I've accepted some time ago that death is a fact of life. Though, judging from my actions and relation with Him sometimes, this might not seem the case, but time after another, the thought engulfed me, and I am overcame with clarity of where we all stand. Doesn't matter what you do, places you have been, you and I are heading towards the same destination, every day, each second. You and I, we are not much different, you see.
To the point that I sometimes question myself what is the point of all the trivial things we have to go through daily, like picking out the right scarf for the outfit I'm wearing, finding the ever so elusive parking spot especially during weekday, or wondering if I had managed to leave a good impression on the supposedly important people I've met.
But the more I think about it, the more it becomes clear that it's the trivial things in life that really matters. Well, sort of. Most of them at least.
Like spending quality time with your loved ones. Kind words that make an impact to someone who really needs it at the time. You don't have to be saving the whole world to make your life worthwhile.
News of death come and go, it's hard not to feel stoic about most of them. I do feel sympathy towards the parties involved, but experience had taught me that however hard the situation might seem to the person at that time, all the sorrow that he/she is dealing with, the seemingly bleak future that person is imagining awaits ahead of him/her, he/she'll pull him/herself through safely sooner or later. Definitiv. We are all stronger that we allow ourselves to believe.
Another news followed the ringing of the phone today. The story, like every other death, sounds tragic, and it's hard to justify the death of another good and well-loved human being with so much to look forward to.
But that's not our place to decide. This life, the body our soul is encased in that we most of the time over-obsessed about, be it its shape, the clothes we choose to cover it, is borrowed, kind of like a vehicle to get through to our final destination.
Hopefully we'll have the time to re-remind ourselves that, time and time again.
This is the first time I've ever had to go on a real house hunting in my homeland.
The last time I did that was when I was searching for a place to stay during my practical training, but that didn't count. That was only a room hunting and my standards, well let's just say that I don't have any standards because I was desperate and up for anything which in the end saw me being confined in a store room without proper window in a rat-infested home for the whole 4-month course of my Praxisphase. Luckily I survived that. So as a few of my friends who, despite knowing all the risk involved, decided to spend several nights there.
In my own experience back in Germany, the process of finding a house to rent is in itself cumbersome, but apart from the tiring formalities of the process everyone has to go through, I have never encountered any problem arising from the fact that I am a foreign student. I've went to view 4 houses during the course of my stay in Germany, moved into 2 of them, and in short, no landlord has ever given me shit for carrying all of these labels; Asian, hijab-donning Muslim, and student.
That in a place where racism was taken to the very extreme not so long ago.
Not so much can be said about our own country though. Our prosperous country Malaysia which lauded itself in being a harmonious multiracial community.
For the last 3 weeks, I've called close to, perhaps more than 50 agents to ask for available unit for rent and the among first questions any agent would as are 1) Local or foreigner?, 2) Malay or Chinese or lain-lain?, 3) Student or working?
If you're a foreigner from Asian countries and black from any country, then chances of being considered as tenant is close to zero. An agent told me she once arranged for a viewing appointment for a European and when he turned up being black, she had to turn him instantly down. No further background check-up would be necessary, no chance will be given, you're just out if you're black. Being a student decrease your merit by 70% to stay in a well-kept, mostly inhabited by working professionals condos. Some landlords prefer only Chinese and some prefer only Malays.
I can't imagine those scenarios in Germany. People can report you on basis of being discriminative.
Having been a foreigner 'lain-lain' student before, it kinda struck a chord in me. Remember the time when a minority group of Muslim extremist went on a rampant flying planes into major buildings and bomb-exploding themselves off in public places and the world gave the rest of us shit just because we share a common religion name? Remember how that feels? Yes sure a lot of blacks here in Malaysia have been creating troubles using their students visa but meddling with money laundering and drug trafficking instead but what about the rest of them honestly looking for a better education? It's not wrong to be cautious but I don't think it's right to deny anybody their rights to be treated equally just because of their skin color.
