To argue or not to argue, that is the question.

My dad and I often bump heads over a wide range of topics. This is due mainly to our clash of principles since my dad is a natural orator and I am essentially an introvert. We often disagree on many fundamental issues mainly because, in my opinion, we came from explicitly different backgrounds despite coming from the same gene pool. My father grew up in Penang during the 60's and 70's when the imprint of British colonization was still fresh on the state's economy, social and education system. 90% of his career in human resources was forged in American-based companies. I, on the other hand, grew up on something I'd rather call 'a healthy(not perfect, mind you!) cocktail' of various elements which could be honed to be better in the next generation. Thus the clash of principles.

Recently we visited the Revival of Islamic Spirit Convention (R.I.S.) at the Toronto Metro to patronize the exhibition booths. Unfortunately we discovered that the $50 per person fee applied to everyone wishing to take part in the convention - even if you simply wanted to visit the booths without attending the seminars and lectures. The gift-bags were pretty snazzy but we wouldn't have minded forgoing those. We walked away shaking our heads. The guest lecturers are probably paid by the organizers but the exhibitors are the ones who stand to profit from potential customers like ourselves. This is an unfortunate hindsight on the part of the organizers. Instead we explored Danforth Avenue's middle-eastern community for some undeniably good food and religious reading materials.

On our way there my dad theorized that if this keeps on, the exhibitors will eventually lose interest in the R.I.S. because they don’t stand to profit from it financially. I concurred. I, too, was miffed by the entrance fee since I was hard-worn for some new scarves. Then my dad ventured one of his pseudo-maxims:"You see, that is why those who are successful are those who stand to benefit financially from their endeavors. " That did it for me. Now I HAVE to step in and set things straight so I said "That's not necessarily true." I was thinking of Islam's propagation of selflessness. The religion does not propagate principles that do not accede to the human nature therefore money is not the natural motivation in our acts of charity. "Oh?" he said, "give me an example." I promptly replied "Mother Theresa," instantly thankful that it was an icon outside of our faith, otherwise my dad would have pounced on my argument as being religiously idealistic. My dad's counter argument came back on the axiom of every hypothesis - Mother Theresa is ONE person. His theory is based on general behavior. If every exception were taken into account, all theories would be rendered obsolete. So I decided to pick on something closer to home - our local patriarch of the Toronto Malay community lovingly known as Aunty Rahidah. (She's made it her life's mission to get Malays in Toronto in touch with each other and help families relocating to Canada start their lives here with greater ease) After only two months here, I discovered that her weekend clambakes are something I sincerely look forward to. "I'm sure Aunty Rahidah's not making any money from her weekend get-together," I said, trying to sound nonchalant, very aware that my dad holds that lady and everything she does in high esteem. "Hmm…" he ruminates, "I don't know, maybe you're right…" Aha, jackpot baby! Nothing gives me a higher high than beating my dad at his own game. Even more invigorating was getting him to see things my way for a change. Although my dad sometimes agree with me, I know he does it just so I'd stop ramming my head against his.

Still high on victory I felt relegated to further elaborate on my point. So I said, still trying to sound nonchalant, "I'm just saying, individuals such as them proves that it's not impossible to be completely selfless. That it's not entirely fruitless to strive to be that way." By this time I'd fully turned to him with my hand raised for supporting gestures and my face completely animated, eye brows raised and everything.

But my dad's always-wandering mind had already wandered to other matters and he'd probably lost interest in the debate since his theory has revealed a drawback and obviously needs further scrutiny. He gently patted me on the shoulder with that trying-hard-to-look-serious-and-not-smile look and told me to calm down. "Yes, but…" I groped for something substantial to say besides embellishing my winning statement. He laid the next line on me like a carefully laid mouse trap,"I know you're planning to be a journalist but take it easy on me okay?" he broke out in a chuckle and that chuckle grew into a laugh. All I could do was sigh and roll my eyes with the words, "Quit while you're winning" ringing in my ears. I tried to look sulky but I ended up trying to hold back a smile too.

Salam Eidul Ad'ha

I bite my tongue on this one.

I've always been adamantly opposed to prejudice, racism or any form of bigotry. Don't even get me started on women's rights (although that implies a certain amount of bias, ironically). What i never realized was the inherent prejudice I'd been carrying with me for longer than I care to admit. I would love to point the finger at some element as being the root of my bias - upbringing, education system, religion, etc. - but at the end of the day, it's up to me to form my own principles.

