contra

alternative title : and it will all come to pass

i have nothing much to say here. whims, or things, don’t or, won’t matter much any more after a few days. like a dream which is remembered only moments after awakening; vivid images that hold certain ideas, they all vanish into the fog of that day, only to be rediscovered, years, months, decades, later. and when it does you know what to do. pile them on like a memorabilia. build shrines out of them, or put them neat like medals and trophies, one after another, recount them to the (occasional) visitor, amuse yourself, simplify words, stories bend bend bend twist twist twist kill kill kill them off.

or, go through their belongings, collect scraps of papers from them, or that reminds you of them, like the starting lesson of a Latin language (for what?), or the notes you exchanged, or the wrapping paper, or the crumpled paper with the basic guitar chords scrawled (which seemed fruitless), or a hate note dedicated to you on De Maupassant’s printed short story left overnight in the class(“english dapat 90 pun kau cakap sikit? pffft”), or them little boxes with your name stickered on it, or cards, bottles, frames, letters, poems, film strips, posters. anything. anything.

very….kitsch (!).

p/s: the very difference lies between what you see as mere facts that contain no meaning, unless given to you, that you fail – ooooh – to see anything beyond that. instead of what, we’d rather ask, what for? and so, alot of “so”s follows. never be so bent on following orders, like Miss Eliza, my maths teacher in Jalan Empat, used to say, in the most stately manner, “If I told you to jump off a cliff, would you jump?”

weight. the very thing that carries us down.

godawful

it’s certainly funny, watching you guys… support each other. but i don’t know. i really don’t. pat each others back, if you may, but i’m done. real done.

on another unrelated note, there’s this dude around these parts who decided to do each and every one of us classmates some sort of “portraiture”; a picture of you and solely you yourself, together with little nice descriptions about you. super scary. i suppose if one is reduced to simple adjectives, in two or three sentences, your whole being, in those tiny little spaces, you’d be pretty much interested to know about it. so i got mine yesterday or so.

Cool and steady. The picture speaks it all. Shes unparalleled on her qualities. Her mind is a complex one ready to be written or typed. Shes Mai, abbreviated for Maisarah.

funny eh. whatever “qualities” i had in the first place.
oh before i forget; alice (haha), i apologize because i can’t reply to your comment, yet, since well, i don’t know what else i should i write. i feel like i owe you some sort of reply because of the long odious you gave, so yeah. much of it contains many thanks, and uh perhaps yeah maybe i shouldn’t be too presumptuous, but it feels so old so i’ll pass, eh? i don’t feel to sage-y to be sprinkling advice or words around people. i don’t even feel qualified.

at any rate; this week is a week full of My Bloody Valentine, and The Jesus & Mary Chain. they remind me of rain, cars and lights, fluorescent lights, evenings, soggy ones, people queuing up for tickets, buying something; faces so bored, nights on the field with fog all over, looking at the stars; smoke and more smoke, and all that.

at any rate, i look forward for the weekend; times square, dean’s list awards (which isn’t really anything), and zoo negara, and finally home.

not too godawful at all, i guess.