Malays and Chinese in principle won't share a house if possible. I understand that that is to avoid problems that might arise when sharing a common kitchen and living room. But how hard can it be if people are willing to try and respect each other's needs? Going out of the way to just avoid each other do not count for points in effort department.
Yes we are a multiracial country, but we forgot an important and telling word in that slogan. We are actually a racist multiracial country. And nobody really knows how to mend that so we might as well just embrace it and continue with our lives.
On another note, we have just 2 days to pack our whole life and move. That's another proof that my family is weird. And I say that with much love. We love each other as much as we annoy each other, we enjoy each other's company as much as we can't stand each other, but still we decided to live in very close proximity to each other for another couple of years. Weirdos that we are. It's going to be hard but oh well. My prince charming has learned to know them and so far he hasn't run yet and that's good. In fact he's been getting along with them pretty well despite everything. He's pretty tough so he's definitely a keeper.
I'm human sir, so I judge. With you, I judge profusely. And by every standard that I measured you against, I have to say, that you have managed to fail gloriously in every single one that it becomes a record. You stoop so low that you are one of a kind.
I'm rarely and deliberately rude to anyone even to those I can't stand but you are just the kind of person, the first one ever, whose feelings and thoughts I don't give a rat's ass about.
So sir, beware. Don't be shocked and be very scared that I'm not all smiles and sugar. You are about to get a taste of my bitter medicine and it ain't gonna be pretty.
My mother, brother and I were waiting for the lift when the the door opened to an empty one save for a recognizable face inside.
12 floors until we reach ground level. I thought to myself, this is going to be a long way down unless someone says something.
Thank goodness my mom decided quick on breaking the ice.
Mom : Aqasha kan?
Guy : Ye saye... *chuckles*
Mom : Aunty nampak Aqasha lagi hensem real life dari dalam TV~
Guy : Terime kasih... *chuckles some more*
Me and brother : *cringes*
Mom : Tinggal sini ka?
Guy : Tak, ada shooting, dekat rumah kakak Ayu Raudah?
Brother : Haaaa??? Rozita Che Wan ada sini?? (guys and their fascination with the Malaysian MILF -.-'')
Guy : Eh bukan. Kakak lain. Oo sebut Rozita Che Wan laju je ek?
Brother : *hearty laughs*
Lift opened and we said our goodbye and parted ways. By that time we had visited over 6 apartments in a day and we were so exhausted. We decided that meeting an actor was a sign for us to call off the day and decided on the house; each of us with different motives. Brother was hoping to catch sight of Rozita Che Wan in the future, Ibu was daydreaming of meeting Anuar Zain, I wouldn't mind stumbling upon Bront Palarae.
And based on a very relevant set of reasons, that's how the decision was made.
Stumbled upon the song by chance and it reminded me of one of the place I wouldn't mind visiting again and again. The city of love, Paris.
The song embodies all the essence that makes the city what it is; magical, romantic, mysterious, quaint. It's a big city, yes, but the atmosphere is somehow slightly different. It doesn't pull you fiercely in that you feel like you have to dash from one high of an attraction and on to the next which leaves you feeling drained, spent at the end of the day, no. With Paris it's different. It has the energy of a big city, yet it dissipates gently towards the edge, careful not to overwhelm you, but powerful enough to sweep you along with its charm. You'll feel like you want to take your time with this city, savoring each single thing carefully before the next.
Strolling along the left bank of Seine River, stopping at each bouquiniste, sifting through rows and rows of old postcards and posters, finding something that'll be perfect for your collection..
Gargoyles of Notre Dame looking down on couples walking hand-in-hand, smiling into each other's eyes, as if the one they are with is the only person that matters in the middle of throngs of people all around...
Taking in the scent of old paperbacks, running your fingers along the spine of old worn books, pretending that Shakespeare and Co bookstore is a treasure cave that you found on your own private adventure and that its every content is now yours, yours to relish one by one for as long as it takes..