At the Eidi Adha gathering we had last night, I encountered some individuals whom I casually dismissed as those whose company I don't really favor i.e. 'not my type'. Due to the usual mingling principle of mingling at a party, I ended up sitting next to said individuals and found myself pressed to initiate a conversation, which I promptly did (I've discovered from experience that the longer you let the initial awkwardness linger, the harder it is to start chatting, thus the more awkward it gets). After the first few exchanges I inwardly admitted that these individuals weren't too bad. As the conversation progressed, I found them to be quite engaging and we ended up talking for quite a while.

The final straw that won me over was the discovery that not only did we share the same passion for reading, but that we've also read the great literary works I labeled as my all-time-favorites. Rarely do I find people I can easily talk to about my book-dependency, even rarer do I find people who've read the books I have.

The night ended with the exchange of hugs and contacts and promises to keep in touch. Sounds a bit corny but I think we were all under the sweet ephemeral effect of new alliances so cut me some slack, please. I'm sure the effect will run off in a few days. In the mean time, I'm enjoying the absence of ludicrous stares when I mentioned 'Beloved' with my eyes wide as golf balls. That and I'm biting my tongue still, of course.

Another reason to quit

"If you don't succeed the first time, try again. Then quit. There's no point in being a fool about it."

- W.C. Fields

(O Magazine Jan 08 Issue)

Studies have shown that trying too hard to be successful in life can lead to poorer mental and physical health.

Brilliant.

It's time for a nap then.....

Flannel Romancing

I have fallen in love.With my flannel pajama pants.

If I didn't think it was an erosion of my self-discipline, I'd have worn them all day, from the moment I climb out of bed till the moment I crawl back in.

It's made of all-cotton flannel in the warm hues of maroon and navy blue and hangs loosely without pressure on my body to get into better shape. The secret, I think, lies in the fact that I bought them from a maternity store (my pregnant sister has an exact pair). It's a great store to go to since everyone treats you like you're an expectant mother. I also get a huge kick from the strap-on fake bellies supplied in every fitting room. This may sound perverse, but those bellies, strapped on, make excellent built-in bongos. Ha ha.

Back to the beautiful mom-to-be flannels. Instead of an elastic waist band that constantly screams "you're out of shape!", there is a wide band of cotton and spandex that stretches so beautifully without making you look like Ali Baba with his forty thieves tucked into his back pocket. In fact, you could probably fit ten Kate Mosses into one pair of these magic flannels. Yup, that's what I'm going to call them from now. Magic flannels. What a beauty.

Ah my love, I'm counting the hours until I can crawl into bed with you again (pun intended).

Grandma entries

Our daily routine usually begins with my grandmother waking me up for prayer at dawn. During my early days I believed I could pretend to sleep and she would leave me be. But her gentle, cajoling calls never failed to make me rise and sleepily fumble through the mosquito netting that enclosed our bed and head for the bathroom. I would rush through my prayer and fight to salvage what little sleep was left in my eyes. It was always a race to fall back to sleep before the light of dawn crept up from the horizon and filled the sky. Often the voice of my grandmother, still on her prayer mat, chanting her zikr, would be my lullaby. Soft, rhythmic, soporific, her voice had a hypnotic quality and often I would fall asleep thinking I was still awake, listening to her prayers.

I miss jambu batu

sweet, green, paper-thin skin
succulent, crunchy white flesh
pink, hard-as-rocks seeds
oh apek-jual-buah-tepi-jalan
slice me a piece
sprinkle it with asam boi
and send me to the seventh heavens

"the pieces of my broken heart are so small they can pass through the eye of a needle..."

Colour Me Clueless

It's a few minutes past midnight and I can hardly close my eyes. I've just had a final discussion with my dad and we've decided that I should go for it. Of all the momentous decisions I've made in my life thus far, this one in particular has kept me up nights the most. I'm excited at the prospects of pursuing my life's passion.

But.

It scares me witless that I am leaving the field that I've been immersed in for the past seven years. ( I can't believe it's been that long!) And I probably won't have anything to show for all those years of toil. I can probably psyche myself up for one final year but I'm worn out from the struggle to do well at something that I clearly have no aptitude for. It is probably wiser to stick to something that I am thoroughly familiar with, passion or no passion.

But.

All the years of watching Oprah and real life-changing stories has taught me that it's never too late to make a change. (Take that principle to another level and it's never too late for anything, really!) So now I'm going to make the first tentative step into a field I have no knowledge about but has been a passion all my life.

But.

