Good Times Never Seem So Good!

I was fucked up royally. Things looked bleak. Around me winds were howling like ravenous wolves. My inappropriate semi-formal shoes were lost underneath the virgin snow. My wet hair was frozen in a matter of seconds after going out into the cold.

This is what I did. I sang this song:

Sweet Caroline

Where it began,

I can't begin to knowin',

But then I know it's growing strong.

Was in the spring,

And spring became a summer,

Who'd have believed you'd come along?

Hand, 

Touchin' hands,

Reaching out,

Touchin' me,

Touchin' you

Sweet Caroline,

Good times never seem so good!

I've been inclined,

To believe they never would,

But now I...

Look at the night,

And it don't seem so lonely,

We fill it up with only two.

And when I hurt,

Hurtin' runs off my shoulders,

How can I hurt when I'm with you?

Warm,

Touching warm,

Reaching out,

Touchin' me,

Touchin' you!

Sweet Caroline,

Good times never seem so good!

I've been inclined,

To believe they never would,

Oh no, no, no...

Sweet Caroline,

Good times never seem so good!

Sweet Caroline,

I believed they never could...

Sweet Caroline... 

And just because I am in a Glee obsession now, I'll add this video:

Wise Man of the Mountain moment #324

Why is it that you are more susceptible to art, whether creating them or appreciating them, when you are emotionally unstable or physically spent?

Don't trust me? Try writing when you're mad. Try watching a musical performance when every fiber in your body wants nothing to do but recuperate. Feel that buzz of awe go through you. Feel your heartbeat as you pour your emotion into your creation.

Yes, I am wise.

An Open Letter to Religious People

Dear religious people,

Stop it. It's annoying and creepy. I mean, love Jesus/Ahura Mazda/Jah Rastafari all you want, man, but you don't need to flaunt it. You look fake. You look like you're trying to convince yourself. It snowed today, thank you Allah? Tell that to the homeless. Nobody realized I farted in the lift just now, Jesus really shone his light on me today? Tell that to the guy they blamed it on. It IS up to you to believe that Jesus favored you, that's why your gaseous assassin wasn't pinned on you but come on, don't tell everyone you meet that! Stop trying to put God in every conversation. He's capable of doing that, thank you very much. This is taking thy Lord's name in vain, believe me.

Sincerely,
Johan Going-to-Hell Ariff.

Letter to the Fucking Racists

We had an Election for the MSA a few days ago.

A non-Malay was chosen as the president, and rightly so for he is the best man for the job.

So, we Malays received an sms roughly saying, "How can a Muslim turn your back on your Muslim brother? How can you vote for a non-Muslim?"

Here's my reply:

Dear Fucking Racists,
We chose solely on the basis of competence. We are of the opinion that our Muslim brother is not as competent as our non-Malay brother.
If we have the choice between Yasser Arafat and Gandhi to fight for our independence, we'd choose Gandhi. If we have to choose between Mahathir Mohammed and the Thai King to speak out against America, we'll choose Mahathir. Not because Mahathir's a Muslim. It's because he's competent in this.
So, Mr. Racists, you can go fuck yourselves upside down and all around.
With much love,
Johan Ariff bin Juhari.

Degrees

A friend is a person who has one or more same interest with you.
A good friend is a person who feigns interest in your interests.
A great friend is a person who tries to have an interest in your interests.

Oh and Volgogradians telah membuat Undian Paling Bijak, indeed. First step of world domination: check!

Johan Ariff bin Juhari: Undian Paling Bijak

Tomorrow's election day for the local Malaysian Students' Association. [MSA]

I'm running for the post Media Director.

I misunderstood that I had to write a manifesto but was corrected by the EC members. Thank god, I don't know what the hell is a manifesto. I thought it was one of those, "membangunkan pelajar-pelajar Malaysia di bumi Volgograd" thing but honestly, if I ever say that, that's a load of bullcrap. Sorry Maher. Haha.

Formally, the job is "to manage MSA blog and spread any info about activites of the organisation". In layman's term, that means the guy voted to be the director has to go around town spreading the latest news and gossips released by the MSA. See, why I'd be perfect for the job?

If you don't know me that well enough, well, let me tell you, then:

Free Will, Predetermination and Foreknowledge

It's 1am.

Theology disturbs me.

If one has Free Will, one sets the future for oneself.

If Predetermination exists, one's future is already set long before one could choose.

The fundamental flaw in religions, some might say, for Free Will and Predetermination cannot exist together. No matter what traditional religious teachers tell you, one concept is always stronger than the other.



I believe I took a third stand on the matter.

I don't believe in Predetermination but rather Divine Foreknowledge. Might sound the same but my interpretation is different.

Predetermination means everything that will happen has been set: when one blinks, when a butterfly flaps its wings, where would the sun be when a speck of dust finally touches down.

Foreknowledge, on the other hand, according to me, means Knowledge of the consequence of every action: what will happen if one kills a man or save his life, the knowledge of the different futures if one starts his day with his right foot and then later chose to give his seat to an old woman, rather than starting with his left foot and giving his seat or starting with his left foot and not giving up his seat or starting with his right foot but not giving up his space.

To me, Foreknowledge is more compatible with Free Will compared to Predetermination. Predetermination and Free Will generate the answers, "I am not wise enough to explain." and/or, "Only God knows/Because God wills it so."

The Foreknowledge and Free Will combo churns out, "Well, why do YOU watch teledramas, then?"

Vague

We didn't do something we usually do this time. I fear bad times are coming upon us, nay, swooping down upon us. And as Alistair said, swooping... is... bad....

It's early morning. You're sitting in the bus. There are two white lines falling so carelessly from your ears for the band that's playing inside your head. It's early morning. People are talking, trading facts sworn to secrecy. It's early morning. You're in a bus. You can't fall asleep, you'll miss your stop. You're bored. It's early morning.

This is what I do.

You can't read lips. It's one of those things you've always wanted to learn but did nothing about. What you can see, with the class act performing between your ears, is their mouths shutting and opening like goldfish in a bowl.

This is what I imagine.

