Sup3rnality

Friday afternoon. I am home after the weekly journey of railway transportations that, while too routine to be exciting, has never lost its flavour. Did not sleep much the night before, too occupied with the literature available at my disposal. Home meant rest, and I looked forward to taking full advantage of that.

Rest meant a cozy affair with pillows surrounding me, luring me into the arms of sleep. And so it did.

We dream. We all do. Every single time we sleep long enough to enter upon REM sleep, we dream. Even if we do not remember, we actually do. And for me, those dreams that seem the most real, the ones that I remember the most are the ones that are born of fatigue and weariness. And I remembered this one.

It's been a long time since I've had ones like this. The kind that you not only remember, but dwell on for days. And it's been a long time that such dreams were of lighthearted, heart-fluttering joy.

Too often have my dreams been of me leading a war; a leader on the frontlines tackling enemies head on alongside my legion, death on my heels. It scares me sometimes when the dream includes me looking into the wardrobe and thinking what I want to be wearing when I die fighting. Thinking of a million ways to say goodbye to my family. Trying to come to terms with my impending death.

And so the dream brought upon by tiredness was a reprieve from all the other typical dreams I would so often have. This was one that made me feel like I was 16 again.

And I can't tell exactly the contents of this dream. It's nothing that can be explained with words.

And words are never enough.

But I remember the feeling. It's like being 16, and 22 and 13 all at once. 16 for such mature immaturity, the memories the dream echoed and rekindled, and for the brink and bridge to fall from and to cross. 22 for the realization of more and the recognition of possibility, with slight juvenile mischief that is still present, but with the maturity of reason. And 13 for a more carefree time and a memory I have of a certain day at that age. Splashing water comes to mind. Clothes. Sandals. Change. Keys. Gate. Falling. Support. Hands. Breaking. Catching. Throwing. Laughter. Thanks.

The dream was brief. Yet real enough to have me checking my side when I awoke. I was disappointed with what I found, or did not find. But I still have a smile on my face.

And I still wonder what dreams really are. What they entail. Does it hold any knowledge we have yet to tap into? we'll never know for sure. But the future stretches far into the distance, maybe we'd find out along the way.

Yours, Lin~

Looking at my friends, be it the ones I've known for a long time or just these past few years, ones I see often or the ones whom I've not for years; I am constantly amazed at how much they've changed over the years. Thinking of how I first got to know them and where we are now present time, it never cease to amaze me just how fast the clock is ticking.

And I feel like I've been at a standstill. Seeing people around me evolve when all I've done is turn my head away for a little while. And I feel like I'm in the eye of a storm, so silent and still when all around everything is spinning so fast. But I know, the truth is I'm spinning fast too.
It's easy to see the change in others. Easier to see how the time has forced those I know to turn into familiar strangers. But looking into the mirror, I know that I haven't stopped spinning either.

Never in the past would I have envisioned that I'd be this present person. It's hard to begin to explain what got me where I am now. Experiences changed me little by little: scratched the surface and planted seeds. Pulled them out and made them hollow. Violated and left them broken. Stunting them in the dark. Let it grow under the bright sun. Watered them and let them bloom. And I cannot be what I am without any of those things I've been through. I'll never change them memories for anything.

I've been a child, a teenager (yes, I still hate the word and it cannot roll off my tongue without feeling odd and leaving a bad aftertaste; but that's the best word to use), and now a woman (and I can't grasp this one either. Still so much in accepting-denial. I know what I am, and I've always been one to count the days I'd no longer be considered a child, but the future is staring straight at me and for the first time, I feel actually scared). No wait, I am all of them; I AM a child, a teenager and a woman. And importantly: I'm a daughter, a sister, and a friend.
Those are the things that never change.

My experience may change me. Alters beliefs and principles and thinking and mannerisms and outlook and a thousand other things. But I remain to be what I am.

Love, Lin~

I wouldn't admit it. Not vocally, anyway. But I am. Fine, I admit it, I am... shhh, don't say it. Saying gives it gravity. Makes it weighty. Makes me fall harder than I expect to. Saying it gives it life, substantiates it in some way, even if you can't touch it. But the truth is that it still lies true. I am. I don't show it but I am.

Occupation sometimes loses its flavour when you turn around and see ghosts. There is comfort yet there also is the yawning silence that rings loudly in the quiet. And in those times I find myself knocking on doors. Doors which I thought kept life within, but no one answers.

Maybe it wouldn't be for long, I sometimes think. I've gotten this far in life, and I suppose that I'll find it, or find it again somehow. One cannot tell. Too early to say anyway. But that's how it is, isn't it? The future seems to be looming near, and yet too far to touch. And while it is too far, it is coming uncomfortably fast, ready to hit me in the face when I least expect it to.

And while I wouldn't admit it, and at the same time nonchalantly see things through; I am deaf in the vacuum. And sometimes it gets to me so much I find myself conversing with apparitions. I am, you know. I am so much. And I miss it. Great muppety Odin, I miss late nights when all is still except for that quick rush that runs through.

And that, might not ever be. But I wouldn't be surprised if blue-haired old me would stumble on it again and find it as it was. But that's wishful thinking.

So I am. It comforts me. But it hurts me. But who knows? The future is around the corner.

Yours, Lin~

I know the words I've been saying don't make the slightest of sense as of late. I know that I've been spinning webs so loose that you'd fall right through and not grasp a single strand. And I know it's hard to fathom something that is too much surface that it hardly causes a scratch on the, well, surface.