I'm paralysed with fear, at times, at the thought that I might fail again. My reason for leaving architecture is because it's never been my passion. I was divided as to where to head for my future when my sister came back from her first semester and told me how exciting it was and I thought, heck, I can manage that. Writing's always been my passion since childhood. It's something I've always excelled at. Somehow it never crossed my mind to seriously pursue it. Rather, I never had the guts. This is something I'm passionate about and if I fail at it, then what? I'd be beyond devastation.

But.

Someone reminded me that failing is good. That this is something I am good at. It's the one person who saw right off that this is the right decision. (Boy am I glad to still have friends like that!) My mom was cautiously encouraging. My dad was initially reluctant but I know he's mostly concerned about my future well being.(I must have gone through a dozen vocations before finally settling on architecture.) I'm so blessed to be surrounded by such smart, supportive and loving people. I'm so blessed to have God on my side, i'Allah.

So here goes nothing.

Mok

I was browsing through my sister's wedding photos when I came across one of her. The camera caught her unawares when she happened to look up so she had a somewhat dazed expression on her face. At that moment I felt nothing but sadness for her. She's been showing early symptoms of Alzheimer's for a while now. I kept thinking of how confusing everything must seem to her. How nothing makes any sense anymore. I wish so much that I could be by her side making things easy. Right now I'm overwhelmed with guilt that I'm a thousand miles away chasing my dreams and she's a thousand miles away, ailing in old age. She's surrounded by people who care for her and are fully capable of looking after her well being. But still, there's no way to justify my absence from her side. Now the wheels are set in motion and I'm headed in a different direction from home. Worst of all, I'm afraid I don't have the guts to simply drop everything I've planned for my future and return to her side.

Mok, I miss you so badly right now.

It's 'Singles Week'

My parents were never the type to compare their children to other people's children and they weren't the type to compare their children to one another either. I never felt I had to do better than any of my siblings. The pressure to live up to my sister's achievements came from my dad telling me that I can, if I ever chose to.

But that all changed when my sister got married.

During the weeks leading up to her wedding, I must have thought about suicide at least a dozen times.

All my parents had to do was to keep asking me who my boyfriend was and right away I'd feel like a loser. Add to that the dozens of relatives who keep asking when my lucky day was going to be. (not to mention the dozens more who thought I was the elder sibling and why on earth wasn't I married yet!) They had the passive-aggressive method down to a T!

I later discovered that lots of my friends were going through pretty much the same thing. While it may seem like our society has come a long way since whenever(KLCC, Sheikh Muzaffar, Putrajaya), pretty much the same mindset still applies to the average human life cycle.

Get born, grow up, study further (or not), get a job, get married, have lots of kids and live happily ever after (or not).

I'm not one of those picketing women's lib fanatic demanding for equal rights all the way down being able to walk around topless. I admit that I do want to find my 'other half' and share at least a few years of bliss before kicking the bucket. I'm just disappointed to know that our society still sees a woman as being incomplete so long as she walks around without a ring on her finger.

Our society's definition of success is still a tad shallow, I think.

There goes my childhood

Memories are always too far away to reach into. I have just recieved a sad news - the plot of land where I cultivated the best of my childhood moments is about to be bought over for development. The urban crawl that has for years embraced my kampung on all sides has finally decided to take over. I can get all melancholic on all the happy moments I have had with my cousins there but I won't - that's for another day. My relatives co-owning that piece of land are about to becoming overnight-millionaires. I hope they make good of the financial fortune that's about to be bestowed upon them. I hope they appreciate the invisible sacrifice that's about to happen.

get me outta this funk

I've been trying to catch the frost for days now and have successfully failed to do so. I used to be a very light sleeper. Even the 'gembala kerbaus' that frequented my window could easily wake me up. Nowadays I wake up to my mom already clanking away in the kitchen or tapping away at the computer and Kimi already gone for school. I blame the chilly weather. It's caused the comfort level of my duvet to rise exponentially. All the hours I spend on the computer is also making me want to go out walking more and more to burn off some fat. Considering the steadily dropping temperatures, I can safely say that my sudden urge to be active has a rotten sense of timing.

where to now?

The winds are picking up and the chill has settled itself comfortable on the lawn. The autumn hues that greeted my arrival are slowly fading. Leaves are leaving the withering branches and more nests are comng into view, its inhabitants almost done with scampering around for food and spending more time at home. Kak Nani and Abang Isyak have gone home and I've waved goodbye to that ship. Their departure signalled the end of our holiday. Now it's time to get back to business.

