one-hit wonder

If you were to be a musical instrument,
You would be a cello
- deep, abashed and certain. Strong, masculine.
No significant effect on overall sound,
but imperative and can't be without.
Your sound is assuring,
steady and powerful. Unafraid.

If I were to be a musical instrument, 

I would be a harmonica

- simple, yet distinct. Shrieking, and annoying.

Delightful companion. Easy to handle, but not easy to play.
Memorable solos.

But really,
If I were to be a musical instrument,

You would want me to be a clarinet

- quiet, feminine. Loud, only when need be.

Nothing special. Better in large numbers.

But high-maintenance, shiny, expensive.

Forgettable.

As a song,

we would make a wonderful beat

-  feisty, 2/4 and keep listeners on their toes.

Sing-along-able, dance-able to, universal.

But of course, all we ever became was

a one-hit wonder.

They never fail.

Hello earthlings. 10% of the world population is very talented. I wonder, sometimes, if I belong to that 10%.

What about y'all?

But fo' sho (yes, being fake ghetto is my talent), momma put a dime onna fact that these kidz are the Shizz. With Christina being the new ed to the talented clan.

Cekkidout yaww.



These guyz are in momma's good bookz. Momma like. Momma dig. Momma won't be caught wearing a wig.

(Hahah ok folks, momma tried to rap but failed miserably)

Momma had better sign out. Peace.


Footnote:

Christmas wishlist (if i were to celebrate it): Kurt Hugo's drum in the video. So fit for travelling.

Atok

I call my grandma Atok. Eventhough people normally refer to their grandpa as Atok, and Nenek/Tok Nek/Opah etc to call their grandma.

I call all my grandparents Atok, both my mom's and dad's side, and some feel that it might strip the sense of exclusivity. But no, I remembered even when my other Atok (grandpa) was still alive, and I was calling Atok, they would know which Atok I was referring to.

Anyways.

My family and I was having dinner just a few days ago with the female Atok, and she did something really cute.

We ate beef, and you know how it always get stuck in between your teeth.

And so at the end of the meal, my mom asked for the toothpick. I normally do it manually (unlady-like, whatever). And my dad, and my brother too.

My Atok, didn't want to feel left out, asked for a toothpick too.

And as I saw her trying to function it, I noticed she only had two teeth on the bottom.

I asked Why do you need a toothpick for?

She said "Dah lama Atok tak guna benda nih" ("Been such a long time since I last use this")

I just smiled and watched her trying to pick fake beef out.

I miss her.

No rain, no rainbows

I have never been this lost. Usually, I would at least have a vague idea of what to do, where to go - the big picture at the very least.

I actually felt scared.

So I prayed. And recited the Quran. This time, I read it with the translation.

As I was flipping the translation, (I started with the short surahs), I stopped at one of them and surely, it was like He had been listening.

It was surah Al-Insyirah, meaning The Solace.

It said:

(In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful)

Have We not open for thee thy bosom
And removed from thee thy burden
Which had well nigh broken thy back
And We exalted thy name?
Surely there is ease after hardship
Aye, surely there is ease after hardship
So when thou art free, strive hard
And to thy Lord do thy attend whole-heartedly

Something caught my fancy. In the whole entire Holy Quran, only once is a sentence repeated twice. Ever.

Surely there is ease after hardship

He knows. He knows it would be hard, there would be obstacles, there would be times when we feel as if the world has come to an end. It must be the end because it feels so. He knows.

I am sure there are other interpretations to this sentence in a more macroscopic way - like how us Muslims will rise for the second time after a long draught of challenges (9/11 is probably one of the many) and multiple others.

But I am sure it is also meant for a more personal take. It is sort of like a pep talk from Him asking you to hang in there; that there will be a light at the end of the dark tunnel. He used the word 'surely'. Which I presume translates that no man is in misery for long; that is His promise.

Now, if only we have a little more faith in Him and the good things that will come.

For now, I am a little bit relieved, because I know somehow, things will work out for me in the end.

Is there hope for the hopeless?

Heaven by Brett Dennen

Go Ginger.

As long as a train on a wedding gown.

And so, friends from all points of my life, age ranging around early to mid 20's are freaking out. Right now, this moment.

Why?

It's the wedding season, mate. (pun intended to connote 'mating')

They are beginning to feel like they are running out of time. They thought shit. I'm gonna grow old and wrinkly alone. Nobody'll be there to help wipe my ass

They worry. And panic.

And why is it exactly do I only refer to them and not me?

Before you start thinking that not only I am a feminist, but also an extremist of freedom and individual rights, let me tell you, I do want to get married.