That ubiquitous landmark that you can't seem to escape if you're in Paris, the highest point in the city, "scraps of metal" some might say but it still is a sight to behold nevertheless, especially for the first timers, out of admiration, even out of disappointment for all the fuss is about..
Taking your time climbing the steep pavement leading up to Sacre Coeur, a treat in form of an artist village awaits you halfway, the Montmarte, where dozens and dozens of painters will offer to draw portraits, sketches, caricatures of you..watching these seemingly struggling artists at work will give you the chills, knowing that Van Gogh, Picasso and countless other big names have roamed these narrow streets before..
And when you've climbed the final of the steps, the sight of Sacre Couer, proudly perched atop the hill, only the second highest point of Paris welcomes you..from there, enjoying the view of Paris during sunset, the sky a tinge of pinkish grey, with buskers nearby belting out their reggae-ish rendition of 'Knocking On Heaven's Door', the song's choice couldn't be any more fitting..
Getting lost through the maze of Paris's streets, which, if accepted with an invitation of an adventure rather than a stressful not-in-the-itinerary episode, will lead you to an off-beaten path which might surprise you either in form of a charming boulangerie lined with freshly-made macarons in any imaginable flavor, amusing little art shop selling paper dolls and/or handmade stuff, even a playground with an interesting story like the 'I Love You' wall..
Relaxing your tired feet in coffee shop by the roadside, while having the best croissant you've ever tasted, buttery, savory, soft, perfectly crisp but not too much that it crumbles messily..together with le chocolat chaud, a perfect combination to enjoy the sight of people walking past by, the French guys..
Yes, the French guys, the artsy-fartsy type which you can spot by those carrying what should be their artsy-fartsy portfolios in their hands, tortured-artist look on their scruffy ruggedly handsome face sporting a 3-day-unshaven growth, so endearing that every word they speak will sound poetic, what's more, in French, oh s'il vou plait..but wait..
What's even better than French guys are the French women, mon ami, mon cherrie, so effortlessly chic in the classy but fashion-forward way they dress and the way they carry themselves with that characteristic French air that's so hard to pin down; put-together, self-assured, but never arrogant.
Hunting for treasures amongst what others might classify as junks in Marche aux Puces, there amidst the bric-a-brac, are relics from the past, old doorknobs and buttons, candleholders, jewelry box, or perhaps a vintage Hermes perfume bottle that would make a good addition to your existing perfume collection.
From the easily recognizable Art Nouveau metro station entrances, to the glass pyramid of Musee du Louvre, to the bountiful choice of halal food (Uzbekistan, Indian, Lebanese, Algerian, Moroccan, Japanese), Paris definitely has a lot to offer and much more.
There's a sense of longing that's tugging at my heart whenever I think of the place. Perhaps we'll see each other again some day, with or without AirAsia.
Went to see a second doctor and instead of getting a consultation on my bad case of poxes I got a free consultation of my future. 15 full minutes of it. The doctor was thorough in his diagnosis that his consultation ranged from my higher degree education to future family plans. Thank you dear doctor. That was very sweet of you to care so much.
So anyways, the doctor told me my poxes are normal, that I shouldn't fret too much over it. I guess that's what you get for going berserk on the search engine trying to self-diagnose yourself with little medical knowledge. Hah.
"Pantang dia semua boleh makan kecuali ais."
"Kira ayam boleh makan la doctor? Telur? Kicap?"
"Jangan tanya satu-satu..., semua boleh makan....kecuali ais."
"...OK."
Doctor told me that what's dangerous is my saliva. It carries the disease. Meaning that if I were to bite you now and your body does not have the antibody for the virus then chances are you'll be infected. I'm a chicken-pox spreading zombie muahahahaha! Boyfriend even said that my reenactment of a blood-thirsty zombie is really good, I mean, I really could get into the character having grown up with zombie-fighting games and nightmares.
