opening the door and putting on a suitably innocent expression. Me, going downstairs to do whatever it is that I wanted or was required to do. Me, forgetting the painting (and the paint water) completely and leaving them to rot. Under-the-bed was the address of many of the unfinished.
So there you have it. The.. Well I don't know how to summarize what I've just written.
I have discovered that I have an amazing talent of drawing stick figures.
Bye.
P.s. Today's topic was supposed to be only the opening paragraph, the entree, the appetizer.. But it ended up being a whole post. So next up! "I Miss Neil Buchanan".
20.3.11
Apparently,
..some people would lie through their teeth to gain support. To hear the public say they are right.
So come on.. Who wants to hear my side of the story? Anyone wants me to verify the facts?
:-)
So come on.. Who wants to hear my side of the story? Anyone wants me to verify the facts?
:-)
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