It might be the reason why you find it difficult to comprehend the words I say is because these are not meant for you. And no, before you think it, I'm not meaning that you cannot read what I say, nor am I saying to you to mind your own business. I am well aware of this being a public domain and anything I write here is open for general consumption, for all to see. And this here is my point: While I am no recluse, I am no socialite either. I like my privacy, but I also need to connect. I don't say all that is in me (although I do say more than I mean, spill more secrets than I should, bare more than is appropriate...What can I say? I speak before I really think sometimes), for fear of many things. I am afraid of scrutiny, afraid of judgment, afraid of jinxing my hopes, afraid of having sense knocked into dreams... So I don't say many things.

I don't say things, but I have to. Some of feelings are almost cancerous, eating from the inside out. And yet, letting it out bare like that allows for eyes to see the flaws without its manual and explanation. And so I spin truths into riddles to take the away the edge off the sharp knife. And at the very heart is all what I feel in me in its barest form.

And so, it is not for you but for me. It is for my sanity that I write the way I write. I find the comfort I need in being able to give voice to my thoughts, in this medium and yet still be able to ensure they remain as mine alone.

And if you understand them, then perhaps it is for you. Or a person you might know. Or the other person. Or the other. But if you don't, you need not try to. Chances are you've stumbled upon myself trying to comfort myself in my words of my written thoughts.

Love, Lin~

And I'm not saying that I'll hold on too long, too strong that come a time, if ever, I won't be able to bow out gracefully. I'm just saying, well, if ever, while even on this high, I'd know how to fall; and while I know how to land on two feet, I won't exactly be whole or unscathed. But that's alright, you know, cos I know what I'm doing.

Although, truth is, I really don't. You see me still lingering in shadows, not haunting, but still a stalwart shadow. And while I hope you don't see this vestige of my self, I hope my presence is felt. And while I understand the reason for my stay, I don't know why I don't check out from having being on a too long waiting list...that is, if I'm even on it.

And sometimes, I don't know what I'm saying, and I don't know why I say all this; but nonetheless, I understand every word. Like the things I do, it makes sense now, and it might not in the future. And yet I say it anyways, for in its public existence, I find a connection that I would otherwise lack in its opposite.

And this is what I do: being a ghost seeking a ghost. Clutching at straws, at things that I want but don't see. And I know that I can't see far enough, but I can see the now; and maybe that's enough for now.

Yours, Lin~

I have been harbouring some fears lately about my involvement in the Explore UK program. Yes, I am elated beyond anything I could possibly explain at the thought of being able to visit the one place that holds much fascination to me. But at the same time, I feel some sort of apprehension at being a part of this.

For those not in the know, I got myself a place among a select few who'll be able to visit UK on a Literature field trip/humanitarian program. There was a poster on the notice board of my faculty, and decided to sign up and see what it was about. After an interview, myself along with 7 others got chosen for this trip; accompanied by some committee members and two lecturers.

The catch, though, is to get sponsors to finance our trip; and that is something we're lacking. And since the proposed trip would be from the 1st to the 7th of May 2008, we have about half a year to look for sponsors. And that is where my fear lies.

Contrary to what you may be thinking now, I am not comtemplating pulling myself out for fear that I am unable to commit. That's not it at all. I feel like I am in my element and I would not pass up this oppurtunity for anything. But what I'm really worried about is that with my hopes sky high, I might fall harder if something does not go right.

I wonder whether we would get enough sponsors in time for the trip. Without sponsors, we would have to bear the expenses on our own, and that would include airfare, accomodations, food on top of the personal expenses. And in the even that this happens, I doubt I'd be able to afford the trip.

It's not that I don't have faith that we won't find any financial support for this trip; it's just that I'm voicing out the one thing that is hindering me from leaping for joy that I'd be able to see UK sometime in the future. It's just this one fear that is hanging at the back of my mind.

I'm sure we'd find enough sponsors in time. I pray for it. And I have faith in myself and this team. I don't want to begin to ponder just how hard it would be to give up what I got and see others go without my being able to be part of it. I can handle rejection well enough, but it doesn't mean it won't hurt.

So here's to hoping that I'd find sponsors who'd be interested in financing a bunch of college kids who'd love literature so much they'd love to see the places where the writers took their inspiration from; walk the streets they walked, see the sights they saw; be in the same space where they once existed and created their brand of art... It would be something of a dream.

Love, Lin~

It bugs me that I don't write all that often anymore. If it was just here, it would not be so much of a problem, since this is only a mere medium to place screams that I would not otherwise vocalize. But the disurbing thought is that I don't even write in journals anymore; and I haven't for the past several years. Yes, I've jotted down thoughts here and there, but nothing subtantial or consistent enough to be called a journal. This bugs me.

If there's one thing I fear (besides the fear of Allah SWT, that is), is dying without having recorded all the thoughts and ideas that have run through my head. It scares me thinking that I could die tomorrow (again, yes, besides the fear of Allah SWT and doing enough rights in this world) and not leave behind all the words that went unspoken. I say more things in my head than in a voice that could be heard, and while I may not want the people around me to hear it at the time, I think there should be a record of what I really thought of the situation and for them to read what really went through my mind.

It may not be much, these things in my head; I have no delusions of being a philosopher of anything, but I do feel that there must be something to show for my existence, and this is how I do it. I find that my strength lies in how I put what I think into words, the way I think it and my point of view; and if I can't leave my mark that way, then I am just as well non-existent.

I hope I find in myself to write more than just when the urge strikes me. I hope my hand is never devoid of a pen to hurry along blue ink against my canvas to create blue swirls of words. I hope that there is incessant tapping on this keyboard daily to have proof of my living and existing.

Love, Lin~

And sometimes things get so crazed that I don't see the path in front of me. I can't see the things staring at me in the face. I cannot see where all of this is going. Where this will be ten years down the line. Where I'll be. What I'll do. I'm so blinded. Sometimes I cannot really see what I want.

