of aches, spirituality, rain and some

went to the tassawwuff (im just doubling all the key letters here cos im too lazy to find out the proper spelling) class despite feeling shitty. thought a lil injection of religiosity would do me some good. thought it was a good idea. it wasnt a good idea. made me think too much.

but first lemme complain abt my shoulder aches. my neck, my shoulder…parts of my back…the aches are getting worse. now i dun really like complaining abt aches and pains and stuff… but damn…now the ache has crawled down to my right arm. wad e hell is happening?? i thought aches were suppose to fade with time and get better…not grow and expand!! if i had money, i’ll go for that 28 bucks shoulder massage. damn!! hate HATE being poor. and my mom and me da like strangers cos well im not a good daughter…so i cant ask her to massage my shoulder for me. but den again, i dun like it when she massage me…damn. miss my mommmiieeeee…

i have sudden cravings for ciggy nowadays. finished my pack yesterday. damn these expensive cravings. again. i HATE being poor.

so the class talked about spirituality. kechik wondered wads her spirituality level.this new girl in the class, she baffles me, and scare me quite a bit. cos her train of thoughts, reasonings, were queer to me. and in some ways, overwhelming (?) i dont quite know how to describe it…but im glad H thought it as well. we both think that woman has pretty high spirituality..

so i asked kechik whether she felt close to God. i told her me n God are like strangers. actually thats wrong. he is a stranger to me. so is his beloved messenger. i dunno why many dun seem to verbalise this, but how the hell am i suppose to love someone ‘unseen’. im talking abt Rasulullah (pbuh). yes i can admire, idolise even. but LOVE?? and how the hell am i suppose to love God?? i mean its GOD here. the Big G. the all supreme being,the allmighty, creator of all beings. if im oredi so ’small’ and insignificant in this universe, if im oredi created so limited in my means and functions, how then can i not be too limited, due to my own insignificance, too limited in my essence, be capable of comprehension, be capable of loving smth so complex as God who created me in the first place??
like…human invented a calculator. how can the calculator, which is so limited in its abilities and function, love humans? calculator is build to calculate. it cannot comprehend love. love even beguiles humans. so how can human fall in LOVE with their Creator?

yeah i noe that whole chunk of paragragh can be squashed w “cos God designed humans with the capacity to love Him and his Prophets.”…but …well…lets just leave it at that…”BUT…”. im too tired to continue debating

but i have no doubt im not a stranger to Him. in fact, i feel “observed” all the time. like i know He sees my every move, know my every thought, witnessed my every deed, heard all my pain, gave me all my pleasures and joy…

ppl with a deep connection to God, supposedly can communicate with Him albeit some limitation, “be in His divine presence” (what?), “traverse with God” (again, what??)…have their prayers answered faster than most…”unlock the key to their hearts and realities” (sbdy shout WHAT??)..i dun get it. i really dun. i dont know how to be a servant. i dont know complete submission. my mind cannot consume itself completely with the concept of god and godliness.

k la whatever la…ngantuk nak bebual panjang panjang. i actually still have more issues w akhlak and stuff, but i dun really know how to describe it.

anywayss…todays rain was abolutely beautiful. it was in the sights, the smells, the atmosphere, the temperature, every sensorial reaction the human body is capable of, had a pleasant time…was walking under my brolly towards the lrt when i felt like i wanted to just throw the damn brolly and bask in the rain. was actually jealous of my own feet and ankles that were getting more contact w the rain than the rest of me. the feeling that settled in my heart, was so…calming. so serene. yet enlivening at the same time. plus the fact that it happened at that time of the day made it all the more beautiful. as i watched the rain splashes, the tiny rivers of rainwater as they cascade down from the windows of my cab. how showers of whitish beauty envelopes us..i went into a silent prayer. i dunno what instigated it cos im not that religious. but no thoughts went in my head except appreciating the beauty of it all. but rain had always been special to me since childhood. how it seemed to wash the earth of its grime, its dirt, its sins…the world seemed so much more cleansed, and shining…rejuvenated and given new lease of life… comforting. this particular rain was very comforting to me. i dunno how, but i felt as if my whole essence was rejoicing from its contact with rain. i was thanking the lord for providing me this comfort. for opening my heart to step out of the house to go to class and share the experience of this rain instead of rotting at home on my couch or lamenting infront of my lappie on the kesedihans of my life. thinking of bad things to do w myself. i was quite touched how no matter how neglected i feel frm God, and sometimes even ‘punished’, He was kind enough to grant me this tiny comfort to soothe my heart.

