Hairdo's Don'ts

Hairdo's Don'ts

I swear, there is nothing more liberating than a new haircut. I often read that a new haircut on any women signifies a major change in her life, namely a new found love, or a new intersest, a new direction in life, a new resolution, etc. As for me, I simply needed a change in my somewhat currentlt stagnant state of being. I hadn't exactly planned on it either. In fact, I was on a mission to save my locks for as long as possible, but when my mom asked if I wanted to join her at the salon, I found my head eagerly bobbing up and down.

Of all the salons I've been to, J&M has to be the best yet. The owner (a lady whose name I can never seem to store in my memory) always greets us with a smile and an offer of her Chinese tea ( which I drink solely out of respect for her, not for the taste). Thankfully, she'll be attending to me for today, since it's always easier to relate what I want to her, as compared to the new girls.

The shampoo girl must be new. The way she's working my scalp, it'll be flake free for the rest of the year, I'm sure. Just when I was about ready to beg her to stop, she taps my shoulder and directed me to the wash basin. Now here comes the scissors and comb. I decided to go for something radical this time. Boy, I'm really hard up for change! I can see my mom glancing sideways nervously at me. Oh well, what's life if you don't live on the wild side every once in a while, right?

Hakim

Hakim

My baby brother turned double digits yesterday. I bought him Lemony Snickett’s Book the Seventh, adding to his collection, something I knew he’d like. The way he calmly thanked everybody made me wonder if that was the right gift for him, he seemed so grown up.

I miss the little brat who used to bug me to go riding with him. Now he goes of cycling with his buddies. Same goes with swimming, playing tag, etc. He doesn’t need me to read him bedtime stories anymore. Now he turns on my reading light and reads himself. I miss his little giggles, his chubby little fingers and stubby toes.

My baby bro’s a big boy now.

All those years gone by, where did they go?

as I was 

as i am 

Major Success, major blunder.

I've finally managed to change the skin, phew! It took a lot of tries and a lot of frustration. Well that is expected, since I chose to plunge into this endeavour all by myself. There isn't really anyone around to help either. Anywho, I think I've got the hang of it. The basics, I mean - changing features, links, headers, etc. However, I have somehow removed the link for posting comments. I've been trying to fix that, but to no avail. Damn. Well, this ain't the end of it. I'll be back, hopefully, with the comments link. Ciao.

What's In A Name?

Nothing to blog for today so....

I went on a "Shazlin-hunt" on the net. Among the interesting finds (besides the dozen or so blogs by people of the same name and bumping into my fotoblog a few times) is this Kabalarian Philosophy site. I think it's Jewish (Kabala-rian), but what the heck, I'll just do it for fun.

"Description of Your First Name of: Shazlin

Although the name Shazlin creates the urge to be creative, independent, and self-sufficient, we point out that it causes a materialistic, somewhat self-opinionated approach that frustrates higher humanitarian qualities. This name, when combined with the last name, can frustrate happiness, contentment, and success, as well as cause health weaknesses in the reproductive organs, and tension or accidents to the head.

The name Shazlin creates a very independent, practical, analytical nature with skillful business abilities. You desire freedom from restrictions and authority in order that you can pursue your own ambitions. This name gives you leadership qualities and you are seldom happy in positions where you must direction from others. Material and financial success are the focus of your interests, but sacrificing much for material ambition will result in a lack of harmony and balance in your personal life, particularly a lack of appreciation for social courtesies and things of a more inspirational nature."

I think it's a load of bull, though.

It's you who makes the name, not the other way around. Of course, in Islam, a name does have an effect on an individual's personality, but to this detailed extent? I don't think so.

It's just plain ridiculous to me.

Regrets, more regrets, damn regrets.

Why can't I seem to say, do the right thing at the right moment?

I am always looking back on some incident wishing I'd said something more, or something better, or just said something. But that moment is past and it's a done deed. No joy in that.

Would it have made things any better if I'd been prepared with the right speech, the right response, the right reaction? Perhaps things were meant to turn out the way they did, and any intervention in that order would have disrupted the reality of how things happen.