You put the lyrics of the song you're listening to into their mouth.



Go on.

Try it.

What you get is an old man saying lovingly to his dear wife, "Mama, we're all gonna die! Mama, we're meant for the flies! Stop asking me questions I hate to see you cry. Mama, we're all gonna die!"

See the lady conductor arguing with a commuter in Bob Tutupoly's voice, "Hello dear, what can I do for you?"
And the burly commuter, replying through his nose, "Will you go and swing along tonight?"

The boy looking at the general direction of a girl and this song plays, "I can't live.... If living is without you..." and instantly that blank look seems to be a longing of a desperate heart.

This doesn't enrich your soul or anything. It's just good ol' clean fun.

So What If My Shoes Are Made in Gombak?

Apa salahnya pakai kasut Gombak?

Those, who are too young to remember this ad, has nothing at all in common with me.

So what if I still feel the inspired every time I rewatch Dead Poets' Society?

And so what if Cake's Italian Leather Sofa makes me giggle during the chorus?

And so what if Spider Jerusalem fires up my journalistic meatgun?

Like my father said, follow people la, people's life [Ikut orang la, hidup orang]

Wise man, my father.

Politics

Oh, how we dance
how we laugh spuriously
beneath the Bella Luna
and the smug stars

Oh how we know
the hiding places
and the hidden things
how we turn our eyes blind

Dance, my love, dance
For 'tis a lethal move we make
A honeyed word cure all ails
A bare thrust ends all life

Oh how we dance
Oh how we laugh
Oh how we cry
Oh how we die

Oh how we danced!

I need a break

I'm stressed, depressed, possessed.

Screw you, I hate you.

This Place is So Dead.

The only Zombie movie that I thoroughly enjoy. From the beginning to the end. It didn't fall to the classic falls of comedies and horror films. No in depth explanation of how a virus created by some evil corporation affect the central nervous system and so on. No "and they live happily ever after..." or "...and unbeknownst to them..." ending. Oh and god, there's no messiah storyline either.

I get very irritated with the whole one man can change the future notion. And talking about messiahs, I get irritated with ThankYouJesusForMakingMeChangeMyDiapers Facebook status updates. They almost irritate me as much as InsafInsafLahJohan speeches. Yes, we get that you love Jesus very much but we don't care really if you're under His wings or up His nostrils or between His toes, now, do we? Why did I ever added them to my Facebook? And how about those friends who are dear to you but takes EVERY SINGLE quiz and post EVERY SINGLE results? My God, Facebook is contributing to my daily stress intake.



Back to the movie. Nerd dude, aptly so - doesn't overdo nor underplay the nerddom, is one of the last people in America who's not a zombie. Travels towards his home, met redneck dude, travel around and meet up two girls. There's no real storyline, really. Just a theme: Survive a post-apocalyptic zombie world.



Woody Harrelson and Jesse Eisenberg are great as their characters. I mean, who can still look like a bad ass while holding a banjo? The girls less so but still enjoyable. And the movie is filled with great quotes.

I mean:

"The fatties were the first to go."

"I'm not easy to get along with and I'm sensing that you're a bit of a bitch."

Or my personal favourite:

"Are you some type of cock blocking robot developed in some secret fucking government lab?"

Kudos, script writers.

In short, go watch this movie. Even if you hate zombie movies like I do. ESPECIALLY if you hate zombie movies like I do.

You Know How I Feel

It's been a while since I posted a song to sing-a-long to. I was torn between signore Bublé's and Miss Simone's. In the end, I had to lean towards the Italian Canadian because I've been in a brassy mood for the past few weeks.

Muse's version receives an honorary WTF?!?!?! from me.



Birds flying high
You know how I feel
Sun in the sky
You know how I feel
Reeds driftin' on by
You know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me
And I'm feeling good

Fish in the sea
You know how I feel
River running free
You know how I feel
Blossom in the tree
You know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me
And I'm feeling good

Dragonfly out in the sun you know what I mean, don't you know
Butterflies all havin' fun you know what I mean
Sleep in peace when the day is done, that's what I mean
And this old world is a new world
And a bold world
For me
Fooor me

Stars when you shine
You know how I feel
Scent of the pine
You know how I feel
Yeah freedom is mine
And I know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
hu
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life

It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
It's a new life
For me

And I'm feeling good

Peer Bloody Pressure

I'm waiting for Old Yeller to finish torrenting, so I'll crap a bit here.

You know what bugs me? Peer Pressure.

Peer Pressure bugs me to no end. And the worst kind of Peer Pressure is when the Peers succeed in Pressuring you until you don't even realize that it was Peer Pressure.



I was at the Malaysian students' Raya celebration thingy just now. There was a rather friendly girl, newly arrived, still laughing out loud, still retorting to my comments. Somebody you'd like to be friends with, in short.

Then a friend asked me whether I noticed the free-haired girl, that is to say, the Malay girl not wearing a tudung/hijab.

I told him I hate that term, free-hair, but yes, I did notice her.

He then proceeded to say that it's a pity that the girl's going to be brainwashed into one of them.

And I couldn't agree with him more.

Someone I would have once described as a friend turned from a rather bubbly free-hair, unafraid of making jokes and hanging out in a guy's room into a one-syllable freak who's always smiling insincerely at everything and, of course, the free-hair had to go.

Now, some might say this is an improvement. I would argue that point. If the girl herself took the initiative to go down that path, I'd say, "You go, girl!". But the problem in case is that it's damn obvious that it's peer pressure.

Thank you, peer pressure. You made me lost a friend.

Mah Mama Tole Me... or Kawan-kawan Melayu Aku

Mom actually told me once to be friends with budak jahat; you know, those who play hooky, smoke, untuck their school shirt - remember that it was a great act of rebellion back in the day - and do generally unpleasant things for atttention/love/to look cool.

Well, kalau tak kawan dengan budak jahat, sapa nak kawan ngan budak jahat? Kesian budak jahat.

When one reaches late-teenhood/young-adulthood, in any remotely religious community, the term bad people would be almost synonymous with sinners. Well, at least among certain people I grew up with, the terms are similar in meaning.