it made so much sense when H told me that our teacher said todays rain was like a “special” rain from the heavens. i dunno the rain’s main purpose, the kind of magical blessing it supposedly carries for some specific situation that only God and his special beings knew. im sure its like some big event..smth in the ‘exclusive’ spiritual realm…..
but all i know, the rain was good to me.

DissErtAtion Drama

just had to, right? just fucking HAD to test the system.
just HAD to push them to a corner and see whether they’ll fail me.
fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

feeling like im 6yr old again

it just turned 26th oct 4 minutes ago.
shoutings, coming frm the master bedroom.
will this ever end?

confessions of a 12 yr old girl

i was reading my friend’s thoughts through their blogs. their concerns of their future, happenings of their life. sometimes their words spoke with a degree of gravity, sometimes a touch of pain or grief, sometimes hints of frustration or anger, confusions, their questions …and sometimes a catharsis, purging of emotions…

somehow, though i sympathise, and at better times i empathise, today i realised most illustrations of the bitterness of their lives seem rather insignificant, almost frivolous. i quietly acknowledge the fact that some of my friends are privileged. the tj half. not obscenely rich or spoilt or trouble free. but im pretty sure most have not experienced the troubles and pains of a dysfunctional low income malay family. sure they have their problems and sure, i know people do not actually display their troubles on billboards for all to see. hence i cant proclaim their troubles to be inferior to mine or my other frens. i may be prejudiced without reason, but somehow it feels that way. i have always felt they lead better lives than me and my other non-jc frens. 

the reason that i mentioned this is because of today’s episode. today i saw real pain, real sorrows. from the eyes of a twelve year old girl. i was tutoring her, going over useless problem sums, smth about speed. distance over time gives you speed..smth she wont ever need to use in her life… then we heard her mom, my aunt scolding the rest of the kids in the other room. its not the scolding, its the voice, its the pain behind the voice. i am ten years older than her, yet i could not bear staying in her house any longer. amidst the shoutings, the crying, the frustrations hanging so thick in the air. all signs of cracks within the family. and the voice of a pained mother, wife. i am all too familiar with that voice. memories came rushing in, my mom’s silhouette by window, as she sobbed as softly as she could, towards the night sky. every night.

my cousin froze. but her fingers gripped her pen so tightly. her eyes stared at her book but i knew that they had brought her mind to a bitter place. her knuckles turned white. i know it is cliche but it really happened. we paused for 5 mins, listening to the comotion. listening to my aunts shoutings.

i wanted to grab my bag and vacate the flat as soon as possible. i wanted to do what i know best. i wanted to run away. but i cant because there are three children in the house that i care about. my aunt was screaming. but the thing that hurt my ears and my heart wasnt how loud it was. it was beneath that voice. so clear. there was pain in my aunts voice. and desperation. it was so distinctive to me. i could detect it almost immediately. then my heart broke when i saw my cousin’s face. her facial expression froze as if it was stuck in time. yet her eyes showed so much. i remember them as almost glassy. like looking into a room through a translucent jelly. like the whole chronicles of her life there right in her eyes. i remember swallowing hard. i din know how to react, to behave, to console. ive never felt so useless. here i am, her eldest cousin, the famous kaklong in the family. the favourite grandchild, the strong daughter, the smart one who made the right choices in life, the girl who didnt succumb to the fate of many malay girls of broken families. my family held me in high regard. i know that. but today at that very second, i din know wad to do. i didnt know how to tell her “its ok. its hard now, its painful now. just cry. let it out. life will get better. it will. it just will”  I FUCKING DIDNT KNOW WHAT TO DO. and i hate myself for that. hate hate it.

