Here is a video:

 
I have been listening to a few covers of this song before I heard the original version. The song makes more sense when I listened to the original version. Heh.

Something Forgotten

On the day that my grandfather died, I temporarily lose my way. After all the hiatus, what with the sudden emotional breakdown from dear pregnant sister and all the drama involved, gradually, everyone left the house within a few hours, leaving me and the maid alone in this big haunted house. Yes. I do live in a big house. Which can be extremely convenient when we have guests but the space became extremely unnecessary when nobody is home. 

That night, I sat in the living room in front of my laptop with the TV on. I received a message from my cousin to call when everything had quieted down. I never did. Simply because I didn't feel like talking to anyone. I checked my phone and saw I had a missed call from one of my best friends who knew about my grandfather's death. I never returned her call. Instead, I texted her, telling her that I'm ok but I don't feel like talking to anyone. The truth is, I just wanted to talk to mom. After the quick hug she gave me that day before she left, I knew I wanted to say more. Even before that but there was no time. I could've call her but I knew that would not be practical since everyone would be busy with the funeral stuff. And so, there I was. Sitting in front of my laptop, anxiously waiting for a few words from another friend for another round of reassuring words to comfort my heart. I lose patient and I texted the dear friend and I received a reply that adviced me to berzikir banyak2 ataupon pasang video zikir. And you know what? I never did that. Not after 4 days. And I realized how funny us human beings are. Even under desperate situation, we still refuse to completely turn to Allah. Even when we are seeking for some comforts, we keep on seeking for comforts from other beings other than Allah. And it is not until we are truly truly desperate that we would finally and completely turn to Him. Like what I did just now. My heart could no longer breathe and I feel like I am slowly dying inside. I feel like I could break apart anytime soon and that every bit of my being is bleeding to death. I googled zikir, clicked on a link and while doing so, I found myself haunted by fear. I don't know what kind of fear. But it's more like anxious kinda fear or some sort. And soon realized that this is something that most of us forget about: to seek for comforts in the right place. I have been preaching about seeking comfort in the wrong places and the importance of turning to the Divine Power instead for my literature presentation this semester and it's pretty irony that I am actually one of those people who keeps on looking for comfort in all the wrong places. Which is very wrong. 

I feel sorry for myself for not being able to truly turn to Him. I even feel disappointed at myself for turning out this way. All in all, nothing is too late, I suppose. Let us all be better at being a Muslim.

Counting down the days and some ramblings

In the midst of my laziness and my lagho-ness, I was counting down the days until my next paper and oh wait...I only have two days left until my next paper and another seven days left until my last two papers. And yep. Two papers on the same day. That'd be interesting, I suppose. Realizing how not-so-many days I have left, panic took over but instead of continuing my revision, I came here. Writing an unimportant update on this very blog like a boss. As expected.

This is my final semester of all semester and I was planning things, noting myself over and over again that I should give my best of the very best effort for this final sem of mine. But that was before the semester started. As soon as the semester started, I became as lazy as a koala bear. *sigh~* I gradually became less and less interested in school and seemed to be gradually drawn more and more towards my babysitting job and cooking class with mom. I guess I am now a woman. lol. That'd be a joke. Me? A woman? pfft~! But let's face it. I'm getting old anyway and my attention had already diverted from education to womanhood. That should say something, should it? And my condition worsened even more on the first of May. I shall never forget that very day. Unless if that very day became insignificant and insubstantial for me, then I shall gladly forget about it. Don't ask me what happened. But something happened and that something had shifted my life 360 degrees. How? I don't even know how. But it did.