When they told me I should stay away from chicken AND kicap I was like I DON'T WANT TO LIVE ON THIS PLANET ANYMORE!!! But for the time being, I'm still keeping soy sauce of my diet, just in case. EVERYONE I met said it'll make the scars turn black. Like the color of the soy sauce itself. I know it sounds too superstitious to be true but let's not take any chances shall we. (Although it does hit me funny bones that if that same rule applies to every type of food, I'll be turning green from the amount of pulut sekaya and kuih cara I've consumed.)
I guess I did overreacted and it was so stupid of me. I felt very guilty of how I've behaved these past few days. It's just chicken pox for God's sake and I acted like the world is about to end. I wish I have a Doraemon so I could use his Time Machine to go a few days back and knock myself in the head.
Oh well, all is well now. Poxes still there, still gross-looking but I'm Ok.
Since I can't go out even though I've got my license, what's left to do? Yeah, let's get smarter. The following list will tell you just that (taken from DailyBeast.com) :
So if you thought getting bulldozed and ambushed at the wise age of 24 by chicken pox virus would suddenly hit oneself with an epiphany on the outrageous level of superficialness that the world operates at and that kind of seemingly profound BS, well, you are clearly misunderstood.
If anything it has made me even more vain.
You can't put the entire blame on me for being too dramatic.
You should see the size of the poxes oh my GLORIOUS GODDDD help me~ They are unbelievably huge, like the crates on the surface of the moon I swear. Nothing speaks ugly louder than looking into the mirror right now.
With the prospect of me possibly starting work pretty soon, all I could think of is how horrible I would look on my first day of work. I even started to come up with excuses to postpone my first day at work if the scars haven't all faded yet but I don't think they would appreciate it since I've already missed out on an opportunity once before. Tell me how much shallow-er can one be.
I know I know I've heard it all, went through it all in my head but right now I just want to be a pessimist. Let me pretend that my fate is actually doomed, more tragic than Giacomo Casanova's first love, Lucia.
They felt in love in their teens, until one day Giacomo has to go to the city to continue his study in becoming a minister or something. While patiently waiting for her love to come back, Lucia caught the virus that I've caught and still am fighting right now. She told her parents to move her to a barn behind the house, tied her legs and hands to prevent her from scratching all over. When the worst has passed she looked in the mirror and found that while her body has been spared, her face was disastrous, having trashed her head like a maniac into the bed sheet and squashing all the poxes, yellow pus oozing out (ewww!). She decided to never let Casanova saw her that way and asked her parents to tell him when he came back for her that she died from the virus. The rest as they say is history. Giacomo, instead of becoming a priest/minister/etc, went on to deflower all nuns and women he came in contact with by the infamous name Casanova and his first true love Lucia became a high-end escort in Amsterdam infamous for her mysteriousness for constantly wearing a veil across her face. I'd say, they truly were meant to be!
Moral of the story? Looks is just like a house made of cards. It will come crumbling down at some point. Pointless shit.
On the other hand, there are people who made a luxurious living by building house of cards. And laser rejuvenating skin treatment for scar removal on the face costs about RM1200.
Sekarang ni kalau balik kampung jumpa orang tua-tua mesti soalan sama ja depa nak tanya, "Haa yang ni bila nak langsung ni?" sambil senyum bermakna.
Tok, kalau tok tak sabaq tengok Atiqka kahwin, Atiqka laaaagila berganda tak sabaq dari tok hihihi.
Kalaulah boleh jawab sebegitu.
Oh tok-tok sekarang walaupun tak ada facebook, layan facebook anak-anak mereka jugak rupanya. "Oh tu la ada tengok gambaq kat fesbuk haritu." Sigh. Lupa pulak pernah add kawan-kawan sekampung dan adik-beradik bau-bau bacang. Rasanya ada gambar yang kurang appropriate pernah diupload. Fine lepas ni kena lebih berhati-hati.