i should have hugged her. i should have. i should have let her cry on my chest and perhaps cry with her. i know that willl her feel better.i know it, cos thats what i wanted a long time ago. but i didnt. instead i held her shoulder and asked her “are u ok”…i wanted to kick myself when i heard myself say it. shes fucking 12 you idiot!!! right there and then i realised i am not close enough with my cousins. i am not emotionally confident. if it was close dear friend, i would have not been as clueless as what to do. she was tight lipped. she gave me a tiny nod. immediately i see her older than she need to be. she is feeling more than she need to be feeling.

i hate fate. i hate that my family has to go through this situation over and over again. i cant even count how many times it has happened on my dads side. and my mom’s…already 3 families have been hit. i HATE that i see one by one of my cousis gg through what i did years ago. and i see them failing. i see them getting distracted by the problems their family is facing. i see them finding all sorts of ways to soothe their pain. they might not burt in tears as easily as i do, but i see it. that quiet strength, shield, so desperately attempting to hide, to deny…i hate fate. there are days when i curse god for this. i have shed so much tears, seen my own dear mummy, and abah, and nenek shed so much tears… why do more ppl have to suffer terrible fates. why my family. why not my fucking jc frens who have only enough respect for themselves and their ‘best friends’. why cant god be fair. if he wanna inject pain, why cant he distribute it evenly. why a larger proportion to me, my family. i hate life. i hate reality. i hate tears. hate. hate hate them.

i know within months her parents will decide they have had enough and choose the easy way out and sign for divorce. i knew it. i knew it when it was about to happen to me, i knew it when it was about to happen to my uncle. now i know it will happen to her. she has four kids. FOUR. why din she think of family planning years ago. why din she choose a better husband. why din she call it quits when her husband hurt her first kid. why the fuck did she let it come to this. why the fuck did i decide to ignore it last time.

i am so fucking angry with the way things are now. and so fucking sad. again. again the tears have to fall.

i know how i survived. i was selfish. i didnt want to care about my mom’s mistakes, i didnt want to care about my fucking dad. all i cared was me. i know now, after years of reflections, that i detached myself from the reality. i would be beaten so bad the night before, yet come to school smiling, laughing, playing catching and zeropoint the next day. because i didnt let myself feel. once, when my counsellor tried to make me feel, reflect, i sensed my real vulnerability, i never came back. she repeatedly called me back for counselling. but i refused. teachers den stopped asking me to go for her sessions cos my grades were good. I was good. so why cant my cousins be selfish. why not.

i thought i was strong. ppl thought i was strong. my mom, my family thought i was strong. yet the topic of divorce can crumble me into a pile of weeping crap within seconds. i did what selfish me wanna do. dun care about the rest world.

my cousins are less selfish. they decide to care. and now, they are struggling. all of them. and im not doing anything. i cant do anything.

i couldnt teach today. i just cant. tutoring seemed so insignificant. i wished i had come years ago. tutored her and fiqah years ago.be there regularly in their lives.  i know fiqah is more like me. she doesnt care as much as yana. she is like me. she even look like me. but i see her pain once in awhile. while she ate, slowly, thinking in silent. her eyes distant and her thoughts deep. she sighed when things gets noisy in the house.  did i look like that a long time ago?

what will happen to them. will their lives turn out like mine? i hope they will. im better now. much better. i think. i just want them to be better. just better……..

[confessed, but not reformed]

the revelation of anger

anger. such a powerful emotion. its almost like a terrible curse that metamorphorse you into the ugliest creature you can ever be. you will open doors for the devil. you’ll want spew out the most hateful words, you’ll desire to inflict pain on the one that hurt you in the first place, and if you see her writhing in discomfort or any form of misfortune, you expect to feel an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. serve you right, fucking bitch. 