And I'm sorry for comparing. I'm sorry I opened only a small space in my heart for fear of hurt. For fear that again I'd spiral down this long, lonely slope again and forget who I am. I'm sorry that I forgot I have a heart big enough to accomodate the world. I'm sorry I forgot. I'm sorry you found me at the wrong time. I'm sorry I never took long enough to get to know you, my defences were built too high up for you then.

It lies heavy in me this emptiness. A burden that is hollow. And I seem to have forgotten what fits there. I've forgotten what fills the spaces when I'm on my own. Sometimes I knock on occupied homes just to know someone's in there. And when they come to the door, I don't know what to say. I smile at them and wish I had the words that makes up the particles of myself, but I can't. And this is your doing. No, sorry, I won't put the blame on you. It is my doing, because of losing you. And you, too. And oh yes, you.

And I wish things were different. But I know I can say it a thousand times over, hell, I have said it a thousand times over; and I'll still be in the middle of this hollow room. But I would, you know; I would have done the things I should have. Then you wouldn't have been left out in the cold. You would't have needed to try. I would have already been there before you say anything.

And again and again, these words would only remain as words. Horses don't ride in these space of thoughts. And even if they did, they'd have nowhere to go. No reason to run. They'd be all at a standstill.

And time is at a standstill. There'd still be this vacuum even as the seconds tick by. Waiting for a moment. Waiting. And I'd leave this door open for you. This door will always be open for you.

Love, Lin~

P/s: And all that you think you know, isn't necessarily what is.

And maybe it is not for naught. I believe again. Well, for the moment...

Yours, Lin~

And again I think we've dropped it along the way. Or maybe we didn't. Maybe we dragged it along with us, heavy in our hands that it tore open and spilled out whatever was left inside. And all we have now is the handles in our hands and nothing to hold up. Nothing. Or are the handles still something?

Who's to say? I may not know how to sew. Well, not well enough to hold the weight for long, that is. Maybe for a little while I can. But if this gets too heavy again, we'll find them scattered all over the floor. We should learn to patch it up. Learn to sew things together and make it hold a little stronger. May not be the same, but I guess that don't matter. At least we've learned how to sew. At least we know how heavy this can be and we'd know how to mend it.

I ain't complaining. We can leave this here and not look at it again. But that's just it. Can we leave it be and not turn around and decide to just take it and keep it? I for one am always sentimental, holding on to things that have long lost its life just for its sentimental value. So can we really let this lie here forgotten? Lying in the dust, among the fallen leaves? No one will ever find it and
that's how it would stay.

Knowing me, I'll never. Too weak, too sentimental, too.... I don't know. But that's how it is for me. I'd keep it. I'd keep my side of the handle. You can leave yours, but I'll hold mine. It's important for me to have a piece of something of I've owned. I need to have a memory of it kept close and dear. Reminds me that my mind is not as screwed up as I thought it was....

So, here's to this heavy luggage. I can't hold it up, it's too heavy. But I'm proud of it, won't change it for anything. Do you want yours? Can you sew?

Yours, Lin~

It's all about timing. The counting of space of time from one step to the other. Determining the time to strike, seizing the moment. Carpe diem. Carpe noctem. Crap.

There is no time. No such thing. Time is a false god that has you watching the clock for a miracle to happen when all that is happening is your watching your life passing you by. It does not grant you the wisdom. There is nothing to know about from the ticking of the seconds. There is nothing in the calculation of the slow passing of time. All there is, is the now of the moment.

Counting the seconds between the sounds of thunder. One-one thousand. Two-one thousand. Three-one thousand... And you can keep on counting. But it's for certain that that thunder will keep on coming. The time between them counts for nothing. Seize the time in between. There is only the now. Take it.

And then I think, we are of course, only human. If not, then, playing a charade, a masquerade that requires a human visage even if you doubt it in yourself. And we play these games, looking every so often in the direction of the clock hanging high above. Afraid of it striking 12, finding that weakening significance in those two digits in time. It has a meaning. It makes us count the hours. It makes us fear time, waiting for it. Waiting on it.

We wait for that precious second in time. That one-second window that for an instant gives you a chance to act. And there is no time to think of the consequences; all there is time for is the action itself. But we, being human, hesitate. And we find that window closing itself shut. Gone is that space in time when all else gives way to you to act upon that wish.

And can we blame ourselves? We are human anyway. How could we be anything else when we are still cowardly even in the face of that long awaited moment? Time still conquers us when it holds power over us, making us wait on it instead of our acting regardless of it. And what is more? We cannot even find that piece of strength we need to seize the moment of moments. Even the Cowardly Lion had the will to find courage.

So in dreams we find ourselves doing the things that should have been done. Dreaming out the maybes and should-have-beens. But in dreams, time is irrelevant. The passing of time could be seconds in what must have felt like hours, or the other way around. In the absence of that oh so powerful time, anything happens. But even then, things might not just be the way you want it.

So this is how it is. It is all about timing. Seize the day. Seize the night. Seize the gorram moment.

You may not have that much time left. But bloody hell. You see, I'm still human.

Love, Lin~

And sometimes I think it is all for naught. And deep down I know that falling could be a possibility, so I might as well stand at the edge. You can either pull me back, or you can just finish the job and push me over. Do what you see fit. I am constantly putting one foot out the door anyway.

But there are times when I reel myself back in. Seems like there's a pull somewhere in the depths. I can't see it, hell, it's murky this mess we're in. But I could swear I felt it. Or maybe that's just me wishing that it was.

I cast my eyes downwards most of the time. Too scared to look up. Scared of a truth I might not want to see glaring at me. Scared of a flicker that might be the beginning of something stronger than What I know. This is me. It's always been this way. Maybe always will.

Maybe I'll keep on running. Peer into the distance and see the road stretching way beyond and decide to run. See how far my feet could take me. Maybe stop every now and then to enjoy the view, maybe turn around and see if not far behind I see... well, see if the school bus I was outrunning is still behind me. Heck, inside it are the things that make me feel small like a child.