I woke up to the ringing of my intercom/phone. Half-asleep, I picked up the phone and heard mom's voice. I got up off the bed immediately, drew the curtains, opened the window and climbed back onto the bed, pulled the duvet, snuggled, snuggled, drifted in and out sleep, snuggled, snuggled, all the while day dreaming until my head hurts. I have issues. People call it angau, a disease where the patient keep finding him/herself walking amongst the cloud. I still wouldn't say that I am in love because I don't even know who am I in love with. I might as well be in love with a ghost, you see. No. Don't believe what I said. Don't hang onto my every word. I might not be in love. Or I might be in love. Either way, love itself is abstract. I don't even know what is wrong with me. I mull on the fact that perhaps I AM in love but then...with who?? See..? Don't believe on what I wrote here. The worst thing is that, when people started reading things literally. And I don't even know whether I am making sense or not. Perhaps, I WANTED to be in love but being the usual loser/loner me, that is a far-fetched idea because I have the tendency to give up on any relationship that I stumbled upon. Yes. I am that type who always give up on relationship. Don't ask me why. Ok. Fine. Ask me why. Because it always suffocates me that's why. Perhaps, I gonna ended up dead alone. Just like Captain Hook. But maybe minus his bloody coldness and evilness and stuff.

Alright. Enough rambling. I think I'm gonna get myself paint something...which is something I've been telling myself over and over again since last year. I'm just scared to get back into that whole drawing/painting thing. I'm scared of making horrible paintings that it could haunt me in my sleep. Yep. That says it. I do have issues.

Till then.

One for the pain. To share with the world.

We all knew that at some point, life moves on. People die and people live. The world will never stop turning when we die. Work will still be done. Life will still carry on. And people will eventually stop mourning. While our bodies decomposed underneath, the world will still go on living, singing and dancing. Without us. 

Today my grandfather died and for the first time in my life, I finally learn how it feels like to be strong for the family. I never knew it would hurt so bad. It sting at the heart and the only thing I could do was to put on a brave face and keep on crying inside. My pregnant sister was consumed by emotions, had a sudden emotional outburst, leaving her to cry unreasonably and started saying things that don't make sense. My worried dad was urging me on and scolding me for being slow and for being too careless. Mom was scolding pregnant sister. Brother was trying to calm sister down with his upmost unreliable persuasion skills. And there I was struggling to book a flight ticket to Kelantan for my sister, with bad internet connection and multiple transaction errors and at the same time trying to calm everybody else since at that time everybody seemed to be talking all at the same time. I forced myself to remain calm but deep within, my heart was gradually filled with unshed tears. I ordered my brother to shush. Told my sister to calm down. Informed everybody that mom was emotional as well and actually said "Ok...everyone...shhhhh.....be quiet...and calm down...things are going to be alright.." right in front of dad which I've never done before. Finally after, almost 2 hours, I managed to buy flight tickets online. I let out a sigh of relief, knowing that it would at least make my sister feels better. My parents flight was at 530pm and by 3pm, they were already ready to leave for the airport. I put on my hijab and wore my cardigan. Stepped outside, ready to send my parents out. While waiting, brother pointed to a cabinet and said, "There's grandpa's ciggies...the one he left last week..". All of a sudden, I felt a lump in my throat. I swallowed and said "Oh...yeah...those ciggies that he jokingly told mom to finish for him". I pointed it to mom and mom told us to leave it there. That shoe cabinet is probably going to be our personal museum for eternity. Those ciggies will remain untouched, tucked away at a corner for memory keepsake. Mom stepped out and hugged me. She rarely hugs me. My family are not made of huggers, that's why. So she hugged me and I knew I had to go somewhere and cry. But looking at my sister, who had finally calm down and was about to recover, I knew that me crying would only make things worst for my emotional/pregnant sister. So I sucked it up. Hold everything down, calmly walked to my room, closed and locked the door, and finally burst into tears. I calmed down. I walked into the shower and probably cried for another good half an hour. You can say that I am an expert when it comes to crying alone and consoling myself. I've been doing it for nearly four years. But this time...this time, the pain is too great that it still hurts even after 8 hours.

I was counting on my almost other half but that was a dissapointment. It made me realize that I should never count on other people except on Allah. I told myself to brave it out and to pray to Allah to make my heart stronger. But i am weak afterall. My iman is not strong. And my almost other half was almost nowhere. And so here I am. Still trying to decipher my raw emotions. I hate translating raw emotions because everything feels unclear. Unclear feelings and emotions always lead to bad writing. Like this one. 