in this sordid revolting picture, i have discovered a most beneficial quality of anger. anger unearths your true pains. Pains that have been inflicted on you that you have been persistently trying to hide and forget. anger discloses my true feelings, my true thoughts. anger exposes my real opinions. anger shatters my glass wall of denial. anger is one helluva bucket of cold water splashing onto my face, cleansing myself from the dirty fake masquerade. purifying me from my pathetic pretension, that ‘i-am-ok-with-that’. fuck.

fuck you. you conceited bitch. i blamed the conditioning of your life, the variables and conditions that exist. that inevitably influence on the way you turn out. now ive seen with clearer heart, that its not your life. its your heart, soul. your black selfish, insensitive heart that refuses to feel and respect anybody else but your damn self. you only allow space for your own needs, your desires, your obsessions. guilt, for you is nothing but an idealogy that you create, to feign compassion. you construct your deceit through a play of words, wax lyricals of your empathy, when there were none. you lied. no matter how literature can save your image, paint you into a sensitive reflective soul, your actions exposes the heartless bitch that you are.

i shall be beguiled by you no further.

i hate you.

[confessed, but not reformed]

one of the favourites

the following is a blog entry by someone whom i’ve always secretly admired, but im too bloody low-self esteem to get personal with. i remembered our first interaction left me with a sour taste of offence in my mouth and she exuded some qualities that i would love to hate. but with time, and quiet observation (from a distance, of course)…i’ve realised that, she is the kind of woman that i have always wanted to grow up into. i found her blog. it has been added into my list of ‘Favourites’. hee….shes a girl frm NUS. da graduate i think

We should pause to consider the question of the hijab, and the Muslim institution of the veil. It is often seen in the West as a symbol of male oppression, but in the Qur’an it was simply a piece of protocol that applied only to the Prophet’s wives. Muslim women are required, like men, to dress modestly, but women were not told to veil themselves from view, nor to seclude themselves from men in a separate part of the house. These were later developments and did not become widespread in the Islamic empire until three or four generations after the death of Muhammad. It appears that the custom of veiling and secluding women came into the Muslim world from Persia and Byzantium, where women had long been treated in this way.

In fact the veil or curtain was not designed to degrade Muhammad’s wives but was a symbol of their superior status. After Muhammad’s death, his wives became very powerful people: they were respected authorities on religious matters and were frequently consulted about Muhammad’s practice (sunnah) or opinions. Aisha became extremely political and in 656 led a revolution against Ali, the Fourth Caliph. It seems that later other women became jealous of the status of Muhammad’s wifes and demanded that they should be allowed to wear the veil too. Islamic culture was strongly egalitarian and it seemed incongruous that the Prophet’s wives should be distinguished and honoured in this way. Thus many of the Muslim women who first took the veil saw it as a symbol of power and influence, not as a badge of male oppression. Certainly when the wives of the crusaders saw the respect in which Muslim women were held, they took to wearing the veil in hope of teaching their own menfolk to treat them better.”

Karen Armstrong
Muhammad: A biography of the Prophet</em>

rejuvenation…

its 2.49 am right now. a few seconds ago i heard the start of the delightful sound of rain. when i looked out the window, i was greeted by this dreamy sight.

                       

i dont know why. many people will associate rain with melancholy, sorrow and those feelings that resurface when you are down in the dumps, but i have always loved rain.

everything about rain. how it envelopes that world with a whitish mist, like looking out to the world through frosted glass. i love how rain smells. or how the air smells so heavenly when theres rain. almost like a delectable soup. and the sound of rain. so calming, yet disruptive at the same time. like the whole world with all its dirt and grime, has to stop and accomodate rain. rain makes the ugliest things so beautiful and serene. like the ugly hard tarred road. the road glistens so  bewitchingly after the first few minutes of encounter with the rain. and i love how my heart seemed so light and lifted when i hear rain.

i dont know what triggered this emotional attachment with rain. i now it started in my childhood. this permanent infatuation with rain. im 22 now, and i have gained wonderful memories with rain. those quiet solitude moments in bus rides, watching tiny rivers of rainwater flowing down the windows of the bus. i watched as the rivers of rainwater curved and meandered its way, diverted into branches and joining other rivers, all purposeful in its journey to the ground. where all the water collects and pool. much like life.

and who can forget running in heavy rain. oh how resplendant the human bodies look under the rain with their clothes drenched and clung to their skin. the shine. the coolness. the freshness.

dancing in heavy rain. im lucky to have a few of that in my life. i remember twirling round and round with my hands clasped tightly to a friend’s hand as we danced in the rain. the feeling was blissful and intoxicating at the same time. it beats dancing under the blinking  coloured lights in a club.

i love rain. i love sleeping when the my part of the world is drenched with the blessings of rain. i love that momentary coolness of the earth when rain comes. the world, myself. the rain rejuvenates us.