superfluous

Had I been introduced to this earlier, I would have not, as it were, fall into the depths of depression, or whatever you call that, for now this seems to be universal for anyone, found almost anywhere now, lost into this complete meaningless of things, that they seek cheap thrills in drugs, or temporary fixes, that seem to induce such illusions of being on higher planes, when you are trespassing some boundary that you are not permitted to.
(This I’m saying to specific people. So yeah, you know who you are. Trust me, you do not want to be medicated for all sort of stuff, seeing shrinks every other month, locked in a mental ward, have people pity all over you, over a span of several (heh) years. God-awful, I tell you. Want a personal shrink? Go ahead. They’re no good. At least not good enough of me. Just don’t bother missus pot. Some people have difficulty in expressing emotions, except in certain forms and manners. Cryptic even (!). But this is beside the point. )
I’m not saying I’ve matured/cured or anything close to it, fact is, I am still as I was then (in a sense), but if anything changed, it was having a sort of realization. As much as I hate ignorance of people, en masse, believing myself as distinctly unique, solely realizing on my own experience to make interpretation of things – a sort of existential apathetic bullshit misanthropic loserdom- not withholding the fact that I have been, for a long time, ignorant of the things that were, or whatever that was already laid out, only waiting to be discovered. We mistake ourselves as being the most tragic being ever to exist, not realizing, or unaware, that there had been others before, and more to come. So we dwell ourselves in our own self-pitying misery, and sometimes moan, to attract another, or two, to join in the communal pit of that so called ‘strife against life’, complementing each other. Heh.
Naquib al-Attas said, in his book Islam and Secularism, that one of mistakes/flaws of the Western people, or the secular ones, was that they are continually ‘becoming’, yearning for something that they are not clear of (its goals), forever seeking things in the name of modernization and progress, that are without limits, and greedily too, instead of ‘being’.’Being’ being the realization of them having a spirit. The goal of life is, ironically, ultimately, to die. In a sense, this means that the meaning of life, for man, is to come to realization of his original state as a spirit. This is what is meant, that the prophet Muhammad once said, “Die before ye Die“.
There is a whole lot of stuff behind this too, after reading several books about it for the past few months. I don’t remember much. Or I just don’t care to go about explaining them yet. Too much need to be understood. I go back and forth between things a lot. Mostly to find ‘kesinambungan‘, or a certain commonality between anything I’ve read for these past few years and comparing it with all these stuff. Kierkegaard, Chuang Tzu, Dostoevsky, and Marie Lois Franz’s essays (from Man and His Symbols, edited by C.G.Jung), come to mind. I find myself mostly abandoning many previous uh, principles and beliefs. So yeah, if any of you readers (!) have been uh, monitoring my progress for a long time, you would notice a difference. Or two. But whatever. 
But I’d mostly recommend, anything written by Al-Ghazali, which isn’t really hard to find here in Malaysia, since he’s easy to read, although a bit vague at times (for his own discretion, which I find amusing). There’s also stuff by Martin Lings, and Muhammad Asad, but I haven’t been able to procure much of them works, so yeah. Mostly Sufi stuff, if it was given any sort of definitive thematic label. I like the fact that my father has been collecting stuff over his university years, so I get to read some of them, although the pages keep falling out. I’m glad that I found some point of common interest between us, though he never expresses much of it. He’s bent over the issues of Fiqh too much. But glad nevertheless. 
So I guess, yeah, I’ve made peace with most of things. 
Truth be told, we are all yearning, either we realize it or not, for something higher. To find meaning behind all this… mess. Jung once wrote, somewhere, that the only worthwhile struggle left for mankind in this modern age, is the struggle of the self. Or something that sounds like that. I grew up, believing that I had a higher purpose. “She believes in a higher purpose”. Superfluous gila. 
Sartre, when told of stories of saints, wrote; 

“These stories helped me; I became even more inclined to set myself above worldly possessions, of which I had none, and I would have found my vocation without difficulty in my comfortable penury; mysticism suits displaced persons and superfluous children” 
Does all of this even make sense?

i’ll go back, if you ask me

Okay, for once, a serious, post, written in English. I simply don’t have the time and the disposition any more to write here, except useless, spur of the moment posts, but after finishing a few homework or two earlier than usual (in what seemed like a rare thing for me to do) , I think I deserve to write here. Besides, my ‘killer’ headaches seems to have disappeared, miraculously; fortunately. This seemed to have staunched progress in writing in some other two books I have, but whatever. 
So uh, don’t ask me when I should publish, or that you want to read that “collection of essays” of mine I wrote back in 2008 (because they’re rubbish and uh.. mostly plagiarised. Also naive. Who would’ve wanted to read a poorly written piece on Existentialism laden with quotes from Nietzsche, eh? I’ve stuffed them – all three copies – in some bookcase back at home, stacked together with my dad’s thesis, to make it look most unappealing). I’m shifting all these, writing things, after these exams, in which will come to end in three to four weeks time. A month or two of holiday, then “Out, Out, Out!”, like Alexander De Large would exclaim in A Clockwork Orange (the movie) to Australia. 
The night is quiet here, the yellowing fan at the ceiling seemed to have outlived most of the new fans here; it only died, with a long buzzing, rustling, sound, yesterday. My room mate, have decided to spend the night elsewhere, and I, quite alone, am typing here, enjoying the breeze coming from the window (with no monkeys lurking around, heh) , or a non-breeze, just deathly silence, with the occasional sounds of footsteps outside.
I quite enjoy having time with myself. There’s not much use, talking to people, laughing all about, discussing, unless it leads somewhere. Idle talk. Not to say that I don’t do them, it’s just that I get weary, tremendously weary, from watching people talking too much, too loud, to too many people, at once. I think I just need to spend at least two hours per day just to think. Or to stare, dream, and do nothing. Thoughts, images, ideas, fantasies, conversations, they sprang up all at once. Seized by a thought, I’d write them down, or if not, I’d weave them about, get up, move my hands, speak in different tones and voices, quite amused by myself, then laugh hysterically. Preferably in the dark. And most importantly alone. Who would’ve wanted to witness such display of insanity? 
But of course, non would’ve expect this. Because we, present ourselves differently to different people. And I don’t know this ‘we’ I am talking about. It makes things simpler. Or you just don’t feel like it, like Holden Caufield would’ve said. I don’t know, I don’t have the book with me write now. I probably read it like ten times, even the Bahasa Melayu version, called… I don’t remember. “Penangkap Gandum” or something. But this is besides the point. 
The point is, sometimes, you feel like a goddam hypocrite in front of people, never quite knowing which is the real you, or whether there was any ‘real you’ in the first place. Making a farce of yourself. All wrapped up in some kind of warped, contradicting, personalities, when actually, inside; nothing. The question of ‘who am i, really’. Kinda lame, really, but whatever. All I know is that this is the main thing that launched me into the so called ‘existential depression’, or whatever you call it. And I don’t feel like talking about it either, because you don’t really, or you don’t feel too hot about talking about things concerning yourself. . And if I did, I would be so obscure about it, because yeah, I’m that secretive. Perhaps some other time. After all, who ever really talks about themselves? Like, really, talking about themselves, pertaining the issue of you, and solely, you; not in relation to others, books, films, interests and all that kind of things. 
But perhaps they don’t care. And they never do. And if they did, they’d ignore all this individual struggle and project their focus, towards external stuff. Things in life, and life in things, forever entangled; inseparable. Where they go, what they do, what they read, watch, listen, speak, buy, possess, who their friends are. Forever amassing things to relate to, so that in the end, they’d all say unto themselves, that there is some worth in their being, some meaning that would matter to them. So that all is not in vain. Positioning themselves into somewhere they can call, this is my abode, my rightful place. 
Yeah, how lovely that would be, eh?
Compared to us little dreamers, wanderers of  night, forever seeking for our rightful place, if any, on earth, and the heavens.
Heh. I’m done here. Ending Song. 