I like being friends with budak jahat/sinners. You know, those Malays who drink, get laid, party like, as the Orsons say, there's no tomorrow, get stoned and do other socially unacceptable acts in the Malay ideology.



Generally, I find them more sociable. They aren't judgmental, they're mostly friendly, they're usually entertaining.

And generally, I find them more god-fearing than your average bible/quran-thumpers. They have that sense of guilt doing things they consider as sinful. The budak baiks just sin and don't realize they're doing it.

I sadly don't fall in both categories, neither the fun guilt-ridden budak jahats, nor the sure self-righteous budak baiks. It's no fun being in the middle, the budak jahats don't want to corrupt you but the budak baiks condemn you.

I have very few outright budak baik friends, mostly because I avoid them like the plague and vice versa. I have a lot of self-denying budak baik friends, who, credit where credit's due, try their hardest to tear themselves from the vices of the budak baiks. Very few of my friends are on the moral neutral ground like me and much fewer than I prefer are those who fall in the budak jahat category. I do have one or two budak baik friends who are not judgmental but they're anomalies.

My budak jahat acquaintances need to stop worrying that they'll corrupt me.

But then again, me separating people into the budak jahat/budak baik categories is pretty damn budak baik of me, isn't it?



Damn.

Winter Depression: the Theatrical Trailer

A friend of mine posted this piece of crêpe:

"Remember when you first fully understand and appreciate the meaning of Hari Raya? You wanted to be the first to arrive at the mosque, you wanted to takbir the loudest, you wanted to collect the most duit raya, you wanted to visit as many house as you could. But now, when you've grown up, what was special has now become a routinised ritual, which in turn becomes something ordinary.

I think 4 years spending Raya overseas has killed my joy for Raya. I am now officially the Scrooge of Raya."

Damn him and his insightful, albeit bleak, observation.

Raya in Kelantan has always been a joyful occasion for me. What with the ketupat making and the bunga api playing and the duit raya getting...

Now, after 6 years of idealizing Raya in Kelantan, there's a nagging voice at the back of my head saying that Raya in Kelantan sucks now.

I've never gotten along all that well with my fathers' side. Plus, forget the fact that I've not met some cousins for the last 6 years and judging from photos, I wouldn't recognize them if I met them on the streets, I get new relatives EVERY year, that, honestly, I'm not sure how many of them there are. My mom's side's, my preferred side's in shambles after my grandma passed away. Petty squabbles over childish things.

What is there to look forward to every Raya nowadays, then? Stranger-cousins or being utterly alone in a huge house?



Yesterday, I was talking to Pervoner and had to admit the bitter truth that people do change. Subtly, but surely. And 6 years in Russia, I missed out on the important parts. It's like I know Windows through XP but now with Vista, the little differences confuse me and I wish I could have XP again. Yes, I'm a geek.

It doesn't help that there're very few people, almost none, here that I could and want to hang out with if we have the time. There's something about Subang that makes us different, methinks. I'm not saying that Subang kids better than the rest of you, no, but different takes on the same issues make a very stressful conversation.

The saddest of cases is when we grow apart, despite all the hard work we did to maintain the relationship.



So, I propose that we raise our proverbial glasses in toast for friendships lost and idealization of the past. Che-fucken'-ers.

Randomness

The real reason I post random thoughts entries is because I'm having a meracau-ADD-like state of mind that I can't elaborate on things I want to say. So, as they say in the earliest of books, hey-ho let's go:

• In the beginning was the Word. Rhythm came soon after.

• Eloping, in my opinion, is a vain attempt at cheating God. So is bashing people's head in with maces and clubs.
  

• Pigs are as sacred to me as every other living beings, and I'm a Muslim.

• I start to remember why I skip our weekly yum cha in favor of Survivor

• I just watched Sepet for the first time.

• One of the main reasons Malaysian movies don't sell themselves, in my honest opinion, is that the dialogues sound so artificial that it's laughable. Something like Obsessed.

• I started to realize how big a loss Yasmin Ahmad is.

• I don't ge why people get so miffed when I said I like that khunsa/hermaphrodite but they don't bat an eyelid when I say I hate that guy/girl.
  

• I really feel the urge to start to pray. And no, not because nanti banyak dosa masuk neraka. Fuck dosa, fuck pahala, fuck syurga, fuck neraka. The only reason I write this here is so that I am forced to act rather than procrastinate, though I do that so well.

• I think too much of myself. I am usually right, though.

• I have to change some things, be it the position of my bed or the style of my clothes, in my life so often that I'm fairly convinced it's pathological.
  

• I'd like to post a post one day in pure conversational malay that doesn't sound awkward.

• This is a random picture.

• I think that's enough for now.
  

Obligatory Raya Post

It's Raya. I'm Malay. Therefore, by the unwritten law which governs us all, I have to write something about Raya, or at least its spirit.

...
...
...

As you can see the bloody Block is still around. So, I'm gonna just type this out as I think. Get ready for a trip into a Fuzzy mind. Jeng jeng jeng!

...
...
...

Yes, the jeng jeng jeng is rather cliche.

Raya, raya... Duh, of course, Family. Family equals to relationship. Relationship equals to people asking me when I'm getting a partner. For two years I've been using the term Aseksual. Today, I've unwittingly discovered a new phrase that I can use. Takde nafsu. Yes, cry your hearts out, ladies, Monsieur Johan takde nafsu. Stop trying to matchmake, ye nosy basterds. Yes, with an e.


Here's a raya giraffe for you.


Raya also means forgiveness. Reconciliation. How I wish certain people would just forget the petty squabbles and realize that there are more to life than those tiny stupid things. Make my future Raya fun, people. The world revolves around me, why isn't it doing the things I want to do? Bloody world.

Dr Mufti Perlis, who isn't the mufti anymore but still, that's how I'm gonna refer to him because I can't remember his name, wrote a nice article on how people should focus on the bright side of Raya instead of the sad part. I'll do that once Raya is a happy event again.

But because Dr Mufti Perlis said that, I'm gonna end this post in a less bitter note.