[ confessed, but not reformed]

the guy who sings by the mrt station

see, i noticed him months ago. but i forgot to pen my thoughts on him. but i found him significant as just one glance of him and what he was doing at that point of time made me stop in my tracks and think, comment, judge and reflect. and i tell you, anything that can do that to me, its quite a feat! its equivalent to making me remember all my friends birthdays! which is almost impossible to happen. so yeah.    

you know there are a lot of buskers all over singapore. and our govt, in an attempt to konon make our country (uniquely singapore) more vibrant, rich with the arts and pseudo-new-asian whatever mumbojumbo term they can coin, they licenced street buskers. now we can differentiate the legal registered buskers from an illegal one (??). oh, so now we can say we feel better cos we put money in their box to people who are legally begging money through their talents. wad a load of crap. ok im sure there are perfectly good reasons why they decide to implement the registration system bt whatever.    

 k what was the main point of this entry? ok mrt guy. see, at Tampines Mrt station there is this old blind guy with a smooth accented voice. he sings amongst the fast clicking and stomping of heels and school shoes of the beribu human beings at Tampines. he plays his guitar, sings in-tune, collects money and go home. its a decent way to live. he HAS  a good voice and he is blind as a bat. he is old, always unshaven but there is a kindness that lights his face. i wish everyday at least a quarter of the people who passed him actually noticed that he is singing. he is pretty good, and listening to him is better than the permanent undistinguishable noise that hangs in the air. Tampines is bloody overpopulated and noisy. you are half deaf by the time you leave the area/estate/dgp (what is the fucking word?). and your clothes will smell of other ppl that you dont wanna smell.    

thing is recently he is not alone. he has stopped singing. he still plays the guitar but the one who took the singing role is a much younger man, a teen in fact. good voice too though not as good as the old man. i reckoned its the son or grandson.     

 can you imagine what he is feeling? what if his friends walk pass? i dont find the job lowly, or maybe i do. but what im sure of it takes guts to busk. and it sure helps if you are freaking blind. no offence to the old man but vision can do major damage to your self esteem. lack of it can do wonders to your confidence. see, this new young guy, he is perfectly sighted. he can see each and every expression on the faces of anyone who looks at him in the eys as he sings and strums his guitar. then, he is going to watch and nod thankfully at anyone who decides to bend down and drop a coin or note in the guitar casing.    

i mean i salute him. as a teen with volatile emotions and high dependence on the comments of your peers, what he is doing (i assumed he is helping the old man), is absolutely amazing and award-deserving. he is overcoming a lot of critics shooting his way. good job dude.   the boyfriend said “kesian seh, muda muda kena buat keje keje camtu.” i wanted to agree, but i swear, he didnt look a bit kesian-ny. in fact, he looked like he is enjoying himself. i mean its an avenue where he can showcase his talent right? but its honourable that he is able to steer from the common perception that ‘begging’ by singing is not something to be embarrased about. in fact there are alot of jobs out there, no matter how manual, that should not be seen as distasteful or insulting (including cleaning ol’ chang kee–> note to self).   

  and i think parents should stop that habit of telling their kids ” study hard. or else you’ll end up a maid or cleaning rubbish, foodstall vendor, road sweeper…its sad cos the mentality is shallow and very judgemental. hmm, its social inequality at work.   well, i hope i remember to take a pic of them busking. and if i have the guts, maybe i’ll bring them tea and have a chat with them. cos i really want to.    

[confessed, but not reformed]     

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