But I can also sit down and rest my feet and transit on to the next bus travelling on. And I can't make up my mind. I still have one foot out the door.

Convince me. Convince me this way. Or convince me the other way. Guessing games are getting a bit old. Let me know.

Pull me down. I'll let it pull me down. Sink or swim, I don't know and I don't care. We'll see.

I'm still a boat without a paddle. If you still have another place on your boat, then maybe we both can row.

Yours, Lin~

"Is there a love
Lost and found
Make it easy
Make it easy
It's not as heavy as it seems
Wrapped in metal
Wrapped in ivy
Paint it in mint ice-cream"
- Tori Amos

That's what we call ourselves at the top of our voices, eventhough in voices low, we don't even have a name. It's easier to pretend when all there is is the weight of nothing of something that once were. Maybe we dropped it on the way here.

Or maybe, we're sitting down a while to wait for the strength again to pick it up and carry it forth again. But it's not as heavy as it seems. I don't remember it being heavy.

Although, I admit, we've picked up extra baggage along the way. Some pieces here and there that contribute to this burden we have. Not that I mind all that much; this thing between us feels more like experience than regret.

People are looking to me and this thing I'm carrying and they want to know. And I? Well, I can't even figure out the combination lock to open this. I don't even know what's in this to begin with. But there they are around me, in their hands they too carry something. They are carrying an old tattered basket, on the handle of it a ribbon so white it must be new, and a borrowed copy of Buffy Season 4 Disc 3 inside it. They offer it up as they walk with me and then eventually pass me by. I don't know whether I want it yet.

And it's funny that they turn to me knowing, when really I don't. I don't know. Make this easy. Make this easy. I thought I felt that something when there was that moment in a moment. Dark, sweet, spark. I swore there was. Make it easy.

This is all it is. Whatever we have hanging in the balance. I can't see beyond, and I don't want to look too far back. I want to see what it is here and now. That is, if there is anything to see.
If not, well, then lets just paint it mint ice-cream.

Yours, Lin~

I don't usually hate. I'd dislike, yes, but it is very rare that I hate. Of course, this is not counting vile people whom you read of in the papers. Those people do not even warrant the moment of contemplation of where they stand. They're a waste of space, a waste of even the slightest of a thought.

But I'm not talking about these people. I need not waste my time talking about such non-persons. I'm here to talk about other sorts of people.

Like I said, I don't usually hate. Hate to me is a very strong emotion that is brought about in me by anger that I feel towards someone. And this anger itself is brought out in me when a person I come into contact with shows no sense of respect towards who you are and therefore assumes superiority and treats you as if you were insignificant little people. I HATE these people. There is nothing left to feel and say but hate.

It is not in my nature to hate. Well, I don't let myself hate, anyway. I'm peaceable enough if you give me my due respect and treat me like a person. I'm not saying we have to be the best of buddies or you have to grovel at my feet, but I'm saying is that, I'm a person with my own rights and should be treated so. But if you do otherwise, then I'll do the same and not feel any need to think of you as a person.

In the past month, I've come to know another person that I am starting to feel intense hatred for. I'm not going to mention his name. so hopefully the fact that I said I've come to know him within this past month and the fact he's a 'he', will give you enough clues.

My anger towards him could not even put into words. The thought of the things he says to you and how he regards you sets me seething with anger. He talks to you calmly with a smile on his face like a friendly person, but the sugarcoated words hide sarcastic, poisonous words that he assumes you would not get or understand because of your stupidity. He would give you so-called fatherly advice that belies his insinuating rancourous remarks. In other words, he's trying to tell you all that you all are a bunch of good-for-nothing louts who will mature to be a waste of time and money, useless people. And if you have enough dumb luck, you'll live a good enough life to support your useless existence. And he says all this every time we see him.

I'm not sure if others see this and just choose to stay mum about it all. Because I see them laugh at his jokes that not at all funny as it seems on the surface. Maybe they do, maybe they don't, I can't really say. But if they do, I hope they don't have this hatred living in them like the one I have. It's a disease I can't be rid off, and it only serves to make me hate him more.

He has authority over us. I get that. I don't altogether hate authority, as long as that authority is not abused. I recognize some authority and certain superiority because I know that I do not know everything and must seek answers from those of the more experienced. But when those of authority rub the fact that you are lesser than them in your face, I have not an ounce of respect for them left. And this is how I feel about him.

I can sit here writing this and sound extremely calm. But if I were to really express how I feel, I reckon they'd bleep every other word coming out of my mouth. I don't mean to be so angry, really. It's not so in my nature to be all hateful. But sometimes I just get pushed to my limit.

Lin~

It's been a year, love. It's been a long, long year. Such a gaping wide space of time in which you were not in. Your absence have left me so empty; and it's been so hard for me to fill that void.

At times I feel so ashamed, letting myself be in the mess I'm in. Sometimes I so alone, even in a crowd full of people. At times I hate the eyes on me, hate the discomfort. And everyday, at the end of the day, like those days when you were there, I seek that refuge that cancels out every trace of displacement I feel in myself. But you're no longer there. I can no longer find myself in the arms of the comfort that you offered up to me without discrimination, without judgment. And it pains me.

My words have been swallowed up since you were gone. I find myself unable to express myself with the words that are there in my head. Everything seems irrelevant. Feelings became irrelevant. What use were there if all I could use them for sadness and then not have any comfort afterwards? I was mute for so long. I am still mute.

I miss you so much. I have so much emptiness in me. I am so weak. I never thought things could be this way. Always thought that many years from then you would still be by my side, ever constant, stalwart. My comfort.

I swear I could not find the words. These words hold no weight to ever say how life has been without you. How much I miss you. How much I love you. There are no words, and no words can possibly be created.