And not just coz of the wonderments of the wedding, but also, really, for the marriage itself.

I may need a dude to clear the clogged pipes and trim the grass to my lawn. Haha nah, kidding guys. Now you must think I am a sexist.

At least, I don't think love is bullshit, although I know it is blind.

Hence, I can blindly marry a guy solely for his abs (though not my cuppa tea), or his assets (bodily and/or material), or his car.

Since love is blind, I might as well consider musicians, one hit wonder bandmembers, ex-junkies who have ambitions, poets, tortured artists, politicians, a few taxi drivers, hopeless romantics, arseholes, douches, jerks.

And my point (I swear i have a point), is that when you fall in love, with no matter who, you would definitely want to get married. Getting married, is sealing the deal.

And why I am not as enthusiastic nor panicky about rushing to find my mr.right-there-waiting-for-you and demand a ring is because of, well, probably the fact of how blind I can be when it comes to love.

From past records, whenever I rationalise about love, I don't get the guy. When I go ah suck it just go crazy, it works (for a while).

So girls and guys, let momma preach.

Falling in love is like house-hunting. When you've found the right property, you will straight-away start making plans. You will envision your future with the house; where to put your picture frames, is the lawn big enough for the kids to play,if the kitchen is suitable for stir-fry kind of cookings etc.

But let it be known, you haven't actually start living in the property, hence, it's all good at this stage.

Being in a relationship is the investing. You will invest a lot of time, money, energy. Things might get to you about the construction, but you will be calmed with the thought of your visions.

Then you get married. This is signing the contract. It comes with terms and conditions, and small prints that you may ignore. Once you signed, the house is yours.

And you start living together, building your family. It is in that house that you make babies and memories, nurturing the well-being of your partner and off-springs. This is like the maintenance of a house. As you go deeper in the marriage, you start noticing the things you should have read in the small prints. There will be leaking you need to repair in your relationship, cleaning up the house and the mistakes you made, realizing that the design of the house may not necessarily be or look the same as the initial plan you saw at the showroom, but making do with it because you have signed the deal.

Along the way, some may decide to move out; like getting a divorce. They may or may not remember the memories of the old house. Some move to a better home, some worse, smaller or bigger. Some live alone, some with a new family.

Those who do not want to remember the old house, they sell the contracts they signed earlier. Those who do, they cling to the remains of the contracts. Pieces of furniture may not be there anymore, they might want to refurbish the living room, where the family used to hang out.

But most couples live in the house for the rest of their lives, staying true to the deal. Making it through ordeals after ordeals, as strong as the oak tree in their garden.

Nutshell, love is not marriage, neither is marriage love.

Love is not only blind, but also vague and subjective. It can be developed. It is a talent.

But marriage is the real thing. Even with love as deep as the Atlantic ocean where Titanic sunk, some marriages do not last. Marriage requires skills - to work with/together. To know who's the top and bottom (excuse my bluntness), who's wearing the pants and apron. To understand the different roles one has to take and shift into fluidly.

It is no play, it is no game.

So marriage is not a matter of time, it is the matter of readiness. It is a matter of not only finding that person you want to sign the contract with, but also the person you want to live through countless pest controls, renovations and sewage repairs with.

Nutshell in a nutshell, you will get married when both of you are ready.


There's no necessity to panic or rush, just the necessity to learn to embrace the fact that time is relative to each and every person. Hence, I might get married anytime.

Could be in two years time, could be in five, could be tomorrow (that guy must be an ultra hunk if I decide to marry him tomorrow!).

Take your time. There are lots of houses out there for you to browse!

And oh, good luck :)

High on sniffing lavender

Today was an unusual weekend.

Everybody was home; me and my brother especially, since we are always out.

It was a rather pleasing one - serene.

On Friday morning, my dad had a huge outburst; that was the first time I saw him screamed in frustration. There were tears streaming, of angst and probably disappointment.

All of us just froze, and my mom just endlessly apologize for something she didn't do nor know why. She just figured apologizing may do the trick. None of us knew what to do.

None of us knew why my dad acted that way.

Apart of me felt like crying. It was as if 50years' worth of regrets boiled down to that moment, and it chose then to surface.

My dad looked really tired and his spirit, withered.

We stood there - all five of us, just stared at him. He was oblivious to our staring.

And then I went to work. I almost felt bad for having to leave, but I wouldn't want to arrive in the office just in time for lunch.

My dad did not speak to anyone. Until today.

Yesterday, he burned incense and the whole house smelt of lavender. Lavender helped to soothe him down. He is weird in little ways.

