It just fun to write without being interrupted

February 13, 2017

Of coffee and pen

Firstly, thank God, someone borrowed me his laptop and now I have got a lot of things to write. I used to dream of being a writer, specifically, a food and travelling writer not so long ago. But for some reasons, I lost interest on pursuing it. For the past couple of years, I came across few things and people that made me ask myself questions like, "Am I talented enough to be a writer?" To speak precisely, I did not think my English was good enough to qualify myself for this job. I did not think my English was eloquent enough for me to write sentences that can draw readers in. I thought, if I wanted to be a writer, by this time, I should already be able to write grammatically; confidently. 


Yes. That's what my real excuse: English. Good English speaks confidence. And my English is lack of confidence.For a while, I withdrew my intention of being a writer. I told to myself, I overrated my writing skill for no good reason. I was being too ambitious. I wanted to be someone of whom shoes are too big for my average-sized feet to put in.I began to doubt myself about many things. There would be a debate going on in my mind whose motion was, "Writers are born; not trained." Most of the times, I spoke on behalf of the Government - explaining to myself  how I was never born to be a writer. And most of the times, the Me in the Government won and the Me in the Opposition lost.


Recently, I was asked by a few friends of mine about whether I am interested in becoming a writer. They said, a columnist suits me very well. Some convinced me, that my English is reader-friendly to people who know, speak and use simple English. One of them said, I have this unique way of explaining things, which, reminds me of the comment written by my Poetry teacher back in my university life, "I love the way you explain your ideas" on my essay paper on A Rose for Emily's analysis. The other one said, my thoughts are inspiring, I should write and make it as a side income, if not as a full-time career.  And I replied their comments with the same explanation I gave to myself, "My English is not that good."

Last week, I wrote an e-mail to a lecturer of mine, sort of a letter actually. I got a reply from her in which she wrote, "Only God knows the satisfaction and joy when I read my students' letters to me. You write beautifully. I'm so proud of you. I see so much improvement in you when I was reading your letter. Keep it up. Stay strong." I was not anticipating for that kind of reply. All I wanted was for her to know what I've always thought about her. The least I expected, was a thank you reply.Deep down, I felt a spark of hope.

Maybe, I was not born to be a writer. Maybe, I was born to be trained to be one.I look back and try to find what is it that I always have in me. And I realise,  writing essay is something I enjoy doing the most ever since I knew how to hold a pencil. When I was in the secondary school, I was known to be the student who always scored well in Karangan Bahasa Melayu. During Bahasa Melayu test, other students would only write two page maximum for one essay question; but me on the other hand, would write three pages and more, for one essay question. Writing an essay is not just a matter of writing down introduction, thesis statement, points, body paragraph and conclusion. For me, writing an essay is about how we tell readers about ourselves through our words, style of writing and way of explaining without having to specifically tell them that we are this-and-that. 

Our introduction; how we make readers feel welcomed without having to lamely say a hello. Our way of presenting ideas; how we make our elaboration interesting. Our point of view; what vehicle we choose to take readers on to a trip and let them see the world from behind our orbit. 

Our ways of organising points. 

The cohesion. That little details we tend to spend time on: the choice of words, the use of adverbials to convey our degree of certainty on issues we address. The reason behind the subject chosen to be in the initial position in a sentence. Are we a "present-tense fan" or a "past-tense fan." I would say, I am a "present-tense fan." I want my readers to notice this fact, that I'm an appreciative person through my choice of tenses. I like present-tense because I believe it conveys appreciation. It makes facts sound convincing. It gives youth and life to our story, sense of being alive instead of dead. It makes things closer to us as well as to our readers, compared to past tense, which makes things so far away from us; old, outdated and forgotten. This whole thing needs a bit of psychology, discourse analysis and of course, one huge bowl of creativity and ample amount of practice.

And there is a reason why I enjoy writing for Literature more than Linguistics; because Literature allows me to be emphatic. It allows me to embody my emotion in my written words. Unlike Literature, Linguistics requires me to be serious and it even disallows the word 'very' which it sees as a form of exaggeration. Where, exaggeration is linked with emotion, and emotion is an opposite of rationale hence the reason why it is discouraged.