...
...
...

Uh
...
...
...

Sugar.

I want to write.

No, that's not entirely true.

I don't want to write. I NEED to write. My scribal meat gun is jonesing for some action.

Bloody writers' block.

Four, Five

I find it extremely ironic that the person I tried to cut off last year turned out to be one of the people I trust most.

Doubly ironic, even, because the person I tried my best to keep in touch with turned out to be quite the disappointment.

Judge not a book by its cover? Judge not a book by its first few chapters, I think.

Vow

One of the earliest vows that I've ever made was this:

I shall contribute something big to the world or else become a supervillain.



Well, there were other vows and pledges before that one. How I'd stop talking to my sisters or my father because I didn't get what I wanted. How I'd run away from home the next time Mom would scold me. But these were petty promises that were forgotten almost as soon as they are made.

The being a hero or a supervillain thing I made with such conviction that the same feelings stir in me in recalling as it did when I first made that vow. It had, and maybe has, weight.

I was a rather morbid child.

I remember sitting in the gray armchair in my grandfather's living room, planning to wear all black and get a hunch in my posture and have a bleak outlook on life when I grow up because evil scheming goths seemed cool to me back then.

More than a few times when I cried back then, whether from being denied of treats or scolded for something that was not my fault, I wished that I'd die just to see the regret on their faces.

There was no incident that preceded the vow, though. In hindsight, that's probably what made it memorable. It was the first time that I had an Original Thought. I remember that I was mulling over the thought over and over before deciding that I will contribute something big or become a supervillain. The promise was definitely made before I was 9, hell, maybe even before I became a schoolboy.

It was not until mere minutes earlier when I was finishing Tuesdays with Morrie that I realized the reason why I made that pledge.

I was, and am, afraid that after I die, nobody would remember me.

Not such a childish thought, isn't it, aspiring to be a supervillain?

Windy Long-winding Windbag

I talk a lot.



No, seriously, a lot. I can see how some of you would roll your eyes and say, "Oh, I talk a lot too."

Sometimes, on our many trips back to Kelantan, I'd talk to my dad from the moment we leave Subang until we reach our destination. And this was back when such trips would take around 8 hours.

The only person I know who talks more than me would be Ms Aimi Syazana, who would silent Rory Gilmore with awe.

Some of the people I know would sometimes ejaculate, "GET TO THE POINT!" in the middle of narration.



One - that is very rude.

Two - Consider this:

GTTP version:
This morning I stumbled and fell when I was walking up the stairs.

Johan Ultimately and Infinitely Superior Version:
Eh, you know what happened or not? Walao weh. Damn bad luck one. This morning ah I was at the university la. I got Russian class. So, you know la the stairs at the university how, break here break there. I also bloody clumsy one what. To make matters worse, I woke up late this morning. Serious bad luck la. So, obviously I was running up the bloody stairs la. Thank god no one was around also. Ya la, so early where got people in uni what. If got also, near russian department there only innostranni students what. Who gives a damn about them ma. Anyway, on that last flight of stairs, I don't know what god I pissed off this morning la, got one part the stone loose one. Seriously la, I HAD to step on that bloody one. Jatuh lor... Hit my bloody knee, damn painful. I thought break my kneecap already or something. Seriously damn pain one. Nasib baik it's the 2nd or 3rd step only. Ma hai bad luck macam sial, man. Seriousla. Pay so much to this uni for what. To renovate bloody petrov's office only. The hell la...

[ramble continues onto how the university should allocate more funding to the betterment of the main building]

Come on, be honest. Which one do you prefer?

P.S. After reading that wall of text, I have to reward you guys with something, right? I wanted to post a picture of a cute girl but then I remembered that most of my readers are of the female kind and the only guy I know who actually reads this rather regularly can appreciate beauty in all its form, regardless of gender. So, enjoy.

Because... Just Because.

Say

There are some things you say to your family but not to your friends.

There are some things you say to your friends but not to your family.

There are some things you say to your worst enemies and you don't say to no one else.

There are some things you don't even say to your worst enemies.



The simplest set of rules ever but why can't people follow them?

Air Asia

You know, Tony my dear, you should have changed your motto from the fake and cliche sounding 'Now Everyone Can Fly' to 'All Hope Abandon Ye Who Enter In'.

Seriously, take every single stewardess/airline personnel that you know and formed during your pleasant time with MAS and find the antonym to every single detail. That's your typical AA crew.

1. Stewardesses have to be pretty and attractive. While this is a discrimination to fugly people and really has no bearing to me, AA's personnel are usually fat, ugly and thickly made up. But again, it's not a real point but that's the first image conjured when one mentions stewardesses.

2. Airline crews are polite and good mannered. THIS is the thing that ticks me off as a passenger on AA. They are brash, angry, scold the passenger. Hell, they were calling for a late passenger and the announcer was so angry that she muddled up English and Malay. She actually began shouting with "Attention, ladies and gentlemen..." and ended with "...ke kaunter lima belas." And this, into the mic that went to the whole damn terminal.

3. Stewardesses are sluts. This is a bad, bad stereotype but hey, it's there. And I don't know whether that's true or not for AA stewardesses. Hell, with point #1, I DON'T want to know.

4. Airline crews are always smiling. Take one ride on AA and I dare you to have this perception.

5. Airline crews work like clockwork automatons. Yes, that's why the engineer checked on our wings and engines while passengers were for boarding rather than way before. If there was something wrong, the passengers would hear the orders barked into the mic and they would happily exit the aircraft in a calm and orderly fashion.

Bah! I have to go to Bandung now. Wait, I WANT to go to Bandung, wtf. 

Behave while I'm gone.

Strange

I saw this facebook status update: Kiss the baby sky.

Apparently it's a song but seeing that particular phrase puts this strange little ditty in my head:

Kiss the baby sky
Let your worries fly
Kiss and say goodbye
Kiss and never try

I don't know why but I feel like I have to share it but it's my blog, so, suck it.

Too Much

I think I'm one of the very few in the world that has been described as valuing friendship too much.