I love you. I think of you all the time. I hear you, I dream of you and nothing can ever ease the pain of losing you. No amount of tears can ever bring you back. And it makes me ache so so much.

I am sorry for not being there. I am sorry that you were alone when you left. I am sorry I could not protect you. I am so sorry I could not take away your pain. I am sorry for your stolen years.
I'm sorry for the million of things I could have done differently. I'm sorry that you're so cold now. I'm sorry that these words will never do anything, and they'll just remain words.
I miss you. And I'll always love you. I hope you're happy where you are.

Love you always, Lin~

Thoughts. Thoughts are all I ever have. Thoughts are what that rule my life. Day in, day out. They never leave me. Even in my dreams, I have thoughts in my own dream. I think in my dream. They occupy the every stretch of time in a moment of my existence. Thoughts are what I'm made of.

I think of everything. The past. The present. The future. The never-will-bes. The maybes. The could-have-beens. The possibility of everything. Alternities and reality. They bleed together; rivers that would have never met if not for the sea. And my mind is the sea where everything converges and become a raging abyss that I would never fully fathom its depths.

It's all here in my head. A living entity that works even without my express permission. They fly by. They pop out at odd hours. They come at me full force. They drive me on. They drive me insane. They whisper softly. They carress tenderly. They spark full of inspiration. I cannot possibly pick one thought from the din.

I am what I think. And in turn, my thoughts are me. I exist because of them and they exist for me. My thinking helps siphon my every concentrated thoughts into digestable spoonfuls, keeping me sane. And yet, they make me insane at times.

They are bittersweet. I hate them. I love them. They make me weep. They make me weak. They remind me of good times. Prolonged dwellings break me. I need them. I need to break free. I need to run. I need them with me. I laugh. I cry. I smile. It makes my heart ache. And they are a thousand and one things more if I had the time to think.

To think.

As if I need more time. They are constantly in my head. All the time. With no regards at the moments passing by.

All I'll ever be will be my thoughts. What they think I should do. what they rationalize. The solutions they cook up. The words I say. The things I do. Everything. They'll never change. My thoughts are me, and I am them.

Love, Lin~

(Written on the 24th of June 2007)

As per usual, I ould try to justify my long absence. Although, there's not much of an explanation; so if you were gearing yourself for a paragraphs-long intro to why I have been missing from these pages, I'm sorry to have disappointed you.

I'm having my 3 week holiday. Or to be precise, my end-of-semester holiday. It's only 3 weeks long because I took the short semester, thus meaning that I have sacrificed almost 4 months of idleness in exchange for 2 months of academic goodness. I know, I know; I'm a dweeb, so sue me. So again, yeah, I'm having my holidays, which inadvertently means that I would be Net-less for the next said few. I'm complaining, but I'm not complaining.

It's always good to cut myself off abit from my regular consumption of Net exposure, for fear that it wolud mlet mreo nad mroe of my pierocus gery mtaetr........................ Oh wait, it hasn't happened yet. But it could. So that's why, as much as I miss it and want it, it's good to be not a slave to it. I can actually feel myself getting stupider because of my reliance on it. No offence to those who live off the Net, being an addict myself; but with me, I am actually beginning to neglect the things that I love so much: Books.

Hmmm....and looks like despite what I just said about talking about my absence in paragraphs; I've done it anyways. Well, anyway....

Things are of the good and of the not so much. And me, I'm five by five except if you count the fact that I have a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach thinking that I might have just failed my Tilawah 2 exam. I have a feeling I have failed, seeing how I totally messed up the tajwid bit; but at the same time, I also have a slight feeling of confidence that I might just pass it just enough. Oh well, won't know til next month... So I prescribe to myself to a good rest and the numbing of my mind to avoid unwanted contemplation that would take the fun out of holiday.

The holidays have so far consisted of me giving the house a little spring-cleaning (even if it is summer now, or constantly summer), lazily watching TV (I have not watched any TV long enough to be called 'watching' for 2 months), reading (like I said, being of the Net has left me all un-reader-y, so now I'm catching up), and playing the PS2 (Rule of Rose rules, baby). Not much, I know, but hey, geek here. Not much with the out-and-aboutness. Plain ole books and games keep me occupied enough without me complaning a single bit. Oh, but I have been lepaking here and there with my mom, shopping and stuff. And my dad had to leave for Japan for a few, so that contributes even more to my stay-at-home-liness. Couldn't sleep though with him not around. I stay up late at night armed with a very very heavy heavyduty flashlight, a hand-held alarm, my handphone, a Swiss Army blade and an aerosol can patrolling the house. I'm concerned about our safety, that's why.

As much as I love living in Kulim, Kedah; the place is not at all a safe place. Here I thought living in the city, with its rich people and full of people living in the fastlane would be the most dangerous place to live of all. I was wrong though. Turns out this little place called Kulim is scarier. With break-ins happening every night, and that's 4-6 cases everynight, mind you; everyone on the block is wondering just when they'll be next. There's a serial rapist whom they have not caught and is still on the loose. It's scary cos the perpetrator has been reported to not want anything else, not money or anything of materail value, he breaks in with the sole purpose to rape. With 3 females in my home (that's me, my mom and my 10 year old sister), one gets pretty scared. I'd do anything I could to protect my family, so I'd rather not sleep and stay vigilant.

CONSTANT VIGILANCE!

Oops, excuse me. My Potter-y is showing.

Be that as it may, Kulim is still a nice place to live. Given, not for too long, but nice all the same. It's a nice old small town in which you can live complacently in (provided that you shut your eyes and not listen to the stories of break ins and such). But me, I need a little drive. Yeah, living in KL can drive you insane even if you are not in the thick of it. Of course behind the mask of glamour, there's always vulnerability and ugliness. And we get it by the truckful. We take the beauty with it's ugly stepsister, it's a whole package and can't be sold separately. And that gives me drive to push a little harder, to go a little further, to do things a little different from the rest.