I have always been the person who enjoys writing a letter. Sometimes, I could write four to five paragraphs just to thank people. I value handwritten and snail-mailed letters, postcards and greetings cards more than anything.

And as I go on, I'm beginning to believe that to be a writer is an option worth a shot.

If good English speaks confidence, then improving English speaks determination.
And right now, if someone asks me what I want to be, I would answer, 
"I want to be a writer" 
and soothingly sip the cup of coffee in my hand; smiling.



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February 9, 2017

Anybody...



The one that you mentioned,

it could be anybody.

Her, her, her or her

but most probably

It would not be me.

Because the one that you mentioned,

It could be anybody

and I am


Nobody.

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January 31, 2017

After all

There was this one time I got so afraid of losing you, and there you were, right in front of me, smiling and said, "Oh! Hi. I was just thinking about you." It was during a hot evening, 28 Jan 17, where I was walking home, thinking about you, and you were walking home, thinking about me.
 


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January 13, 2017

Remember childhood, when happiness was only a cookie away?

Sometimes, being childish reminds me how carefree I was back when I was five. Lived life to the fullest with the loudest laugh and widest smile on the planet. Nothing to worry and no one to bother; except myself and my teddies. Playing masak-masak with Fasihah, Nurul, Emy etc (my neighbours): figuring out who would play the daughter, husband and wife, making fake wedding rings with grass, story-telling and compete each other who had the prettiest and most colourful Cinderella story and drawing books. We stole Fasihah’s mother’s teapot to make our milo-made-from-clay and broke our other neighbour's lesung batu and I stole my father’s UHU to glue the pieces back. Gosh!

Walked alone behind the alley to Fardu ‘Ain class when I was four. Being bullied by other children due to age disparity made me a loner in the class. They laughed at me when I failed to spell the word angin and the ustazah locked me outside the class for being late. And how embarrassed I was for being too clumsy that my bag fell into the drain together with the Quran.

The nastiest thing I did during my childhood is… I stole a pair of yellow scissors from the ministore in front of my neighborhood. Detective Donald Flack would have handcuffed me if I were to do that now. My father bought scissors for many times, oh I have lost my Mathematics, and I lost the last scissors my dad bought. So I took the courage to steal a pair of the same scissors with the same colour because I was reaaaally scared my father would get angry with me. I returned it two weeks later; that was right after I found the scissors hidden behind the cupboard. That was my own version of Pink Panther: Pink Panther and the Yellow Scissors. HAHAHA!

Went travelling to Terengganu while my father holding me on his shoulders. I pushed my father to drive early to school every morning because I wanted to buy the drawing block from the co-op: not that I was a six year old Da Vinci but because I was excited with the idea of ordering the papers to a voice from the small box (it’s the prefects on duty) where I got only to see the prefects’ eyes. Budak-budak. Blissful!

How I couldn’t wait for Thursday to come because the teachers usually had meetings and two hours before the bell rang, the whole class would sit together, move our chairs closer and bring the best ghost stories on the table. We were nine, I think. Nor Kartini was the best story-teller until we found out she made up her own stories. That happened two years later, when we’re in standard five. Ishk, ishk.

Now that a lot of things have changed. The last time I read Cinderella story book was 3 years ago when I found the book in the university’s library. How time flies and changes almost everything on its path.

No more teddies and princess in fairytales; but real animate human beings and heart broken love issues. Fake rings are not accepted; but real rings with good carats and dowry. No more ugly step sisters and mother to drive Cinderella to insanity but people to turn us into stretched rubber bands ready to snap. No more how the King wants to save his kingdom from the ugly giant but the history of how Napoleon Bonaparte shaped the European politics in the 19th century. No more how the three fairies want to break the spell and save the Sleeping Beauty from the wicked evil witch but how to break the sentence into its correct morphological tree diagrams. No more how Rapunzel uses his long hair to get her prince charming into the castle but which one of these serves better for our hairs: Loreal Pro Nutri Gloss shampoo or Cairol Herbal Essences. Kids are no longer have the freedom to walk alone behind the alleys as kidnappers are everywhere to make our planet the least safe in the universe.