In a bad way

And I agree with that description

I'm rather obsessed with friendship

Addicted

I think I should stop now

Cold turkey?

If Life Ever Gives You Lemons

Sell 'em and buy drugs for babies.

Johan Ariff bin Juhari hopes his current depression bout ends soon.

That's what she said.

Caution: Wall of Ranting Text Ahead

I don't know whether it's the coming solar eclipse or just the misalignment of Jupiter and Mars tonight but I'm just depressed. At 1.30am in the morning. With an 8 am appointment with some old friends. The latest post of my current favorite blogger also shows that she's depressed. So, maybe it's the celestial factor affecting us thus.

I have issues. Like ISSUES. Maybe I think I'm too important and the world revolves around me but I feel guilty about things I know I shouldn't.

And I bloody well can't express it to no one. Not even on this blog. ESPECIALLY not on this blog. Some of my closer friends, friends who I'd trust my life to without the shadow of a doubt read this blog. But I can't tell any of them. They know too much about me and the people around me that it'd affect the way they think about these people. I can't take that guilt too.

The only person I feel like I could talk to is a new good friend. I'm rather distrustful and some of my older friends, who I've known for up to 20 or more years, have not earned my trust yet, though they've proven to be true friends. I just have trust issues. But this person, who I've known for maybe a bit more than a couple of months, I trust very much, maybe even completely, that it scares me. It truly, really, creepily scares me.

This person is practically 100% detached from my personal life, my friends, my family, though the person fancies otherwise. The person is practically a stranger that I trust. What better person to pour your heart to, eh?

The last time I felt so trusting about someone so fast, though not THIS fast, I, for my part, destroyed that relationship through by being clingy. I'm not too self-centered to say that there's no other factors. Both sides, I think, are equally to blame and my mistake was being to clingy. Not a day goes by with me not regretting being clingy but at the same time, I think I regret more not getting out of that before I started to get real clingy. This is one of those 'Regrets I have a few, but then again too few to mention.' Franky, baby, I feel you, man.

That went to shit.

And I fear I'd do the same mistake with this trusted stranger.

Maybe my friends and family are right. I need a girlfriend. Not to love, not to adore, not to celebrate, God, no. As I've said countless times, it's not my mating season yet. No, I need a girlfriend to bitch about everything. Eh Ver Ree Thing.

Words hurt

It doesn't matter if you know the person for five minutes or five decades, the simple fact is that words hurt.



Words hurt.

Their blows are harder than the greatest hammers, sharper than the keenest swords, more penetrating than the stealthiest stilettos.

Tact is apparently deader than Nietzsche's God.

Modifications

I don't know why but I feel my chest swelling up with emotions. What kind of emotions? I can't even tell you what for I myself don't know. I just know that it's my muse pushing to get free.

O Calliope! Immortalize thy words!
O Melpomene! Pour forth thy tears!

I have quotes lying around that I don't quite agree with and I feel that I have to change them. I respect your intellectual rights but I just feel like pasting Paris Hilton's face on the Mona Lisa right now. I feel like carving a big why-so-serious grin on Michaelangelo's David. I feel like adding a "...NOT!" at the end of Sonnet 18's original manuscript!

Quote 1:
Love = Lust LOST!
Respect = Revenge REDEMPTION!
Family = Fraud FOREVER!

Quote 2:
Relationship endured because of 3 key ingredients:

• Great sex LOVE!
• Shared DIFFERING! interest
• Mutual UNQUESTIONING! respect
  

Quote 3:
Nigga! AFRICAN AMERICAN!

Quote 4:
Love's a bitch BLESSING! YOU'RE THE BITCH!

Quote 5:
My life as the middle child... TELL ME ABOUT IT!

Quote 6:
Sometimes even music can't substitude [sic] for tears. BUT EVEN IN SOBS YOU FIND RHYTHM!

Bad Movie Reviews

I'm dead bored so, I'm gonna write short reviews for bad movies now.

17 again

If there's a movie more blatantly try to milk its cash cow, please show it to me.

Rather than doing it subtly, the movie producers were probably saying, "Fuck it, nobody with an IQ higher than 3 is gonna watch this movie. Put more Efron. And while you're at it, put a half-naked Efron with his hippie armpit hair as the opening shot. A sweaty half-naked Efron with his hippie armpit hair."

The only reason I watched it was that I thought Chandler Bing was going to be involved more. With a storyline you can see miles away, jokes you predicted 2 seconds into the movie [except for Ned's antics], dialogues you could probably recite without even watching the movie, the Powers that be decided they HAVE to throw in the older generation's misconception that being wigger is cool.

Seriously, they were marketing this solely to brain-dead teenage bimbos. The world must be 57% populated by them, since that's the percentage at Rotten Tomatoes.

This is my first Efron movie. This is my last Efron movie. Undoubtedly, he's pretty and his body make me look at my tummy in self-loathing but with acting like that, who needs a shotgun against one's temple?

Comolot

Lutlut countered my Starcrossed with Comolot. Starcrossed is a beautiful movie with themes of true love, social pressure and a message that I can't decipher till now. Comolot is about gay malays.

The storyline, if you can call it that, is your fiancee caught you showering with another guy. You explain it to her, you get married the next day and then your boyfriend crash your wedding and whisk you off. That's it.

The acting can only be described as a typical malay movie acting. Shocked faces weren't shocked. Sad faces were angry. Hell, chasing your fiancee is more of a stroll.

Dialogues? The Jigsaw Killer rigging electric drills to slowly approach my ears is like a Wagnerian piece compared to that.

The direction is surprisingly great. I mean, assuming the director is a retard who has been dropped too many times on his retarded head as a retarded child, that is. The jerkiness of the scene shifts and the fact that the 'true love' is a recollection of you showering together should give you the same assumption.

Message: Malay girls are so stupid they'll still marry you even if they find you unpassionately caressing another guy lathered in soap.

You can find Comolot on Youtube but then again, you can also sodomize your 3-day old kitten. I wanted to write your 3-year-old brother but that's too sick.

Saint P, a travelblogue

I thought I knew Russians.

I thought I knew Russia.