This morning, I woke up in a very different vibe. As if I have had the deepest sleep. I think I owe it to the incense. Felt like I had been sleeping in a temple.

I went out of the room to see it still burning. My parents were sitting in the kitchen having breakfast. I went straight outside in my pajamas and the smell of grass woke me officially.

I unlock the bicycle chain, and took a ride around the hills - yes, still in pajamas. Didn't even brush my teeth. But I felt fresh.

The Fixie didn't have any gears and so I became tired having to ride up the hill, and more people were out to jog. I didn't want to face any neighbors with morning breath so I headed home.

Brushed my teeth and went straight to the kitchen. Pancakes. Yum.

Saw my dad stared at me in a quizzical look, so I told him I went for a ride.

He suddenly just burst into laughter. Like a real laugh.

"you went and cycle in baju tidur and looking like that?!"

Yeah, apparently.

He continued to laugh.

Glad that made his day. And that it also returned my dad back to normalcy.

It wasn't until I finished my breakfast and went to the toilet to shower that I noticed my hair was a display of 'bed hair' gone literal. It was atrocious and an embarrassment. In fact,
it took on the shape of my pillow because the right side was extremely flat as compared to the i-just-got-electrocuted-look on the right side.

I looked like half Einstein half Legolas.


Somedays, I would just hate being me and would contemplate jumping off Penang Bridge (selected on purpose to show political representation)

But today, is not one of those days. In fact, I felt relieved for cracking my dad up.

Everyone was extremely sweet today. Mom didn't make a fuss about laundry, dad went on reading, brother washed the cars and rode. I practiced typing with my typewriter, sisters minded their own business.

Pleasant day.

And to what do we owe it to?

The incense. It was a great idea. Good job Dad.

we don't cut, just bruise.

I don't really know how to put this nor am I sure of what to say.

In fact, I'd rather not do anything about it. But as my lecturer once told me in a Language and Identity class, not doing anything is doing something.

So I need to find the right balance between doing something and not doing anything, so that I achieve a zero on the axis.

But exactly what is it that I need to do, and/or don't?

To be honest, life (overrated word) has been patchy - I say patchy and not rocky or bumpety because the scale is not relatively bad - and yes, I do feel a little bit sea-sick eventhough I am on land, because of the subtleties of the "waves" I face.

Thing about me is, I like to store problems in a small paper box and shove it under the bed (which I'm sure a lot of people do, and would end up sitting on a couch across a therapist, or in an institution, or can also end up in heaven/hell), waiting to explode, tear apart from all sides and vomit all its contents.

The vomiting part is the scariest. You have to deal with everything, all at one go.

But it also gives you a sense of relief. If, you deal with the problems.

I haven't lain down the problem. Well, I can't. I've got it at the back of my mind, and it's getting pretty cosy there.

Hey, I have a random question. Why do people go to Boston when they don't want anyone to know their name?

Was Augustana just referring to his own exclusive situation, or is he helping us out in telling us where to go to deal with our overdue, undealt-with problems?

I'd really like to know.

I've also been losing a lot of important things. Like official certificates I haven't moved from the box in a bajillion years and apparently they have feet because they are not there anymore.

I lost my favourite tan corduroy pants (ok, not so important. but special).

A bag I bought in Australia and is multi-purpose.

Some memories and faces.

Memories of used-to-be Very Important Persons.

Memories of significant venues and places, which I think I remember, but not anymore. Maybe I also forgot whether I purposely forget them?

Some memories.

My handphone? Yes, that too.

I am not really liking how I am living my life now. Maybe work has consumed me, if so, that is a problem.

Or maybe, work is the solution to my problem.

Either ways, the amount of work I do (not as if I drown myself in work anyways) has nothing to do with the decision on why I live the way I want to.

I know I am talking gibberish, and if I were to have an electronic ear that can give some default programmed response, I would rather rant to it, than write it here.

But I don't. And I need to record these insecurities, uncertainties, doubts, worries that I have in this blog.

Because I know, I would be reading it some time in the future when everything is sure and certain again, and I had achieved what I wanted and go: Oh, it was just a rough patch. I survived.

I need to set this as a benchmark for myself.


I know you don't understand, but somehow, you do.


Tweet

My friend and I

Ahh, it's you again.

Sometimes I wonder if you will ever leave me alone.

I have a feeling I will be stuck with you for a long, long time.

Not that I can do anything about it.

Maybe I could,

But prefer to have you here.

You are now my friend.

I am miserable, and you are Misery.

Best thing is,

We have each other.