All in all, we all turn to dust one day. And death will come by unexpectedly. And that is when all mortal pain will be gone.

May my grandfather is among the pious...amin..

Life is hard and that's that

I knew I should have picked up a pencil to write or a paintbrush to paint but all sources of inspirations seemed to be evaporating, leaving my imagination dry. Love is simply agonizing. To say that I am in love is an absolute far-fetched statement. I feel love for all kinds of things. Arts. Books. Families. Friends. And even people I've never truly met. Yes, I am in love with all of these. And some of them have been absent for sometime and I am missing every bit of it. It's like seeing a stretch of sand, with waves crushing over the smooth surface of it in your eyes while your physical presence is actually surrounded by concrete buildings. The yearning for your heart to reach across that image you see in your eyes from the image you are physically in is like trying to reach out for your very own image across the mirror. Time and Space. We are all bounded by these. Sometimes it is just impossible to get over the pain because of Time and Space. They stretch so wide across the universe and sit distinctively superior than our mere existence. How small we all are that in a lot of cases, we have no other choice except succumbing to the pain inside and deal with things pertaining to life with sweat and blood. God is the Most Just. We would never truly understand His plans. Understanding His Qada' and Qadar is like trying to imagine the true existence of God, on His physical being. Does God exist physically? Or does He exist in a form of entity? Or in a form that we as human never heard of? Yep. Only thinking of it can already make my brain feels mushy. Hence, we deal with our lives with sweat and blood, knowing that there is an absolute reason for any circumstances and for every circumstances, there should another circumstances. Rewards and Punishment. The choices we have and how we've always ended up violating the freedom of choice bestowed upon us. We learn from life and for every lesson, we progress into something more. Unless, if we never learn. No life is easy. Life is hard and that's that. Life is full of pain and hardship but for every pain, there is happiness, and for every hardship, there is a reward. So succumb to the pain. And make yourself stronger from your pain. And let your life teaches you to be a better Muslim :)

How I ended up killing myself

Beyond the Rainbow,

Over the Moon,

Flying up high to the ground.

(Akmal, May 2012)

That's how. Sometimes, we fly so high up, achieving all possibilities just in a blink of an eye, boosting our confidence to the upmost level. But suddenly, our feet stumble and we fall within our failures, and every other thing falters. The Rainbow is a destination; a representation of a journey towards the highest dream which is the Moon. The Rainbow is simply within the atmosphere while the Moon is high up above, the highest place for earth. If they say the Sky is the limit, then I guess the Moon should be our highest aim in life. The Sky is our possibilities while the Moon is our impossibilities. Like any other sane human being, we all strive for the impossibilities. Well. At least most of us.

So, this is me. Sitting in my chair, doing nothing but typing away on my lame-full-of-cobwebs blog, dreaming of something greater, wishing for something new and praying for something more (and i was supposed to be studying right now to top it all of). My confidence in a certain possibility is on the rise but this rising confidence is what scares me. I am afraid that one day, things don't go to plan, and I'd probably left heartbroken. Sure, life goes on and so should I but a human heart is not immortal to breakage. It is always bound to break. Every decision we make, be it decision on what to say or do to others/ourselves etc, could decide our fate there and then. The possibility of the future and what's to come is so vast that it could range from anything to anything.