I now know I was wrong.

I didn't know Saint P, man.

Saint P was the place that made me realize that I've been in the redneck country of Russia for the better part of 5 years. Saint P-gians were the ones who made me realize that Russians CAN be pleasant. Saint P is where I left my heart.

I'm usually very cool and aloof when it comes to traveling. I don't gawk. I don't stare. I show as little shock and awe as possible. I try to blend in as much as possible.



In Saint P, I was in full tourist mode. I mean really, it's cranked up till 11. Hell, on the way to the Metro station where my guides were waiting for me, I took pictures from the bus! And the conductor was so nice, I doubted she was Russian!

Day 1:

My love affair with Saint P began with her enticing main avenue, Nevskii Prospekt. She whispered a little secret into my lustful ears for every step I took. Every statue I saw cemented the subtle obsession that builds up slowly but surely. And there was no shortage of that. Everywhere I turned, I saw a beauty of the builders' toil, of the sculptors' loving hands, of the ghosts set in stones. I can only imagine what sort of spirits walked here. Here, on this very road, Pushkin wandered, giving the finishing touch to a love poem. There, I saw Lomonosov bumping into others, apologizing mindlessly as he worked on his latest theory. And through it all, the royal processions of Peter and Catherine marched and proclaimed the greatness of the monarchs.

We walked and talked and laughed and drank in each other, Saint P and I on that day, only such as new lovers could. The perfect day was ended with the witnessing of a ballet, Swan Lake. Ah, such an experience can't be described neither through words nor through paintings. One has to go through it oneself to truly appreciate it.



Day 2:

The second day of our program began with the tour of the Kuntskamera. It is here that the Great Peter the First collected medical oddities and cultural trinkets from around the world. Honestly, it was pretty disappointing. The culture displayed were nothing new to a person who has spent some moments on the Discovery and National Geographic channels. The medical oddities, on the other hand, would have a great effect on someone who never had the opportunity to browse through the classrooms and museums of Volgograd State Medical University's Anatomy, Histology and Pathological Anatomy departments.

Then, we ascended the ancient winding steps of Isaakaevskii Cathedral. From up there, we could see the whole of Saint P, naked before our very eyes. We saw her blemishes, her scars unveiled. We saw her beauty, her brilliance unhindered. To say the view was breathtaking is to be insulting to the memory of that day. I remember that the climb was exerting but, at the same time, worth every gasping breath.

Not enough with that, our geographically blind planner decided to wrestle my very last breath with the Hermitage, the winter palace of the tsars. It wasn't much of a battle, honestly. Being true to the concept of a palace, there are ballrooms and a throne room and sitting rooms that shouts majesty into one's eyes but these weren't the major attraction to me. No. The Hermitage is also home to thousands of paintings and sculptures. My seeing orbs feasted on Michaelangelo and da Vinci and Rubens and Raphael; molested every inch of the Rape of Europa, the Crucifixion of St John, the Adoration of the Baby Jesus; ogled at every dimension of L'amour et Psyche, the Three Graces and Bachus and the Satyr. Four hours we were there. We covered so much less than a quarter.



Day 3:

We went to only one place on this day. The summer palace. Petergof. When I walked in the main gate, my jaw literally dropped. I was in awe. The fountains and the palace itself and the chapel with the golden domes were awesome in the truest sense of the word. My guides laughed at me. We haven't even began uncovering the beauty of Peterdvorets. There must have been at least 20 different fountains with 20 different themes on that royal retreat. The majestic Samson fountain, the quirky Sun, the Adam and Eve... all of these and more litter the palace's park. In the middle of it all, there's a canal leading to the sea.



Day 4:

Day 4 was rather uneventful. We woke up late. Very late. We went to the souvenir market, doing some very touristy shopping. Later that day, we went to Peter and Paul's Fort, a barricade never used in battle but rather was used as a political prison, instead. On this island-fort the remains of the royal families were laid to rest, including the last royal family of Tsar Nikolai the Second. It is in this very fort also that Peter, the same Great Peter, tortured his son to death, reportedly for criticizing the father's europeanization of Russia and the subsequent rape of its culture.

And thus ended my Great Saint P Fling. As I've told many, I left my heart there, hoping for the opportunity to return and see if I could reclaim it some day.



I would like to use this opportunity to commend and extend my gratitude to my graceful hosts. Never have I seen in Russia four friends more comfortable and natural. And to make matters worse, they were all talented in the arts. I envy them. I couldn't find one person that share the same interests, who is comfortable around me in 500 Malaysians in Volgograd. The four found three each in a group of 12 Malaysian students. Tell me, isn't my envy just?

Disclaimer:Most of the pics here are courtesy of Vitamin050

St P iz da shiznit

I'm in St Petersburg now, woohoo! The awesomeness that is this place is mindfucking me to no foreseeable end. I'll post a travelblog [yes, lico, a travelblog] when I get back. But for now, enjoy this dancing bear.

Change

I'm moving to a new apartment tomorrow; a slightly more expensive but a much better one. Moving's gonna be a bitch because I'm having my exams on the 26th and have prepared for far less than half of the possible questions.But more importantly, if we move EVERYTHING tomorrow, we'll have no internet till we get back to Malaysia. For me, that's going to be on the 6th of July. The humanity! That's why I'm posting a wall of text with no pictures. Here's hoping that my roommate's Megaphone internet service is still working. Here's hoping that I can leech off Lico's internet when I'm over there. Here's hoping that I finish reading everything that needs to be read. Here's hoping for Hope. Cheesy, I know.

Writers' Blocks

Fuck 'em.

For the First Time...

I think this comic speaks for itself. From Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal Comics

I don't know why

...but I find this picture hilarious:

Starcrossed

I'm not big on romantic films because I'm manly and whatnot.

I'm quite easily affected by touching/inspiring dramas i.e. Pass It Forward, Schindler's List, Freedom Writers; because I'm sensitive like that.

I've just watched the 2005 short film Starcrossed.

Don't worry, it's a 15-minute film, so tak luak pun masa study.

It's about a love between two individuals that is opposed not only by their parents, but by society itself.