I am, once again, unable to make up my mind on where to head for my future. I hate that phrase sometimes. MY FUTURE. Sounds so big and conspicuous and forboding. One wrong decision and I'm screwed for life. In reality getting to 'my future' consists of a million humble little steps that would probably measure up to nothing when accounted on their own.

Give a person the luxury of choice and he (or she, i.e. me) will never make up his mind. So much to choose from, so much time to spend ruminating on the choices and such heavy consequences weighing on each one. How, oh, how is one to choose?

The winds of change are pulling at my sleeves and I have indecision holding my feet firmly to the ground.

Toronto Day 1

Yup, the weather's sufficiently cold.

Jetlag's wearing off.

Raya's here.

All's well.

P.Ramlee says : Selamat, selamat Hari Raya...

Beijing 2008

Have I ever left home on a trip without feeling like I'd forgotten something?

Sleeping bag, vitamins, lotion...thank God they're all thing I can temporarily live without.

Beijing airport has to be THE most user-unfriendly airport I've ever been to. Our initial excitement at setting foot in China for the first time soon gave way to panic and distress when we started to feel the effects of lack of sleep and our search for a likely place to nap came to no avail. Everywhere we went there were throngs of people headed in the opposite direction. Everyone we spoke to either didn't speak English or spoke it with an accent which rendered their English competency pretty much useless to us. Despite the lack of proper seating and hoards of people milling about, no one ventured to simply camp out on the floor. We had a drink at a cafe where, instead of chairs, there were sofas strewn with illegally-comfy throw pillows. While it was tempting to simply crash there, we continued our search of a good-sleep place. We found sprinkles of painted metal benches where Kak Nani tried to sleep on but ended up cramping her arms to keep from sliding off. By then we were in a lousy mood and our heads were swimming with everything Chinese. We decided to leave the international terminal and head out to the open waters. Our 10-hour transit was down to six when we finally found seats where we can properly rest our bottoms. By then it didn't matter that we were nodding left, right, front and back because our eyelids were adamant on staying closed. It didn't matter to me that every time I opened my eyes there was a different row of strangers (all Chinese, of course) staring at me with open curiosity. I simply stared back until my eyes shut themselves once again.

The remaining two ours of our transit I spent reading and snacking, Esyaque went off with his camera and Kak Nani continued sleeping (as usual). Our spirits picked up once again when check-in for Air Canada opened and we were finally welcomed into the more comfortable zones of international departure. Despite further hassles of being body-searched another half-a-dozen times and the prospects of a 13-hour flight, I was practically skipping into the cabin. I might be couped up in the same piece of flying metal for a long period of time but at least the reclining seats are mine,I don't have to keep a hawk-eye on my carry-ons and everything is explained in a language I can comprehend.

I must sound terribly snobbish at the moment but I really can't see how I could have enjoyed that 10-hour turmoil. China reported to have amped their hospitality to make the country tourist-friendly in preparation for the 2008 Olympics. Well, they've got a few more months to go and all I can say is fellas, good luck.

Eid Mubarak

I saw the Lake House. Profound. That's it, I'm giving up reading reviews.

The two 'gembala kerbau' chirped at my window at precisely 7.30am today. They usually save me from oversleeping but today I turned around and gave them a grin thinking, "Ha!I beat you guys today!"

I'm rereading Beloved and I'm still spellbound by the language. Guess I found my in-flight literature. That, the load of mp3s and in-flight movies should keep me occupied for the next 24 hours in the air. I hope.

I was tempted to get something new for raya. Of course, I changed my mind the moment I saw the throngs of people flooding the Kompleks PKNS hungry for baju raya, kuih raya, everything-raya. Imagine squeezing between clothing racks standing shoulder-to-shoulder and sales girls and other customers trying to pass through dragging hoards of meandering offsprings. How anyone is expected to make wise purchasing decisions is wonder to me. I hate raya shopping. Happens every year.

The last time I spoke to Hakim on the phone his voice sounded different. I hope he hasn't made the transition into manhood yet. I'd like to enjoy my little Kimi for a bit more before that happens.

I'm praying to God (seriously, not literally, not metaphorically) that all my luggage go through customes smoothly. The way my mom ordered food from home made it seem like they were starving over there in Toronto. Turns out they really are Baba's and Alagappa-dependant after all.

Eid Mubarak to all (yes, yes, all two of you reading this). And to further reinstate an overused but still meaningful phrase, I have to say....Maaf zahir dan batin. :D

life on the hobo line

Here's another mundane detail about my life which is inevitably going to be the bane of my piece of mind today since this is MY life I'm talking about and I happen to be THE star at center of the center of it.