Yeah, so I've been scorned throughout my life for this same drive but I am still standing upright and that counts for something. Living quietly in Kulim would not challenge me enough and would only lull me into a false feeling of security. And for me, that is not the way to live.

Okay, so maybe the two things I just said kinda contradicts each other. But all I'm saying is that while I like the quiet life in Kulim because honestly, I'm a quiet person who shies away from the hustle and bustle and from the loud and the glaring. But at the same time, it's the loud and the glaring that gives me a purpose for my existence. So that as much as I want to be far from it, I also need it. Does that make any kind of sense? Well, it's not like most of the things I say does anyway. Most people already think I'm insane.

Anyway, I'll get through these nights. These long nights just awaiting the bright morning. Heh, and there's always the Nintendo DS to keep me company. Nite!

WWJossD?

~Lin

I guess my last entry, with its abruptness and disconcerting content, warrants somewhat of an explanation. Looking back on it, should I had been an outsider looking in, I must have appeared to be a despaired person who as ready to flush all I have known down the drain... But then again, at the time I wrote that, that wasn't so far from the truth.

I said that I wanted to take all the books of and about literature that I have a put a gun to it. And I would have, well, figuratively, that is; if not for the fact that my life is founded on the same system that I see literature.

I grew up loving to read. It wasn't just about immersing myself in the story, it was the words that were used to describe every detail and every emotion. It was about walking around in the shoes of another person and feeling everything he or she feels. It was about learning things I might not be able to experience for myself. It was about seeing places I would otherwise not see. Reading was my life and soul.

Reading of course, does not just involve you reading what is there in black and white. There is always more to it, just lying there in the blank spaces between each line. There is always more to read than just those words.

Having a piece of goor writing in your hands, be it a work in prose or done in a poem or through the art of drama; there is always the oppurtunity to gain more from it. There is always more than one angle to look at it.

For me, these angles can either be through the exploration of my psyche, or an analysis through the eyes of religion, or its relevance to history or time and place, or the writer's background, and many many more. Looking at them through these various angles always help shed more light on its meaning, thus creating more possibilities of interpretation.

It awes me how mere words can have an infinite number of meanings, depending on how you want to see it.

But then, enter this semester, where I am taking the subject 'Linguistic Approach to Literature'.
Now honest to God, I am not interested in Linguistics. It's funny cos I love the English language. How it is possible to bend the language to my will if I know the rules...and I do (well, a fair more than most), so that makes it all the more wonderful.

But learning Linguistics, from Phonetics to Syntax to semantics.... For me, as long as I know what I want to say, and how I want to say it; that's enough for me. I'm not interested in breaking down the sentences and drawing up it's Syntactic structure or transcribing the words according to the IPA symbols. All these things spoil the language for me. Having to look at language in such a technical manner takes away alot of its beauty for me, making it look as though some piece of complicated machinery.

Don't get me wrong, the beauty is of course, in its complexity; but I just can't seem to appreciate the make up.

Having to look at literature Linguistically have changed literature for me. Once I was content with searching for meanings through more abstract means. But now, I am forced to take apart works in a more technical manner and analyze them Linguistically; and it is driving up the wall.

And why is that? Why, now every time I find myself some piece of writing, I try to find Linguistic patterns in them and study its stylistics. And when I can't, I unconciously deem them uncreative; even if they actually are creative and I have oncee thought so.

It has ruined some pieces of lit for me. Some part of my mind feels as though it needs to perform linguistic analysis on everything. eventhough I know not all works are made that way. And yet, I do it anyway, and have now marred its impression in my mind.

Well, don't misunderstand me, I actually like the subject and it is mighty interesting. But I don't appreciate my ideas on literature being altered that way. Now all I can think about is whether anything I read at all has those Linguistic qualities. Sheesh.

Love, Lin~

That's it.

I'm taking a gun to all the books of literature I know as well as all the poems I've ever read and written and I'm shooting them all to Hell.

I watched Spiderman 3 on Saturday night. I know, probably everyone else has watched it, seeing how it's been out since the 1st; or maybe has already watched it more than once. Well, not that it matters but I thought you'd probably be rolling your eyes at this point thinking 'Yeah, so? I've watched it last week'. For me, there isn't that much of an urgency to watch it anyway. I'm not a fan of the movie nor am I a fan of Tobey Maguire. Again, you may be thinking 'So?'. I don't know... You know how sometimes you just don't really like an actor and cannot be bothered to see a movie he's in? We'll if you have that kind of actor in mind, that's how it is for me.

Anyway, more to the point of this whole train of thought; so I watched the movie. I went to see it with my aunt and uncle, who were the ones that were really interested in seeing the movie to begin with; I was just tagging along. So we sat through the movie. Apart from my fever and a ringing in my ear (probably from the loudness), I sat through the movie fine. I had some issues with it, but it was overall okaylah...(in Malaysian terms that would mean 'so-so'). So when we left the cinema and started driving back, I casually asked what they thought of the movie before I start projecting any of my criticisms. My uncle thought that it was rubbish. My aunt had nothing much to say besides saying that (spoiler alert) *a**y shouldn't have died. Well, at this point, I started saying my piece too.

Basically, what I thought of the movie was that it was all botched up like a bad case of 'kereta potong' (think Frankenstein meets salvages of many automobile accidents). Really. I mean, you get this 'kereta potong' out of many different parts and try putting it out for show. A person buys it, and he's cruising down the road; maybe he wants to test the speed on his new wheels and he accelarates abit and then, what do you know? Another mishmash.