Great acting. Cute falling-in-love scene. Short, somewhat cliche dialogues that successfully make you feel the dilemma. The ending is quite powerfully moving.

A great movie, all in all.

There's only one thing.










The lovers are two brothers.





Two very related brothers.





Two very male brothers.



Homosexual incest action.

I actually got the confirmation that I'm not a homophobe after watching the movie. I feel for the characters: their yearning for each other, their concern about the obstacles in front of them. Oh and the Romeo and Juliet ending is just a tried and true formula. [Highlight the black box to view spoiler!]


I do not condone incestuous relationship, though... from both the medical and oh-my-god-that's-sick-when-you-fucked-grandpa-by-Blink-182 aspects.

So, in conclusion, again:







Homosexual incest action

Mr. AtoZ

I like this guy.



I won't go into fangirl mode and tell you how great his lyrics/voice/music are.

He's genreless, or rather genreful. He goes on stage with a generic t-shirt and jeans/khakis. He blogs at blogspot, for goodness' sake. True, the blogs all have that PR/PC-approved vibe but still... If nothing else, it creates the illusion that the artist is the blogger, not some PR intern.

Plus, he's not too pretty that he'd make me feel uncomfortable liking his music.

I just like this guy.

Intimidated

I gave in to the will of the people and joined Facebook around half a year ago. Now, I'm a permanent resident, unofficial moderator and paparazzi-stalker of Facebook.

What's great about Facebook is that EVERYONE has an account and the search function is rather user-friendly, unlike Friendster in its height.

Through Facebook, I've found back a LOT of my old friends, some of which I don't remember being friends with. So, old bonds were renewed, old jokes were retold. New promises of meeting up and whatnot were made.

I met this one old friend. Really old. Hell, the last time I remembered talking to him when I was 8 years old. 15 years ago. We talked online, really hit it off, we are quite the nerds and share quite a few nerdy interests. That's all good. And like with everyone else, I promised to meet up with him when I come back. One problem. He's a model now. No, not your counter-culture nerd model. A real you know, good-looking good-dressing model.

Another old friend, who reads my blog, by the by, is a girl I barely knew when I was in the Writers' bloc journalist workshop back when I was 15. 8 years ago. All of us spent 3, 4 days together and that's it. We never had any contact until very very very recently. And online, we talk about our interests more passionately than I do with most people I know and meet everyday in this very city. I'm meeting her up before going back to Malaysia.

I'm as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full with rocking chairs, I am.



I'm quite labile in personality and interests.

When the mood hits me, I can just listen to Bach and Beethoven all day with hot milo in my hand. But sometimes, I want to do nothing but head-bang to my Blink 182-Rammstein playlist.

My friends from high school were quite surprised to learn that my friends from UiTM think of me as a gentleman. I was known as the resident asshole of SMSU.

I laugh at and make crass jokes when I'm with group A but with group B I do nothing but debate seriously the finer things of philosophy and spirituality.

The only things, which are true whatever faces I wear are: I'm a bit of a nerd-geek combo, at the very least; I hold a rather universal spiritual belief; and that I love to write.

I'm afraid that when the time comes to meet up with these people, I'd have the wrong personality on. I envy those who can 'be themselves'. I am all these faces and more. I'm quite complex that I don't even know which stereotype I am! It's all find and dandy when I don't have to meet new people but when I have/want to, it's quite crippling.

That's the reason I come off shy or anti-social when I meet you for the first time. I was gathering data, so to speak, of your likes and dislikes, of how you speak, of what tickles you. That's also the reason why the second time you see me, I'm friendly as hell.

I'm so fucked up.

Kapirkah aku?

Kapirkah aku?

Kalau aku tak buat ...?
Kalau aku buat ...?
Kalau aku kata ...?
Kalau aku tak kata ...?

Kapirkah aku?

Kalau aku tanya?
Kalau aku soal?
Kalau aku tak nampak?
Kalau aku tak ikot?

Kapirkah aku?

Kalau diorang kata A,
Aku kata B?
Kalau diorang kata hoi,
Aku kata hee?

Kapirkah aku?

Kalau aku bukan biri-biri?
Kalau aku tentang?
Kalau aku gelak?
Kalau aku kata mari gelak?

Kapirkah aku?
Kalau kau kata aku kapir?
Kalau kukata kukapir?
Kapirkah aku?

Kafirlah aku
Pabila
Hakim segala hakim,
Raja segala raja,
Tuhan segala tuhan
Kata kukafir.

Absolutely Cuckoo by Magnetic Fields

Johan Ariff Bin Juhari wrote a fucking 20-paged excellent and complete case history in a single night and the fucking lady said, "I said you have to write it in a notebook!". Hell her only complain was that he forgot to write the name of the Head of Department. Later that day, he discovered he's supposed to write a paper on a lecture his teacher thought he missed. He has to do both by tomorrow. Now he's fucked up sideways, upside down and still hasn't got any studying for Surgery finals 4 days away done.

Lesson learned in Russia: When you give your best to do the things you don't want to do but decided to give your best anyway because that's just the kind of person you are, you're just going to be fucked up three-ways till Sunday.

This place, the experience I have, the people I know here are joining forces just to bring out the worst in me. I really am not sure at this exact moment whether I can take it for another two years. I need a break from these things. A permanent one.

Sense

Everybody says how horrible it would be if one day we wake up deaf. We can't hear music, we can't hear laughter.
[I apologize to any reader who might be deaf but it's true]



Everybody says how execrable it would be if our eyes just decided to get up and leave. No more color to brighten our world, no more paintings to ease our souls.
[Again, but for the blind]



Everybody says how terrible it would be if we lose our sense of smell. The smell after the rain, the scent of baby's hair would be the same as the stink of rot and the foulness of feces.
[Anosmic, sorry]



But everybody, and I mean everybody, takes talking for granted.
The Art of Articulation.
The Gift of Gab.
The Splendor of Speech.
Nobody really appreciates it, not really.


