Do you know me? I don't think so...

اَلسَّلَام عَلَيْكُم وَرَحْمَة اللهِ وَبَرَكَا تُهُ

I would write it down if I could.

But I cannot. For no words can capture what I mean to say.

And for that...

Those words remain on the verge of my lips.

And as long as doubt strangles me,

I stay on this path

of silence.

I would tell it if I could.

But I cannot. For no words can capture what I mean to say.

And for that...

These words get pushed further down.

And as long as fear has a hold on me,

I stay rooted

in space.

I would show if I could.

But I will not. For no actions can undo what I've done.

And for that...

You get half-a-broken-man.

And as long as I continue sinking,

I stay my hand

from swimming to the surface.

And let the depths wash over me,

so no one can see the tears,

as I fall back

to the bottom.

-16 Nov 2014-

Eulogy

اَلسَّلَام عَلَيْكُم وَرَحْمَة اللهِ وَبَرَكَا تُهُ

For some reason, one of my dusty pieces of writing was deleted when I clicked 'publish'. It was a good piece too. How unfortunate. Oh well, that is what you get when you don't use a pen. But then again, my paper copies are rarely preserved too. It seems the stuff I write either dies sad and forgotten or deleted by accident. I cannot tell which is worse.

In memory of "That Piece of Writing"

19 February 2014 - 1 May 2015

Miracles Are In The Eyes

Remembered for being an honest and blunt one

RIP

The Path to the Forbidden Gate

اَلسَّلَام عَلَيْكُم وَرَحْمَة اللهِ وَبَرَكَا تُهُ

The night was cold but not unpleasant. A glance to his bare wrist revealed that he had no way of knowing the time. But he knew it was getting late - tomorrow was going to be a big day. And what better time for a detour? So when he was nearly at his door, the boy went straight instead and followed the road until a bend took him left. 

A few paces later, uncertainty crept into his mind. "Should I be doing this?" The roundabout was deathly quiet. In his moments of reflection, two cars sped by from his left: one took a twelve and went on, while the other took the path straight from him - the path he so wanted to go into but dared not. The rear light of the vehicle soon vanished from sight and with it his fears. And so, he crossed the road and let the unlit road swallow him in its darkness.

Of course, it took a while to see afterwards but he kept on walking. The road ahead should be a straight one if memory serves. With one of his senses muted, he was walking blind. But the sounds never left him. Sounds of rubber on gravel constantly reminding him that he was still walking and needed to keep moving. Sounds of keys clinking against one another - his fears had returned now that light has deserted him, spurring his hands to fidget in his pockets. And loudest of all: the music of the night! Winds whistling scary tunes, branches swaying and dancing eerily, leaves rustling and rustling all to the beat of his heart. In all the madness, all he could think of was "There's no turning back". So he pressed on.

***

The field. The lack of stars. The birth of stars. Music ceased. Calmness ensued. Only thing missing: moon. To be replaced by a memory

"Are all your family members Muslim?"

"No, unfortunately it's just me"

Silence.

"It's nearly a year now I reverted to Islam. I started reading a few books, met a Muslim friend and then I came here..."

A second pause, this time longer.

"You know, you're lucky. See, I was born into Islam. I never knew what it entails or what Islam meant. I was showed what to do and I've been doing it since without knowing why. You are lucky. You knew Islam before embracing it. In a way, brother, I too am new. On paper I was always a Muslim. But in reality, you and I are not that different..."

***

What is there to be scared of? We create our own demons. Making peace with the world and the Creator, he left - calmer than before. Still surrounded by darkness but a different kind. One that beckons to be discovered. Guided by two rabbits, trusting the animals' eyes more than his own to avoid hidden hazards. Past dark windows of abandoned halls. into the light of the world of the living. Grateful to be back. Even more to finally be friends with the night. The very night in the items of horror movies. The very night humankind tries to keep at bay. The exact same night chained by forbidden gates. Gates that we put in place to protect ourselves and our children when in truth the ones that needed to be chained most are within us.

-written approximately a year ago-

The shadow of everyday life

اَلسَّلَام عَلَيْكُم وَرَحْمَة اللهِ وَبَرَكَا تُهُ

I am a living embodiment of contradictions. 

I treasure books but I don't read. 

I know time's precious but I often waste it.

I love flowers and greenery but I don't do my part to save it.

I expect trust but I do not give it freely.

I value freedom but I shove myself into a prison.

I hear but I do not listen.

I hear but I do not heed.

I see but I do not believe.