I have been living in temporary mode since 1999.

I came upon that conclusion after glancing around my room trying to decide on what to pack for the upcoming trip.

Everything I saw aged an average of two years. Even my clothes, which normally consist of very old but very much favored items, are now almost completely new. My collection of parios (gifts from friends) are gone. They've been neatly packed away in boxes with my little pieces of trinkets and memorabilias and stored away in some storage facility. My bedside table is empty of my favourite books (also now boxed and stored) which I used to have just to look at.

Since 1999 I have been living with easily disposable, easily replaceable items, constantly ready to make another move.

We left our family home in 1999 and moved to the big city. There was constantly the possibility of moving again. I went to varsity in 2001 and lived temporarily in the college dorms, the design studio and later at a rented apartment. I failed to get into the degree program in 2004 and so I was temporarily at home while applying for vasities overseas. QUT accepted me in 2005 and I inhabited Brisbane temporarily for two years. Now I'm back for my practicum and I'm temporarily staying with my sister. There's a possibility of me moving in with my parents but that's still uncertain. I'm due to move back to Brisbane for a year, after which my next nesting place is as predictable as the weather.

Perhaps I should simply give up trying to grow roots.

dear friend, where art thou?

Life deals a cruel hand where friendships are concerned. Sometimes I think it's a misery to be close to someone because all I seem able to do is leave them.

Daily Grind

It greatly irks me that I have to do this everyday - sacrifice my early hours to join the queue on the freeway, burn up fuel and pollute the environment - just to make it in time to the office. What do I have waiting for me once I get there? A whole day's worth of watching videos on Youtube, surfing the net, chatting with whoever's online and playing Minesweeper until I couldn't possibly break the score record one more time. If Yahoo Mail had a gate keeper, I'd be standing outside it's gates begging to get in for the 100th time. If Solitaire were to charge a fee for every game, I'd be flat broke. If it weren't Ramadhan, I'd take coffee/toilet breaks every ten minutes and there'd be lunch hour to look forward to.

It greatly irks me that this is what I took a whole year off school to do. I'm not complaining about the abundance of free time I have on my hands. Oh no, I wouldn't even think to do that. It only worries me that my brain might be turning into mush with all this excessive R&R. I can't even force myself to blog even once a week. I'm afraid I might have gone so soft that when I do return to school, even the slightest hint of pressure is going to break me to pieces. Who's to be blamed then, my boss?

Gather My Shattered Heart

Gather my shattered heart
Put it in a jar
Place it at a window
Open it to the garden
Plant it with blooms
Face them to the sun
So it's rays may touch my shattered heart
And I can learn to feel, once again.

move

packing boxes slow
strips of tapes, scissors, boxes
stacked against the wall

things for now
things i wish to see again
things to hold on to

things for later
things to put away for keeps
things for latter days

things to be rid of
things that i want to forget
things to be erased

full boxes
steps echo on walls
empty house

See You Later

'I dreamt of arwah again last night,'

What was it about this time?

'Nothing, except that I saw him again and he looked happy, like always.'

You must've been thinking a lot about him then. It must have been at least six months since I last dreamt about him.

'No, I just miss him, like you, that's all.'

.......


My dearest Syakir,

I keep thinking that if I weren't a Muslim and didn't know the certainty of the Afterlife, I'd imagine you soul fluttering above me every time my thoughts strayed to you. I'd probably picture you perched on top of the wire-mesh butterfly you made me years ago. I take everywhere with me, you know. It sat on my dressing table for a whole year until you left. I took it with me to Brisbane and I took it with me when I came back. I have it here right now on my office-issue whiteboard, next to the pencil-sketch of John Lennon that Apiz gave me.

I remember the day you made it for me. You came and set at my workstation in the studio, twirling and twisting the wires while we talked. I was excited when I saw the butterfly taking form but I went speechless when you handed it to me and said, 'Nah, ambikla.' You've given me many other gifts of the like but the butterfly is the most meaningful yet. I'd had a vague, unattended obsession with butterflies but you put it into a physical form that day, almost off-handedly.

Your sudden departure still leaves me staring into space. During those first few days I'd cry until I thought I'd suffocate. More painful than your absence was the fact that the rest of us get to go on with life and you can't. Most frightening of all is the possibility that you might be forgotten.

It's been two years now and I can see that that is no where near possible. The pain of saying goodbye to you has turned into bittersweet remembrance. I've found that my prayers are a better offering than any amount of tears I could shed for you. I take solace through my faith in God's bountiful wisdom.