I made a pact with God, once.
If I get something, I'd stop talking for 24 consecutive hours.
I got what I wanted.
I tried to fulfill my end of the bargain.
I failed.
Again.
And again.
I still haven't done my part.


I have since learned the Dazzle of Dialogue.
The Effulgence of Elocution.
The Sex Appeal of Spiel.


So, this is a show of gratitude for the blessing that I've never heard being thanked for.
Thank you, God, Nature, Evolution, Society.
I love language.

Stigmata Bertudung

[Stole the title from a friend]

The most racist, or rather religionist, thing I've heard in a while was, "Wah, she wears tudung ah? Iyerr... Not nice la like that."

I was speechless. But then again, how long can you keep Johan speechless? I was speechless for 3 seconds.

Tudung. Hijab. Headscarf. Chadri. Whatever you call it. It's moving closer and closer to the line that borders derogatory terms every day.

Some of the worse myths I've heard about covered girls: They're actually bald underneath. Their hair smells like crap. It's an example of Islam's championship of male dominance. They're better muslims than uncovered girls [a view by the covered themselves, though, admittedly, not all. Just about 95%]

First two myths come from non-muslim guys, usually. Let me assure you, girls are not like guys. They generally take care of their body hygiene much better, for one. Just because they wear tudungs, doesn't mean they don't shampoo and condition and oil. Hell, if anything they do it more often than those who don't.

Secondly, the wearing of hijab is not an example of male dominance. If anything, it's the Quran's low expectation of the stronger [?] sex. It borderlines insult to those with johnsons, it is.

Us guys view almost every inch of the female human organism as sexual. Serious shit. Well, any given guy don't view everything as sexual objects but I'd say a collection of ten random guys would cover like 80% of fetishes. It's an evolution thing.

The way I see it, the Quran has given up hope with men limiting their lust, so they/he/she/it implores the real stronger side to do their part more than the men.

Us guys are going extinct anyways. It's an inevitable part of evolution.

And the girls who think they're better than those without tudungs, can suck my salty left ball.

Concerning most malays, it's not a sign of piety, no, not anymore. It's a sign of misplaced superiority. It's a sign of blind faith. It's a sign of tradition. It's a sign of lemming-like conformity.

Islam is not in the way you dress. A girl who dresses like a 2-dollar crab-infested whore from the sleaziest street in Pasquali of Oklahoma City can actually be your spiritual better.

I just saw a picture of a rather liberal friend of mine in tudung. I was shocked. It appears that I too view tudungs in a derogatory manner. I need to listen to my sermons more. Or perhaps I subconsciously think that the act of donning the tudung by this particular person is not an act of free-will but rather an enforced one. I dunno.

It's 1233

and I haven't started studying for Gndoyan's legendary ophthalmology concluding. I'm even entertaining the probability of shooting those damn geths on Mass Effect for a while before starting but I'd probably procrastinate further after that.

Mr Strauss is conducting the overture of die Fledermaus. It's time to start study. Ugh...

ASD

Others have ADD - Attention Deficit Disorder

I have ASD- Attention Seeking Disorder

I've not written something angsty or deep or angry for a while and I sit not tastily [Tak sedap duduk wtf!]. I feel I owe it to my sister bringing like a gajillion views to this site. You know, to catch these newcomers with the proverbial butterfly net and pin them to a board or something.

I know I should be glad that there's nothing in my life that causes me to be angsty or angry or deep right now and should just enjoy it while it lasts.

Buuuuuuuuuuuut....

Facebook Quizzes

This quiz claims that I'm in a relationship:


you loser... why did you even take this test if you have a bf/gf??? w/e your happy in a relationship, and apperantly forgot you were in one :s

This one claims that I'm a closet homosexual:


You Try to act as if you're straight, but everyone knows you're gay.

So, I implore my elusive man-lover to make himself known to me, please.

A Gift

Press play for mood



Year 0
You were there when I got home. Mom and Dad doted on me but you weren't jealous. You were no longer the brand new thing but envy took no hold on your toddler heart. You loved the pink lizardy-looking thing that I was, even though I did nothing but sleep and cry.

For that acceptance,
I thank you.

Year 5
Mom and Dad were always working, trying their absolute best to let us live in luxury. Our maids changed almost religiously. Playmates are few and far in between. You were the only constant that anchored me and Baby. You were the one who taught us new tricks and games. You were the one who took care of us, emotionally if not physically. You were the judge of the petty quarrels between me and Baby and you were the one who berated me for my wrongdoings.

For that responsibility,
I honor you.

Year 10
We drifted apart. I was a nerd/geek. You were the popular one. You had your friends, I had mine. We liked none of the same thing. We quarrel, we fight. But then, you were always blasting and singing to Backstreet Boys and Spice Girls. You introduced me to Boyzone. You brought music into my ears, my life, my soul. Life as I knew it changed forever.

For that change,
I praise you.

Year 15
We drifted even further. I hated you. I hated the fact that everyone refers to me as your brother. I wanted recognition; I wanted life to call my own. Friends that I know for so long left for their education. I was alone. I was hateful. And what did you do? You accepted me as who I am. You listened to my rants and views. You gave the right compliments, you corrected my mistakes. You made me feel good about myself.

For that sense of self-worth,
I adore you.

Year 20
We're so far apart. Thousands of people, hundreds of cities, a whole world stood between us. We meet for a measly two months a year. None of my friends, none of my colleagues, none of them or all of them put together tried harder than you to keep me in their life, to let me know that there was someone who loved me. At times, you didn't know what I was going through but you stood by me nonetheless.

For that loyalty,
I hold you high.

Year 23
You're 24. You're getting married. I know you'll try to keep things as they are but you and I both know things are going to change forever. I hate this. I wish you won't leave me. I wish that we'll stay 5 forever. I wish we could still play kejar-kejar and masak-masak and do nothing but revel in each other's company forever. I hate Him for taking you away. I envy Him for being able to spend his life with you. I love Him for making you happy. Walking forward with a blindfold on, I feel a hand clasping mine. I know instantly that it's yours.

For turning my tears into laughter,
For shaping me into who I am,
For being you,
I love you.

Happy 24th, Ka'a