I believe but I lack faith.

I smile but only rarely.

I laugh but only on the outside.

Inside, I cry and weep.

I give with the notion of taking.

I build so that I can one day break.

I say but I rarely do.

I talk but I rarely speak.

I wonder but I do not think.

I yearn for the sun but stay in the shade.

I care but only for myself.

I am man.

And that is (some of) my shadow sides.

-16/4/14-

Source.

Stars 2.0

اَلسَّلَام عَلَيْكُم وَرَحْمَة اللهِ وَبَرَكَا تُهُ

It has been nearly a year. Yes, one year. Just yesterday, we were newcomers in this land. Strangers then. Strangers still. But familiar strangers now. Is that a good thing? I'm not so sure it is...

So how's it been since that first landing, first face, first place? One thing's for sure, we are not who we used to be. I am not me. For I have learnt much from this alien land. "At least, I hope so." One can only wonder what travelling does to one's mind, one's outlook and one's self. As always, I wish I can document the changes that occur within and around me from day to day, sun to sun (not that we get much sun here) and moon to moon (God, I miss my night walks).

Speaking of those walks, I sort of wish there were more stars in the sky. For one reason or another, the stars have been disappearing bit by bit every night. Whether purely by chance or not, I can't be certain. But it does point out a major weakness of the human race: no matter how much progress we make, we still can't alter the grand designs of the world we live in. If He chose to put out all the stars in the heavens above, who can stop Him?

And if He chose to put out the dim lights on the Earth that represent our lives, who can intervene? 

(written: a few weeks ago)

Shelves

اَلسَّلَام عَلَيْكُم وَرَحْمَة اللهِ وَبَرَكَا تُهُ

Before we begin, may I ask you a question? Make that two. How do you imagine yourself to be?

Do you think of yourself as an outstandingly average person? Are you a writer? A musician? An amazingly good friend? A cruel person? A heartless? An introvert? Just another person to be forgotten by time's flow? A leader? A follower? A student? A gamer? A man? A woman? A nerd?

Sorry, but that looks to be more than two questions, I know... But seriously, "How do you see yourself?"

Often we define other people (sometimes effortlessly) as we go about our daily lives. "You know that Asian boy from D-block?" or "...that lazy guy in our Management Accounting lecture..." or even "the very quiet Malaysian who eats a lot" (Yes, all of that refer to myself).

It doesn't really matter what you call it: descriptions, prejudice, presumptions, labels. They all point to a single thing which is an image of a person/object/event. They all mould and shape our understanding of that person/object/event. For now, let us keep the object of our discussion limited to people, shall we?

Yes, it is too easy for us to describe others. But when it comes to defining and describing ourselves, we often place a very distorted picture of ourselves and present that instead of the truth. I can only wonder why... Is it because we say things that we wish for ourselves? Are we dangerously biased whenever we start to examine ourselves under a microscope? What explanations can there be to this baffling phenomenon?

These and many other questions visited me tonight. At first it seems easy to come up with an answer. After all, who would know me better than myself, right? Surprisingly, I can't even begin to answer the first and most fundamental question of "Who am I?"

I have a fairly vague idea of what I look like, how I carry myself. I know my preferences in certain matters. I have twenty years of experience living with myself (no breaks, no holidays!) to help me create a self-image that would closely resemble my entire being. I have laughed and cried, gone through highs and lows with myself. So naturally it should be a cakewalk.

Ironically, it is the very intimacy with myself that prevents me from having a solid grasp on my own image. It is those very information that I've gleaned to add clarity that clouds my vision of myself. I think I'm a good enough guy but then I've done certain bad things in life. So am I good or bad? I help people quite a lot. Then I remember the many times I saw a person in need and walked away blind, knowing that it was within my ability to help. And this process repeated itself for EVERY single aspect of my life.

Frustrated? You bet! :/ This then begs another question: if everyone knows what I know of myself, how would that change the way they think of me? Not so highly I would assume.

(Written: last year)

A promise I plan to keep

اَلسَّلَام عَلَيْكُم وَرَحْمَة اللهِ وَبَرَكَا تُهُ

I have a confession to make: I have been writing many things but I have not shared them with anyone. Some lie on forgotten pages. Some locked in the web, unpublished. Even more dead before they got life.

All written. More honest than the last. Too honest to be liked. Too frank to be read.

So here's a deal:

I plan to let go. One at a time. Soon.

I promise.