It's like that phonecall. That single phonecall is what I look forward to each week. Yet, everytime my phone rings and that number appears, I dread even picking it up. Not because I didn't want to speak to the person at the other end of the line. No, not at all. But because after each call, I'd regret the whole conversation. I'd regret not having said what I should have said, what I actually meant to say, or having said too much and revealing too much of what I wanted kept hidden. Everytime I hung up the phone, there was this queesy feeling of having made all those mistakes and what the consequences will be.

Maybe the issue here is honesty. If I'd been simply honest, I might not have had to be so guarded about myself.

But then, if I don't guard my own sanctity, who will?

Maggots!!

What a nice thing to wake up to.
I was still in a haze, preparing breakfast in the final hours of dawn, when I noticed the ants.
There were clusters of them on the floor in the utility room. Upon tracing their little trail, I discovered the cause for their communion - nasty maggots.
I was purely disgusted to the highest degree! My mother has been out of town since Monday, hence not much cooking has been done, hence less garbage. I remebered that the last time anyone has taken the garbage out was last Tuesday. Yuck. Now it's infested with maggots and I have to clean it up.
The first thing I did was to spray those little infesting freaks with enough insecticide to for them to swim in. They were all over the place, causing me to swear enough for God to keep me in hell for all eternity (I have fully repented since then, I swear). Then I left them to marinate in it for a few hours, to make sure they are all R.I.P.
Next came the task of cleaning up the dead bodies. The broom and dust pan came in very handy for this. I got chills up and down my spine just feeling them roll around in the dust pan. Purely disgusting.
A few more of them appeared an hour ago and got picked up with wads of tissue paper instead, less painful, maybe. I seem to have become immune to them. There is, however, this permanent grimace stuck on my face.
Damn those maggots. I'm sure those creepy crawlies play some kind of role on earth, but I sure as hell don't see it.
I personally prefer them banished to the core of the planet.
Yuck.

This and that

*sigh*Another boring day. My dad suggested that I go to the library, grab a book, have coffee somewhere, treat my soul. He's afraid I might have abandoned my reading habit. It's not a habit, dad, it's a hobby. He's unaware that I spend at least half-an-hour every night reading before I go to bed. I decide to do up my hair and traipse around the house in a pretty lil' dress instead. Makes me feel absolutely shallow,like Paris Hilton on the farm, minus the the starve-yourself-to-death figure and the dirty blonde hair. I love my jet-black hair. I think it's a blessing that Asians are naturally born with black hair. I don't think any other hair colour would've looked good on Asian skin. In fact, I personally think black is the all-true hair colour for any skin colour. Except for maybe those born with the pasty-white-but-not-quite-dead complexion. Black would probably enhance their death-like appearance.
Hmm...duty calls. Suddenly, I seem to have a lot to say from a day spent doing nothing.*Point to ponder*

Jagged little pill

When I failed to get into the degree course with the rest of my friends, many took it as a surprise (I know some thought it to be fully deserving).

"Hah, tak dapat? Apesal plak?" At times it was a source of pride, most times, a source of mortification. There's nothing like being reminded of your failure (at least) ten times a day and having to explain yourself, over the phone, online, in the face.

I must admit, I had my sights set on other nations as the venue of my next alma matter. As I watched my chances of getting into the skool get thinner, my resolve to 'fly' got stronger. But it is, nonetheless, a failure on my part, on not making the list.

I made the mistake of meeting them all on the registration day. Stupid. Everyone was inevitably busy filling in forms, choosing subjects, moving in, finding roomies. They tried to include me in all of it, I was grateful for that. But mean is mean. I felt left out all the same.

In the following weeks, they tried keeping me in the loop, as much as they can. Did they feel sorry for me? God, I hope not.

Gossips filled my inbox on a daily basis. It was almost like old times, except I wasn't there. In the beginning it was easy to imagine I was still part of things, I can still keep up despite the distance. After a while, I got tired, they got busy.

When Amy told me they were goin to the beach after exams were over, going bowling, etc., my first impulse was to run down there and join in the fun. I still want to.

But then I realized, I am not part of that anymore. I still want to be, they still try to make me, but reality doesn't agree. I guess that's the dilemma here. My dilemma. To be part of something. What? The answer to that, I can't figure out yet.

Sure, I am doing something here, a little bit of something. But it doesn't beat the comfort of companionship.

Maybe that's what's bothering me so much.

Loneliness.