Really, it could have been better. They shouldn't have tried to combine too may things into one movie. The character development was crap. There were too many loose ends. In a word, I'd say 'terabur' (all over the place). Throw away those scenes that totally interrupted the flow of the story. If there's one thing I remember from listening -repeatedly- to Joss Whedon's 'Serenity' commentary (yes, I'm Headgeek of Jossdom in Malaysia, so sue me) it is that some scenes just gotta go. It may be beautiful, it may be touching, it may make the audience curl up and die with emotion; but if disturbs the show's flow, it's just gotta go... Hence the so very little scenes of Inara in 'Serenity'.

Okay, okay, back to the point. so that's what I thought of the movie. And my uncle? Well, let me just give you a brief intro about my uncle before I begin. He grew up reading comics. You name it, Spiderman, Superman, Batman, The Flash...whatever else. He used to tell me about them. How he used to have the whole collection (damn, imagine how much they would cost now if he still had them?) because his father used to send them to him from the States. So he's a great comicbook heroes fan. All them Marvel comics used to be his forte. Stories about superheroes who fight evil, fighting the bad guys who were always so ugly we would hate them at first sight. The baddies are almost non-human, and we are never sorry to see them defeated or die. My uncle read all these comic books growing up and so that is what he wanted to see.

(Another spoiler alert!)

Instead, watching it, he was disapointed with how the villain apologized, how the villain turned good again and then died right after that, how the villain was so human that all he wanted was to make his daughter better etc... And my aunty mentioned that she hated that 'that' person died too. So this were the criticisms coming from my aunt and uncle. I can't critic them any, seeing how that is their opinion and that it is different from what they would have read in their younger days.

And that suddenly made me wonder, isn't it nice but painfully naive to still want that in a movie? I mean, don't get my wrong, my uncle and aunt both very much have the cynicism of some who has lived and seen the changing of the times (for the worse) since the last 50 something years. I assure you vehemently that they are anything but naive. And yet, that is what they look for in a movie. Black hats versus white hats, a happy ending... I'm guessing, they're still looking for a fairytale amidst all the world has to offer.

And me? I am almost 22. I may not have seen or experienced much but I know alot. Sometimes I think I am too old for my age. And yet, despite that, I am still naive. Of course, not the type of naive that makes me the kind of girl who'd simper and gasp at the talk of anything inappropriate or sit back and let things happen to me cos I am merely a girl and thus have to wait for a manly man to save me (much in the vein of simpering Buffy in 'Halloween'. Not that I object having some suave fella swooping in at the first sign of danger, mind, but I can hold my own as well if it comes to that). But I know that I am.

But then, what is it that I look for in movies that are meant for entertainent; movie shows that are parodies of our lives, a reprieve from the real world so we can forget for a little while? The answer is: I look for a semblance of life. I want things to be real. It may be a story of a superhero whom of course, is not at all possible; but that doesn't mean it cannot be based on life. I want to see that the hero is perfectly flawed like any other human, that the villains are not just villains but human beings who have reasons for what they do, that good people die bacause not everyone lives happily ever after. I want to see the villain's repentance, see that the hero doesn't always prevail and get the girl, I want to see a good person die doing what he believes in.

So what does that make me? On one side I have my aunt and uncle who are looking for a fairytale on the silver screen, perhaps to fall into a story that is non-sensical as a sedative to the real world. And I, on the other hand, look for more realism even when things happening around me are real enough to touch.

Does that make me jaded? Or does it just goes to show how much the generation has changed? How, as time goes by, we cannot hope to show our children Disney movies and make them believe it? Of course, in the end they would have to learn to accept the world, but the children; we would want to preserve their innocence for as long as possible; shield them from the brutality of the world, so we can watch them play carefree without them having age lines from so much worry. we would want them to have their childhood.

And there I go veering off into another vein.

And here I am back.

So is it just me? Or are we all doomed to weariness long before our time?

I hope it's just me. Because, well, awareness and being well informed is all well and good, but sometimes I wish we didn't have to grow up so fast.

"We grew up way too fast, now there's nothing to believe" -'Name' by the Goo Goo Dolls.

I miss the days when we would pretend that we were superheroes and I'd tie a towel around my neck to make a cape trail behind me so that I could be Supergirl. Or how I used to believe I was a Ninja Turtle and I had the whole outfit (Donatello by the way. Always liked the smart ones). I
miss the days when we believed in fairytales.

So, we see things differently. Fairytale versus Realism. Who would win? I am hoping neither; because to tell you the truth, I am a great fan of the grey area.

Oh, how Joss has addled my brain so.

Hmmm, I guess one thing is for certain, my uncle and aunt could never watch Buffy or Angel or Firefly/Serenity with me. Grr arrgh.

Love, Lin~

Grr Arrgh.

No better phrase can possibly hope to sum up the condition of my mind than those two words up there. Well, that is, if you can consider them to be words at all. They are better described as non-words that can either be a verb a noun and even an adjective. Ain't that neat?

I've been rather irritable for the past few, and I'm not altogether comfortable with that fact. That would usually mean several odd hours pondering on whether or not I've hurt anybody in the process; and that would be coupled with the feeling of guilt if I did.

Feeling this way would also bring about a short fuse, me mumbling and ranting to myself, piercing glares, a litany of curses under my breath, among other things. But I'm all chipper otherwise, just don't purposely put out your leg when I'm walking by, then we're five by five.

Heh, I don't really know what the cause for this sudden bout of irritation is. Honestly, everything is all fine and dandy in this space I call my own. Unless....well, that might just be it. But still, even then I hardly am irritable like I am now.

Ah, maybe it's just cos I'm tired. Although, I wasn't tired when I got all pissed about my work being rejected. I was well rested then, but I still felt like taking a flametorch and cindering all trace of paper. Recycling be damned. That would have been a mighty fine ironic end to that piece of rejected work; seeing how it was about pollution. And that is just the beginning of my irritation.