Stones

اَلسَّلَامُ عَلَيْكُمْ وَرَحْمَةُ اللهِ وَبَرَكَا تُهُ

We go to bed every night leaving this world. Leaving it as if our coming back here is certain. With unfinished work strewn across our desk. "Tomorrow," we assure ourselves. As if our words carry much weight. As if we have control over anything. As if we control everything.

What would happen then if you did not return? Who would finish what you started yet never had the guts to finish? Who would pick up the pieces of your sorry life? Who in the world will carry you away? You and your duties, obligations, responsibilities.

Or would you rot in that bed. Forgotten. A missing piece no one misses, another stone in a sea of rubble. And I wonder...what would I find if I cleave that stone in two? A jewel? Probably not. Most likely this: a blackened core.

Of Home, Flying Creatures and White Things I

اَلسَّلَامُ عَلَيْكُمْ وَرَحْمَةُ اللهِ وَبَرَكَا تُهُ

Now, imagine a scene. A dreamy world where time is a myth and space is unlimited. In this universe, at the centre of it all: a boy. Not too young, nor too old. Judging by his long, messy hair and out of fashion clothes, you can almost tell at first glance that he's from a different world. Almost. Because somehow...he looks most at home in his outward contrast.

Enough about the boy.

Now, imagine another scene. This time of a line a people whose age, colour,and appearance are blurred. Again we see the boy. How he got there, God knows. The scene just shifted and the boy came with it. These people were playing a game it seems. You probably can tell if you saw the laughters and heard their smiles. Yes, you heard me right. See. Laughter. Hear. Smiles.

A side story: this world is not normal. In fact, it is everything but normal. Here, you see sounds and you can hear what you see. Confused? Don't worry, I can tell you're not from around here. I won't tell *a wink and a smile*. But you have to do as the boy does - act natural. While we're trading secrets, why not I let you in on one? I'm not of this world too. You see, me and you, we're more similar than you think. Oh, and did you like the sound of my smile just now? Come let's join in their game!

Shall I explain the rules of this game? Do you hear that swishing sound coming and going past your ears? See, the idea is that you have to catch that thing as it flies past the line of people. That thing - that creature - will weave its way through all of us from that boy at the front, past all the blurry masses of people, to me and finally to you. If no one manages to capture it, the thing will make a gigantic loop over us all and start over. Whoever catches it first wins and gets to keep it. What's the point of this game? Well, that is for you to decide, child - no one knows what that creature is. Sometimes, it's just trash. Other times it's really valuable stuff. The fun is in not knowing what you'll get. Get ready, cause here it comes!

And so began the game. For us, at least. The rest of the line has been at it for ages. "Zoom and whoosh! Zoom and whoosh!" it went. Twice it slipped through my fingers. Want to know another secret? *Zoom and whoosh!* It swerved at the last minute to avoid my outstretched arms. When people tell you they've gotten used to.. *Zoom and whoosh!* Too slow..their sights and sounds reversed...never believe them. *Zoom and whoosh!* You'll never get used to it. They're lying. *Zoom and whoosh!* Another miss. That's why no one can win this game from learning the rules. *Zoom and whoosh!* You need luck. And I have none, kid. Let's hope you do eh? *Zoom and whip!*

Silence. Then despair as the line discover their loss. Well, what do you know? That boy is not bad at all. Not bad at all... Coming here and making it look like he's been here all his life. But I'm happy for him, aren't you? Come have a sit with me, kid. We'll just wait for the next game to start. Mind you, though, it could be a long wait. So better make yourself comfortable. Now, why don't you tell me how you got here? It's been a long time since I've met another person from my previous place. Do tell me what's happened to our world since I left it all these years? I'm itching for news... and home. Mostly home. But news of home won't hurt either...

Before you get started though, do you want to know the name of that tiny creature there? We call it Opportunity. Now, on with your story, kid!

When a name is just another name

اَلسَّلَامُ عَلَيْكُمْ وَرَحْمَةُ اللهِ وَبَرَكَا تُهُ

Names.

First came you, then came your name.

Letters pieced together to hold a meaning.

Syllables representing your entire being,

chosen with great love, care and hope;

hope of one day seeing:

the person, that name, one day becoming

a light, a gift, and joy unending.

But when tyrants walk this Earth unopposed,

killing, massacring, slaughtering

tainting this Land with blood, black and dried,

the light, the gift, the life once bright

turns ever so dim.

A mother becomes naught but faint.

A dad becomes naught but saint,

and humanity feels nothing except pain.

For when the lives we built become yet another game,

a name becomes just that - another name.