The photos I've uploaded I won't even consider showing to more than half of the friends on my list. When put it that way, it's weird to wrap my head around it. I know not many of them even bother what I'm up to so they'll probably just leave my profile alone but still. It's pretty weird. Facebook is fast becoming a gray area, devoid of privacy despite its privacy setting, best avoided these days. A Facebook phone, Zuckerberg? No thanks.
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Bloody
One of the more thoughtful things someone could do to me is not to get bloodily (literally) hurt in my presence. Yesterday my mom cut her finger badly in the kitchen; the cut was pretty deep, blood was streaming out steadily from it. She asked me to put a bandaid on it, but blood kept gushing out so it was hard for the bandaid to stay put, harder for me to focus. There were lots of screaming and shouting that the commotion made my grandma, who was in the bedroom, rushed out and specifically asked me if everything's ok.
No point in guessing, between me and my mom, who was screaming the loudest because of the cut.
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Lesen
Esok start proses ambil lesen. 5 jam dengar ceramah. Tried thinking of ways to weasel my way out of this since I've already taken the computer test (and passed!) ages ago. Oh well. Bring some book to doodle.
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Deutsch
Apa gunanya tulis German language dalam resume kalau when the time comes, you're not willing to step up? But the thought of being the one responsible for bridging of people who do not speak a common language well, simply put, it scares the shit out of me. Plus, the qualified friend for this kind of stuff is not available so it might mean I have to do this alone which is 100 times scarier. Yes, I'm that chickenshit I don't want to do it alone.
Not sure of how bad (or good) their English is, still in the dark of the scope of the visit (if there'll be a formal meeting or something which means I'm doomed), and haven't given my final answer yet but hey, this might just be the break that'll be it.
Sometimes you just have to fake it until you make it. Who knows where this will lead. *cakap untuk sedapkan diri*
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Bell Jar
Read the novel for the first time and what surprised me was how normal she was at the beginning. Which offers the possibility that we all are not that far away from the edge after all. Found out that she first published the book under a nom de guerre; and a bulb lights up in my head.
I can relate to her frustration of her inability to write though our reasons are miles apart. She can't find it in her to put the words together because of her depression; I can't seem to find the right medium to channel the words to. Writing in my own privacy, just for my own sake, without any audience, lacks its certain appeal, that in the end I've always found myself dragging the .doc and dumping it into the Trash can (yes, I'm on team Apple). Feels like a twisted practical joke the world is playing on me that my boyfriend might not be far off from being right on this one particular thing which has been a long-run debate between us; that I might enjoy attention more than I like to admit. Pffft.
Perhaps if I write now while believing that it'll get published later, way later once I'm long gone, that might ignite the fire within me to write, and to be truly honest in my writing. By that time, no harm could be done, everyone in the story I wrote will be dead as night, and nobody will care to find out who the real person behind the made-up names of the characters. Who knows I'll win some post-humous award or some shit like that. In case the heirs of the characters decided to be assholic opportunists, suing over distress caused by the story, the money could go to shut their mouth up. Whatever, I'll be too dead with more pressing matter to deal with at that time anyway. In any case, everybody wins. No?
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Maal hijrah
Read on Facebook that a friend my age might have gone to perform her hajj this hajj season. At the age of 24. I kept rolling the thoughts over and over in my head and I still can't grasp the enormity of her decision. Clearly we are on very different pages of our lives despite the same age. The thought of performing hajj at this age never even have once crossed my mind and it made me ponder on the gap between me and the said friend and Him. I am forced to reevaluate my fights and it made me feel so small.
I hope I won't loose sight of the bigger picture. Here's to trying to be the better version of us.
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New blog?
I'm getting tired of this one. Thinking of starting anew.
Caution: I hold no responsibility for damages resulted by any content of my blog. And under no circumstances should my made-up-philosophical concept be applied in real life.
And if I were to say one thing one day, and the other the next day, it's not because I'm a hypocrite. Indecisiveness is an ailment that comes with being a girl, I think.
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