Tioman Island Escapade

Wrecked

Today will go down in my history as the most nerve-wrecking-in-a-single-moment day of my life. For ever. Today I had my very first car-crash since I got my driver's license four-plus years ago. After four years of peaceful, somewhat safe driving, (dotted here and there with minor scratches and near-collisions) I've finally earned my rites of passage, stepped over the threshold into drivers' adulthood. Right now, hours after the unfortunate event, I'm willing to swear that this singular accident is enough to keep me sober on the road for the rest of my life.

Looking back, I can see a dozen ways how this accident could've been avoided. I could've left home a bit sooner, or a bit later. I could've waited for the car to pass and make a left like I usually do, instead of being impatient and making a right to rush things (unreasonably, now that I think about it). The first few seconds after my car effectively grazed the passing Camry, the only thought that came to my mind was, "Oh GOD, is this real? This MUST be a dream. This can't be real. Is this really happening? Oh GOD, it is! IT IS! Oh GOD. OH GOD," I could've gone on forever (I guess this is what they call 'eternity in a single moment') The blood rushed up to my face and I could actually feel it expand, sideways. My hands were seriously SHAKING.

(I know all this sounds terribly cliched but, trust me, this is what actually happened!)

While I waited the dreadfully long five minutes before my dad came to the rescue, the only thought crossing my mind was that I had committed some serious, sinful offence and I was being punished for it. The truth of it I shall never find out and will last to serve as a reminder for me for at least the next five years.

e+nani

Celebrating myself - the uncontented one

[Photo courtesy of Esyaque]

If only I can find a way
to love myself for all that I am
despite the faults
or perhaps, for the faults
I would be a contented person.

If only I can find a way
to paint a picture
free of influences
that satisfies no one but myself
I would be a contented person.

If only I can find a way
to pen down my thoughts
and let others read it and be judged
and not have a care for their verdicts
I would be a contented person.

If only I can find a way
to contend myself
with all that I am,
all that I can do,
to paint and to pen,
and be not judgmental upon myself,
I would be a contented person.

A tribute to Miss Anne

"We need time to dream,
time to remember,
time to reach the infinite.
Time to be."

~Gladys Taber

I couldn't imagine a better quote to remember Miss Anne Shirley by.

From Green Gables to Avonlea

Dear Miss Anne (spelled with an ‘e’) Shirley,

It is wonderful to make your acquaintance once again. It has been a dreadfully long while since I last saw the likes of you in Green Gables. I see that you have come to sprinkle your touch on the whole of Avonlea this time! I have missed your old friends, your bosom friends Diana Barry, Jane Andrews and Gilbert Blythe. Also your little adventures down the Birch Path, past the Fairies’ Pond, through The Haunted Woods, up Lovers’ Lane and finally home at Green Gables, where Marilla, sweet, old Marilla Cuthbert, waits for you, ready for another story of the day’s happenings.
I am quite tickled to see that you are still enraged at any mention of your fiery red hair. Pardon me, that’s auburn now. I am sure that it is now the handsomest shade of auburn that you have always hoped it would be. By the way, have those dimples in your elbows turned up?

I notice an increasing mention of Gilbert’s name in your many conversations. I smell romance brewing between the two of you. It may be late in coming, but it’s arrival is just as sure as any of your misgivings for calamity. Oh yes, yes of course, the two of you are the bosomest of friends!
I have so far enjoyed the recount of your first day as Avonlea’s school teacher. Worry not, dear Miss Anne, the children will, in time, come to adore you once they see how dedicated you are to their education and well-being. And if that Jonathan Pye boy never comes to like you, don’t fret too much, for the Pyes have not the slightest liking for anyone else but themselves!

I am thoroughly impressed with your vision of the A.V.I.S. I think it is a splendid idea and wish you all the luck. Avonlea is a wonderful place, but it can use some improvements here and there. Old Mrs. Rachel Lynn will come to support your intentions, Anne, and if she doesn’t, you shouldn’t have to worry of her going against you, for the old lady is more fond of you than she lets on!

I’m afraid I must end my correspondence here, for there are urgent matters at hand. I anxiously turn the pages for your next foray into adventure (or mishap!) in quiet little Avonlea.

Till then, I remain your most devoted friend and truest fan.