And this is a very big mistake. Me explaining my words, making some sort of an analysis over my so-called poem. It is another way I could kill myself with. The first one rule for the audience/reader is to never ask the writer the meaning behind their words/works/poems/etc. because the true meaning behind each word contains a very personal/private message to him/herself. Furthermore, when it comes to putting words together to make it sound good (not that i say my poetry sound good but you knw what i mean la kan) writers always love to have their readers/audiences to make free interpretations, based on what they understood, experienced and knew. Though some writers are willing to share the meanings behind their symbolisms/words/etc., some really hate to do so. And by now, I think you could guess what kind of writer I am. No? I am that kind of writer who always recoil whenever people start questioning the meaning of every word I say or write. It is nothing personal, of course. It's just that every little experience that I had while putting those words together is a journey of self-discovery of which I'd like keep to myself. I may have experienced an abundance or a jumble or an overwhelming emotions when I first receive the inspiration to write but i never write immediately. Prof. Quayum recently told me that Wordsworth defined poetry as "a recollection of emotions in tranquility" and therefore, raw emotion never works in poetry. I have stopped writing raw emotions for some years now. I would usually let the emotions flow, tasting each emotion between my tongue and let everything sink in. After everything becomes clear, it is only then that I start to recollect these emotions and translate them into words. While I string these words together, my sole aim is to create a form of art (which i hope is art) by putting something subjective into black and white in the hope that when others read them, they could also feel or be reminded of that emotion AND in the hope of letting the others know that they are not alone in this.

I hope this makes sense though. Because I think my rambling is getting from bad to worse. lol.

Good night! see you next time!

I am a writer but not really

There are a few things about me that I am pretty sure I'm aware of. For one thing, I am a writer. For another thing, I am not really a writer. For the past four years, I am convinced that I was never a proper writer because (1) I write about crappy things (2) I know I am not good enough (3) I have never produced anything that is substantial for anyone to read (4) I barely write anything these days. Over the years whenever a lecturer ask "Who writes in this class?" or "Do we have writers in this class?", I gradually found myself keeping my arms by the side with my head bend low. I would usually receive a few looks from friends that reads "You're a writer! Raise your hand!". But I never did and whenever I do, I always have that tingling, doubtful thought at the back of my head, whispering "Are you sincerely and seriously are a writer, Akmal?". 

Upon the lecturer's question, I knew there will be familiar faces raising their hands. Their writings and works are far more advanced than anything that I've ever worked for. Some already had their works recited in front of audiences in numerous occasions while some have far better structure and style than I ever implemented. I have never read most of their works before but from how they talk about their works, it seems as if they are 10 steps ahead of me. I had watched performances written by one of these writers. Once in a while, I found myself analyzing her works. I often ended up questioning the credibility of her works, thinking that though the gists, main ideas and the layers are well pondered upon, her style and structure are somewhat messy, inconsistent and too bizarre even Harry Potter could not digest. Within a short time span, the writer seems to be trying too hard by including too many layers/main ideas within one story without even developing any one of the main ideas, resulting the entire plot to be somewhat inconclusive, lack of quality and messy in style. Yes, I have gradually become a critique. I'd found myself sitting at that chair quietly, taking the whole atmosphere of the stage, taking note of little movements, the lightings and hanging onto every word. Then, the performance ends, and I would usually found myself mulling over the performance, repeating each movement and sound over and over again until the entire piece is put into a perspective and just like that, my brain would spontaneously compute an interpretation. I would sometimes grimace at the ugliness of the performance. Other times, I would be sitting there feeling miserable, either due to my disappointment of the entire piece or feeling underachieved of my own writings. Either way, there I was sitting quietly and analyzing everything. I think I learn a lot more by sitting quietly and by listening to others: it provides me a clearer image of everybody's thoughts, perspectives and worldviews. From there, I could create a new reality and implement on my next interpretations for my future readings. 

There is no way I could teach people on how to read, understand and interpret metaphorical pieces because your understanding of the gist mostly depend on how much you read and how much you know about imageries and symbolisms. I never think that I've read widely enough but so far, I think I've read enough to enable me to make interpretations of quiet many a metaphorical works which is mostly due to some imageries and symbolisms that I've picked up over the years through my leisure readings. "Mind sex" (as Walt Whitman said) helps too, provided if you spend some time brooding over issues and the reality a few hours a day. Discussions on the philosophy of reality with your friends (or thinkers/broody people) always help you to widened your telescope, helping your mind to broadened itself and eventually help you to read beyond those mere words.

Erm...I don't know why i am writing this. I wanted to write about something else but I ended up writing this rambling/random entry. I should stop now. Till then :)

P/S: lame giler tak menulis. my sentences rs mcm pelik giler. sorry about that XD