I know now that it was never a goodbye. Just a 'See you later!' where the 'later' isn't as clear cut as usual but it's deifinitely there. In your case it's somewhere better, somewhere outside this life. There's a long wait but it's definitely coming.

So, my dear friend, I'll see you later.

Life 101

'Never lie.'

'Why?'

'Because once you lie, they'll tag you as a liar. And they won't hesitate to paint everything you say with that same brush. Never, ever lie.'

'I see.'

Escapism

It used to be that whenever I felt depressed or pressured, I'd be visited by a mental image of myself puffing on a ciggarette, cheeks hollowed as I inhaled the nicotine-saturated fumes, eyes haloed by dark circles and fingers tar-stained yellow. Lately it's a different image. I'm running along a quiet street, the air is chilled and a lone car passes by. The trees that line the street are tall and swaying leafless, almost ready for winter. Sometimes I'd be crying, other times my eyes are shut against whatever it was that's depressing me.

'Lin, those drawings need to be ready by noon.'

Run.

The computer threatens to shut down for the tenth time.

Run.

Dead-logged on the highway during rush hour.

Run.

'Everybody needs to be with somebody, you know...'

Run run run run run run....

Thy Pie Hole

Even more powerful than the ability to express oneself eloquently is the ability to keep mum when needed.

-painfully discovered through painful experience under excrutiatingly painful circumstances.

White Oleander

Time flies when you're having fun, so goes the old addage. Especially if that fun is in the form of a book by Janet Fitch. I am literally unable to put it down ever since I bought it three days ago. The one hour wait I endure almost daily melts away like butter left irresponsibly in the hot sun. When the book is in front of me, I am a prisoner on death row savouring her precious hour-a-day in the yard. I want to be the beauty that Ingrid Magnussen flaunts so nonchalantly. I want to be Astrid's serene white innocence. I want to be Ron's tales thrown precariously to his audience. I want to be Olivia's deathly grip on Life. I want to step into the pages and flutter in the wind. I want to leave Here and join them There.

Explaining Islam

Karen Armstrong holds the ticket as a Muslim apologist. I consider her to be one on a broader scale. Apologia refers to a rational explanation. In her own words, Karen Armstrong is an apologist not only of Islam but of other religions as well. I personally salute her unwavering commitment in communicating to the public what various religions is all about. Through her writings she has labored to clear some of the most common (and often damning) fallacies that has befallen Islam today. Since I have yet to read her books, I find it odd and ironic that someone of immense knowledge on Islam should be banned from our country where Islam is often a victim of misinterpretation, mingled with customs and traditions and personally misconstrued.

While it is consoling to have a prominent figure making waves and throwing positive vibes about Islam, it also a saddening reality that a person not of the faith is the one able to provide the world with an objective etching. Armstrong speaks of the beauty of Islam through her studies of the Quran and other scholastic Islamic texts, and that's just the tip of the iceberg that is Islam. Imagine how much more Muslims, practicing, faithful Muslims, have to contribute to clearing Islam for slander and vilification by the west. If only.

However, there must also be caution in glorifying the likes of Armstrong in championing the religion. Never is she to be mistaken as a reference or guide on being a Muslim and practicing Islam for Muslims, be it in the old days or the modern world.

While her intentions and efforts are undoubtedly noble, her writings and opinions can only be taken as that - her writings and opinions. Allah dictates in the Quran that in matters of religion (which in actuality covers every aspect of our lives) Muslims are to consult the more knowledgeable amongst us (i.e. the religious scholars)( the Quran 21:7). It is therefor impossible for someone like Armstrong to guide us on religious matters since she lacks that one fundamental facet - faith in Allah. It is pertinent for me to point out that Karen Armstrong had stressed, in an interview, that she does not see belief as an important factor in one's religion. That is an expression of her faith but it clearly goes against teachings of the Quran, in which stress is placed upon building a strong belief in God, the angels, heaven and hell among others, time and time again. Without the belief that a higher Being is watching over and providing for you, there can be no compulsion to show gratitude and give thanks. Without the belief that there is an abundance of unseen bounty in the hereafter, there can be no real compulsion to do good deeds unselfishly.

This post is not meant to undermine Karen Armstrong in any way. I, for one, am fast becoming an admirer of her works. However, it is important to be both pedantic and prudent in selecting our sources as guidance.

Fathi Yakan's To Be A Muslim (see chapter The Creed)

Absolute Vanity

There is nothing more painful to witness than absolute vanity. Especially if it's sitting in your office nine to five, dishing out beauty tips to anyone naive enough to ask.