Take Me Nowhere

"What's it for?"

This state of being jobless and vocation-less is driving my motivation down. I feel I have no direction. Nothing is for certain. And that covers all issues - occupation, education, friends, good friends, myself.....
For a person who's always been driven to succeed, to achieve something, this state of limbo is wearing me down....
Will I be able to bring myself back up again when it matters? Time will tell....
In the meantime, allow me to return to my slumber as the world, with everything and everyone else in it, move on without my presence.....
I am spam.
I am void.
I will not be missed.

Qiamat

Chaos. I was running around like everyone else. Neighbours next door came up with the idea of making crucifix with anything they can get their hands on. We're Muslims. Would 'Allah' on a piece of board suffice? I grab my denims from the clothes hanger at the door, chose a scarf,and rushed to get dressed. Does it matter if my clothes match?
Ya'jud and Ma'jud were coming.
Omar and Abah came back with the news. The eleventh hour is up. They would be here any minute. Omar keep going on about how the insides of our car was scratched through, scratched from inside. My blood runs cold.I try to tell Omar that it's too late for a shower. Just get dressed and be ready. I grab a butter knife and a fork and shove it into my pockets, muttering praises to Allah, hoping, praying for protection. I was shaking with fear.
I have no idea what we were up against. None of us are, not even Mama. This is a part of the chain of events leading up to jugdment day, I know that. Are we going to live through it? Should we fight this coming evil with force or diplomacy? Physical strength or religious submission?
I look out the window to catch the shadow sweeping the entire earth. A man standing alone looks at his feet, confused.
They are here. Run.
Mama stands behind the door instead of going to hide in the room with me. She bravely tells me that she will face whatever is coming head-on. We both know it, neither of us said it. She was going to die and she's using herself as a shield for the rest of us. Good bye, Mama.
Mama, of all things, laughs at me. She tells me there's nothing to be afraid of, we don't even exactly know what we're up against. Might not even be as bad as it seems. From the way I'm shaking, I might as well be dead already. The house grows dark.I wanted so much to believe her. I look in the mirror and prayed hard that any minute, I'd wake up from this nightmare. But it's like praying for rain when you know, most definitely, there's no chance of rain whatsoever and you'll just have to weather the scorching sun no matter what.
This is real. It is no dream.
I watch the corridor for signs of their approach. They are here.
And I wake up, predictably, to the setting sun....
Alhamdulillah....

Draught

.
I place myself in front of the pc, poise my fingers over the keyboard, take a deep, deep breath, close my eyes briefly,
and bring my fingers down with a torrent of words for this week's entry....
And I am sadly disappointed.
By myself.

I wish I could write like Amy Tan and Johanna Krintiensen, reflect on the simple miracles of life called relationships, share it with others and make an enormous impact in other people's lives.
Well, maybe it's a bit far-reaching, but I used to write a lot, words seemed to spill out of me with no regards towards what others think and how they might judge me for it. It was a joy to see in words what I had swimming in my head.

Now nothing comes out without consent from the observing public. Nothing goes uncritisized.
When did I become so intent upon satisfying others, all but myself, my want, my relish? When did I become so concerned about being judged, now, later, for what I choose to express about myself, for expressing myself?

It must be this environment I am in. The walls restict me from roaming far from what is reality. The windows gives me a narrowed glimpse into what could be, but never how. The cold floor remind me again and again that there are those who will not approve of this verbal tantrum.

I wish I was in Aryani. The beuatiful idea of the little timber house all to myself. No one to bother me with their unasked-for opinions, nothing but the lone pot o' bougainvilla on the verandah to keep me company should I ever get too lonesome, if ever. The timber floors gives me all the space I need, the sea breeze fleeting through the window, lifting my hair of my shoulders.

What bliss......

Back to UTM - Day 1

I've forgotten how much I miss the company of my friends,
even the most casual ones.
I couldn't help getting a bit reminiscent,
going through the gates of UTM.
Reflecting on the good times and better times,
and how they can never happen again.

Me, Anum and Echa stopped at the Pasar Rabu,
Got some jagung bakar and some drinks,
Sat down by the lake to watch kayakkers,
Happy couples and day-time buddies,
Had some fun playing hookie,
While the sun goes down, in muted beauty.

It's been a perfect day.