monyet durjana

beberapa ketika yang lalu, ada dua makhluk datang menjajah dan merampas wafer cubes music aku dan beberapa potong kek coklat yang mak aku buat semalam (mereka berupaya membuka tupperware, ye), sambil itu, mereka telah membuat kacau bilau di lantai bilik, dengan rakusnya meninggalkan sisa sisa epal yang diorang makan serta menebuk dua air kotak yang walaupun tak sedap, tapi berbau dan membuat lantai melekit.

disebabkan kipas rosak, aku terpaksa migrate bilik orang lain sebab super panas, dan di kala itu,  mereka terus menyerbu, membawa rakan extra. dan bila aku sampai di tempat kejadian, aku bila nampak kek mak aku kena makan, dan dua-dua mereka memandang dengan bersahaja. aku jerit kuat, woi bla la bodoh, dan seekor daripadanya lihat aku yang masih tercegat dipintu, turun semula dilantai, (dan sempat lagi) mengambil satu potong kek sebelum beredar dengan balingan bantal hebat aku.

aku yang sakit hati, terpaksa berdepan dengan sepah yang diorang buat, sambil memerhati diorang membawa pergi music aku dan regroup atas bumbung (sila lihat gambar).

aaaah celaka.

armed with super powers

cold as alaska. you are. 
minggu ni minggu velvet underground. 
kadang-kadang, bila kita dah terlampau banyak berhadapan dengan benda benda baru dan asing; i.e keadaan, musik, kawan, perkara, kerja rumah, konflik, persekitaran, lama kelamaan, penat dari overstimulation, kita akan balik semula ke, atau sekurang-kurangnya rindu akan tempat asal, atau benda-benda lama.
rumah. 
lagu hillary duff (dammit!) michelle branch.
komik detective conan.
tcg pokemon.
dan macam macam.
ceh, poyo je. sebenarnye aku mimpi aku di dumpster mainan dan mengutip patung-patung toystory yang dah tercabut kepala, tangan, dan susun balik atas timbunan mainan-mainan lain. aku juga  ternampak teddy bear lama aku, yang aku bagi kat orang lain dulu. cis, sampai hati.  ada tu bersuit buzzlightyear tapi berkepala obi wan kenobi. 
aaaah. gila freaky. 

given your previous abuse,

my headaches are getting progressively worse. period. momentary sleep, that yields nothing. you know, you’re supposed to get up feeling absolutely swell, getting up from bed, say hi to the sun, looking ahead to whatever that seems to be coming. or something like that. well, i haven’t had that for a long long time. the moment i wake up, i seem to wake up in some dream, or imagine myself dreaming, or thinking of something, talking to someone, watching something. in short, there’s no shutting down. a pause button, neither winding or unwinding. a sudden halt, a sudden jerk, off you go, up up up, a jolt. bzzz. no alrighty gradually building up shit. slaaaaam.
god.
anyway, malam semalam semalam;

sekian, terima kasih.

student power


selalunya aku tak ambik kisah hal-hal yang berlaku di uia, walaupun kadang-kadang joging pagi (cis, dua kali je pun) di situ. bila maher zain datang minggu lepas, aku di offer tiket free pun aku tak ambik peduli. uia jauh bagi aku, walaupun boleh nampak atap biru diorang dari tingkap bilik aku. pergi bazar ramadan pun jalan kaki ambik masa sejam setengah. jauh. jauh.

tapi, okeh untuk esok, boleh la. daripada pergi genting naik roller coaster, pakai topi-topi binatang disney, tengok replika makhluk yang busan, baik aku pergi uia.
mari meramaikan majlis.