The pain of that transgresses all boundaries known to man.

Busy busy busy

All it takes is a busy weekend to put last week a lifetime away.

House hunting

Reality bytes;

I'm slowly learning the subtle difference between what my parents can provide for me and what I can afford on my meagre trainee's allowance.

akmal

Photo courtesy of esyaque

THAT is bliss....
THAT is joy....
THAT is life....

Praise Allah.

internet at work

Internet@work

I'm sure there's a set rule regarding the use of internet access in the office but it's a grey area in mine. The boss made it accessible in order for us to update our freeware antivirus programmes but we're supposed to hide our usage of it while he (the boss) is around. GO figure.

Home

Working out, safely.

After seven years of living within the vicinity of readily available public amenities, I've decided to make use of one of them,the local gym, two months before we're due to move out. It's no fancy affair, just a few equipments in an eighteen-by-nine room. The work clothes I got for myself at the beginning of my tenure is beginning to feel snug and I wasn't breaking enough sweat walking from my friend's car to the train station entrance. I'd have gladly walked the distance from my office to the station if not for several life-threatening factors.

To begin with, the roads here are rarely curbed, meaning you'd be walking ON the road,either on the side or, if you're completely bonkers, right smack in the middle of it.(I think the government's campaign for people to walk against traffic is pointless so long as they're still walking ON the road).

Even if there are continuous and safe curbs to tread on, there's the dogs issue to deal with. Here in the motherland, domestic felines and canines alike roam the streets unhindered. Just last month my family had a nerve-wrecking encounter with a surprised-but-decided-to-be-fierce mongrel on our walk to the local mamak's. It was an amazing scare but none of us were hurt, except for maybe my father's pride when he slipped to his rump in taking off his sandal to fend of the malicious dog. So you see, a walk down the street 3 minutes from home can be quite a life-threatening adventure.

Say the local authorities, for some insane reason, decided to do their job and round up all the strays, another issue persists. Local dog-owners, at least the ones in my neighbourhood and the ones near my office, seem to favour the streets as one big, free, maintenance-free litter box. This is as disgusting as you can imagine. Every morning and evening, on my way to and from work, I can see individuals standing by the road-side, innocently holding a leash while their domesticated poop-machines do their 'job'. Some don't even bother going into the bushes. I used to walk home during my final years of high-school and I've been an unwilling witness to the products of this daily irresponsible act. I'm sure some irreversible damage's been done to my psyche from unwanted sightings of excrement. Don't get me started about (accidentally)stepping on a pile of crappola.

Irresponsible bowel movements and insufficient pedestrian amenities aside, there's the motorists creating traffic and emitting carbon. The dangers of inhaling car exhaust is an old and oft-discussed issue. Pedestrian priority is non-existence here in the motherland. The rule is, if you see someone trying to cross the road, be sure to speed up and make sure the person doesn't cross in front of you. Now, thanks to low cc motorcycles that can weave in and out of traffic and in between cars faster than you can run to the loo, we're faced with the danger of snatch- thieves. This reckless breed of purse-dippers are becoming bolder too, slashing their victims needlessly in procuring their loot. Every time I cross the road, my purse is clutched to my chest rather than kept in my hand-bag. In the event that my handbag gets snatched, I'd at least still have saved my purse. It's ridiculous carrying a bag that doesn't serve any purpose. That clearly reflects the (near-bedlam) environment we've had to live in.

So, after seven years if walking and looking past that gym, I've decided to put on some running shoes and give it a go. At least I'd be breaking a sweat without unwittingly reducing my life span.

Shakespeare said...

Shakespeare said...

'...nothing is so common as the desire to be extraordinary.'

...hence the French guy who keeps scouring the world's skyscrapers.
...hence Erikah Badu and her oddly named offsprings.
...hence Gehry's Bilbao project.
...hence the stuffed crab and dead cactus on my desk.
...hence moir.

LRT

Random Ramblings #16

People getting into trains (in the motherland) never have the common sense to step aside and let other people get off before entering the carriage. I often have to squeeze my way through the barrage of sweaty bodies after a long day's work in order to get out. It doesn't help that the train door stays open for only a short period. They don't have the decency to queue in good discipline either. Either that or they're just plain dumb.

kak N's wedding

I forgot that I had something to say about the wedding until I saw kak Ayien's blog.

I forgot that I'd had this nagging thought for days after the majlis bertandang.

The wedding was full of highs with very few lows, for me. Alhamdulillah, our whole family is so proud to have been able to pull it off practically single-handedly.