These are all the reality. I ain’t a kid who pee in her pants at nights anymore but I am…hey, look at me. Still clumsy. My body shapes like a woman, my brain digests nearly a hundred of words per day and my hands work the chores 20 minutes per hour. How I missed to be five but I would love to dance to the current music; not to face the music. Hehe.
 
... And how I miss my father (and how I wish I wanna write more about my father, wait till I have enough free time okay :'), he left when I was 7. al-fatihah
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December 24, 2016

Strong enough



A secret that was told too much
Flew from ear to mouth
They talk about my feelings
They talk about who I am inside
One secret is all they need and
They think they know me oh-so-well
Though none got me right and all got me wrong
Still despite it all, I was stripped naked
I was standing in front of them all
Powerless of saying or doing anything
When all I want to do is cry myself to sleep
They told me to put on a strong face
They told me to fight it
Yes, they were my pick-me-ups; I can’t deny it
When all I want to do is stay, flattened
on the ground and just weep
They told me to put up a brave front
They told me to hold the fort, don’t run
As if what I am doing right now is not brave enough
As if my tears shouldn’t fall or kept as pools in my eyes
When all I want to do is cry myself to scream
Let me grieve and let me weep so I can feel
After all the pain I have hidden
After all the tears I have forgotten
Still they think I am not strong enough

Hey you,
If I was not, you would not be standing here
but near my graveyard stone, you would be standing on dear.
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December 22, 2016

Human

 
“When you see a female dressed in a manner that is unacceptable islamically, do not for a moment think that she is lower than you spiritually. If you do that, you are lower than her. Believe me, that is the teaching of your religion. She might have a link with her creator that you do not know about. She might have a heart that is tons better than yours. She might have one weakness that is outward, and you have 50 weaknesses that are hidden” - Mufti Menk.
_____________________________________________

Jangan.
Yang namanya HAKIM itu hakikatnya hanya Tuhan kerana tiada yang lebih adil selain Dia yang Maha Adil. Belajarlah untuk berbaik sangka walaupun sukarnya seperti meletakkan tangan pada bara. Kita cuba.

Setiap kali terlintas sesuatu yang buruk di fikiran tentang si fulan atau si fulan, cepat- cepat kita istighfar dan berkatalah pada Tuhan "Ya Allah, jauhkan aku dari sangka-sangkaan. Kau tariklah semua rasa buruk sangka ini dan gantikan rasa rendah diri. Beri kami taufik & hidayahMu agar kami boleh sama-sama mengecap syurgaMu"

Orang yang kita hina & benci hari ini boleh jadi lebih mulia di mata Pencipta dan mungkin dia mati dalam keadaan beriman & sempat bertaubat. Kita? Siapa beri jaminan?

Renung-renungkan...
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December 20, 2016

Flirty Friends

Reminiscence of past conversation:
 

"Hi. You doin OK ke?"
"Well, I'd say, separuh OK. sighh..."
"Oh? Well, what can I do to fulfill the other half? wink wink"

Flirty friends.
-They are both a friend and a person who flirts a lot. To me, they are generally harmless. However, these people should not be permitted to just flirt where ever, whenever they want. Fitnah, yes, tend to happen if flirting is done unwisely. So, flirty friends are quite harmful too sometimes. Especially if the activity affects the well-being of the friendship; normally if it causes misunderstandings among non-involved people. To me, the safest way to flirt on the friendly basis is to be done privately, just among the two. It's really unnecessary to flirt in front of everybody since such flirting is understood to be an act of "fooling around" or, I'm-bored-so-lets-flirt. In other words, its purpose is to delight the emotions or, to brush up pick-up lines skills, maybe. Personally, I think it's OK to do this with friends. And I mean, with only single friends that is. Hurmm... but well, somehow, I think when flirting is inevitable, it is also at the same time, pointless. So, why are we doing this, again? idk.
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December 15, 2016

Mt Pulag 13-14 Dec



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