The 'send-off' in Seremban was equally fun. But I came home puzzled of a minor discomfort.

I realized that the whole affair had been pretty one-sided for me. It was MY sister getting married, MY family welcoming a new member, OUR kenduri, OUR relatives.

During the majlis bertandang, I kept feeling irked by the way Esyaque's family talked in such a familiar way about my sister. Here is a bunch of people I hardly know and they seem to know a lot about kak Nani and fancy her to no end.

I had overlooked the fact that she's being welcomed into another family and that she's going to be apart of this entire group of people I hardly know anything about. The IN-LAWS.

There is irritation that accompanys my realization of this fact and ignoring it is a big effort.

I guess that's what letting go is all about.

Random ramblings #15

Random ramblings #15

Why is it that everytime I signal to change lanes, the car in the other lane will speed up to close the gap so as to disable me from changing lanes?

Maybe I should stop signaling and simple swerve into the next lane, let the other motorists fend for their lives.

How tempting....

Random Rambling #14

Random Rambling #14

I woke up to the yellow moon going down
I asked her, 'Which way should I sail my boat?'
She told me, 'Girl, it's ok, just keep it afloat,
the best is yet to come so don't fret and don't frown.

I told her, 'The winds are pulling my sail, I've got to go,
Will the best wait for me, should I take it for a ride,
This journey I'm on gets lonesome at high tide,'
She said ' Girl, raise your anchor, let time take it's tow...and just let it flow.'

This Grief Is Private

Random rambling #13

This grief is private....do not enter.

Approaching midnite with the lights out and I still can't bring myself any closer to facing the facts/truth/ugly truth or whatever. How often do you do this - keep expecting something to be when it's plain and simple that that something will never be as you want it. And yet you keep hoping that it might for the simple reason that the facts/truth/ugly truth would hurt too much. In fact, it would hurt so much that the pain of carrying on this silly charade while getting disappointed each time seems puny. How often do you wish there was a fast-forward button that would help you skip any painful episode that will undoubtedly surface? How often do you wish that life could be just like in the movies where one can cut from crying in one scene to another where one is already walking in a park with an optimistic smile steadily making one's way towards recovery? How often do you wish that you could communicate every pathetic detail of your dilemma without having to utter a single word? How often do wish that you could just BLANK it all out? I do. All the time.

tagged

so i've been tagged

(thanx to kak ayien for forcing me to activate my blog, if only for another hurried entry.)

six weird things about myself. hmm...i do personally consider myself to be a certified freak. Although i may appear to be completely normal most of the time, inwardly I am constantly battling to keep that balance. I picked up a mantra from the movie 'Girl, Interrupted'. Wynona Ryder was in a cab heading away from the mental facility in which she'd been 'imprisoned' for a period of time. She came out of it not completely recovered (otherwise it'd be cliched) but thoroughly optimistic, for herself and the rest of her fellow 'inmates'. Her rationale of the whole experience was that 'crazy is you, magnified'. I fully beleive that. It's estimated that if we were to translate an average person's brain into writing, it wouldn't even fit into the entire Library of Congress. If we ever manage to achieve that, I think everyone on the planet would come off as a at least a bit off kelter.

That said, let's get back to the six. It's a tight squeeze for me but i'll give it a try all the same....

1. I think there's a force maintaining a perfect balance in my body. If I got a zit on my right cheek, another one will appear shortly on my left cheek. Don't even get me started on butt-cramps....

2. I get charged up with static electricity quite easily (please don't ask me how or why) I often get static shocks from touching railings in busses, stainless doors (or anything made of stainless steel, for that matter) and especially (I hate this one the most) car doors during hot weather.

3. I love giving myself a decent scare once in a while. Makes me aware that i'm still alive. Anyone who's been to UTM Skudai would know the stretch of road between the campus's main gates and just before you reach the traffic light at Taman U. There aren't any street lights on that stretch of road. I used to turn off my headlights as I was driving back from the studio during all hours of the night regardless of whether I was alone or not. My friends think it's psychotic of me. I think so too but the thrill is unbeatable!!!

4. The way my teeth are configured is exactly the same as my sister's.

5. I used to scare myself when I couldn't sleep at night. It usually works because then I'd be too scared to even open my eyes. Makes sense, right? I still do it sometimes. Nowadays I'm so tired there's no need for that.

6. Something or someone who is highly favoured by a majority of people instantly puts me off. For example, Siti Nurhaliza, David Beckham, the colour pink and stuffed toys.