Thinking about it now, this feeling might have come from two little incidents which would have been considered a nothing to someone else's ears; but it was like sticking a hot poker into my ear and into my brain to me. Words like that is an insult to me and mine and it makes me feel less than I am. It is annoying indeed especially since it comes from the mouth of a person who does not know and only wants to believe what he/she believes, even if the evidence is sitting there glaringly.

Well, that solves it. I know where the annoyance came from. And here I was being absolutely sombre with no knowledge why and only now finding out the reason that was no more than 3 or 4 days ago... Oh well, I do always say that my mind is Dory-like at its worst.

Having that out of my mind, at last I can get myself a restful mind whilst I try to catch some Zs. Had a good old crack at my brain earlier to get myself to write a new narration for Fairuz's advert and my nap was rather fitful earlier; so it's best I close shop for the night.... Although, with my mind being somewhat overworked, that would probably lead to some very odd dreams tonight... I'd better gear myself for some reality testing. Maybe I'd achieve lucidity tonight, eh Alfred?

So, anyway, that's all for now. My mind's somewhat clearer now so I'm carpe diem-ing the time to do some things that does not need my irritable bias-ness. And by the way, just cos I figured this all out doesn't mean I'd be whistling a jaunty tune up and down the hallways. Bottom line is, don't rain on my parade, and my vice would pretty much be versa.

Love, Lin~

DISCLAIMER: I obviously do not own Mutant Academy. If I did, I would think that the Grr Arrgh Monster would sound a bit more feminine. NO copywright infringement is intended. "Grr Arrgh" remains to be that of the EVIL GENIUS, JOSS WHEDON.

Once before I would have been happy with anything I put on paper. The mere task of setting the thoughts in my head in concrete writing was a cause enough for relief. A paragraph would have sufficed, whether or not it was of any substance did not matter.

But after a while, I began thinking them very shallow. I felt rather ashamed of myself for not being able to think up something more substantial than just a few lines that left much to be desired.

Eversince thinking that, I've allowed myself to put in every emotion that I can possibly spare another person to read into writing. Of course, the more personal ones are kept close and private, although I think that the ones that I do let flow are already personal on many levels. I'd write in as much detail as I can muster, and I have to say I no longer have qualms doing so.

Thinking about it now, I realize that the reason why the posts I have posted way at the beginning of my blogging days were so short was because of fear. I've always held back my feelings, too afraid to let loose with the emotions for fear of being seen weak. Those entries were pretentious; too on-the-surface to carry muh weight (now how can it when it was floating above water? Heh...). I felt naked being scrutinized, even if no-one read what I had to say...but the fact is that it was a public domain, and anyone is free to come and go and read what they want.
But now that I have managed to get past all that, I write freely without having that fear at the back of my mind that people would actually see me. Now I can fully enjoy the freedom, no longer feeling that feeling I felt way about 4 years ago.

If then I felt afraid to be laid bare, now I don't mind it. I may still be secretive about my true emotions, I may still feign nonchalance even when I'm trembling inside, I may be placid even when I am spiralling whirpool; but I find solace in the words I let myself write.

I admit, in person, it is hard for me to convey all that I want said. I find it hard to show emotion and feeling when I am in view of other eyes. But in words, I find myself easily, it all comes naturally. I am able to let forth the things I feel that I would normally hold back, I can say things I wouldn't have said in your presence. In words , I can freely let the feelings take the form I want them to without worrying about being under one's critical eye. And even if you judge me as your eyes take in line after line, at least I am no there to see your expression, to see how you react.

From this online journal thing, I have found myself my medium of expression. Sure, that's what it is to everyone else who blogs, but for me, I have really found my medium of expression. If not, I'd be trapped in my lies of not showing how I truly feel. Of course, I do have my own personal journal that holds my more intimate thoughts, but it is here where I feel a sort of freedom for I am able to let say what I held back and feel like I have actually said it to the people I aim it to for this is not a private space where only I can see. So you see, I can tell myself I have let it all out to others because there'll probably be someone reading this.

And so, I write. I write as long winded as this and don't care. The thing is, I write so the public can read what I have pent up, but they are still mine. They belong to me, so it doesn't mean just because I say what I want to say, you can play around with my words and shove it back in my face as though they were yours. There are some specific people who do this alot to me and I have a fiery hatred towards this trait of theirs. I know we have the freedom of speech, but these are my personal thoughts and feelings; you can't come to me and be rude and act as though it is yours and you can do whatever you want with it. Go get your own. If you know who you are, good; now please shut up, you have no right to take what is mine. If you don't know who you are and think that ou might be one of these people, you probably are because you do it all the time. If you have doubts, you ask me..that is, if I even bother to answer.

Bottom line is this, I worry myself so much with writing things in the most possible detail I can muster, sometimes I find myself stuck. In my drive to have everything written down in the stylings of mine, I confine myself from writing freely, allowing myself to write if and only when I can write long and thorough; and this hinders me.

So, it is only in times like these that I find myself frantically tapping my fingers on my laptop, giving words to the things I have in my mind. On other days, I'd be worrying myself over my not-writing and trying to get myself to think of elaborate ways to put my thoughts in; otherwise, I would not even post a single line.... Which has left this journal quite bare.

Oh well.... Let's hope some part of my mind would start-up and get more things down. If there is one thing that frightens me, is the thought of not bing able to give voice to all of my thoughts.

Anyway. breaking away from that vein, I have to say that I was a little miffed yesterday. You see, an assignment I had last week required me to write a comment on a passage. And so I read it and commented and when I got the paper back, the lecturer wrote that my paper is unaceptable. Honestly, this is the first time ever I've gotten something like this and it rather made me feel so stupid and puny. I was gonna see her after class and ask her what I did wrong, but I was a bit too angry to risk talking to her. I'm not really angry at her, but more of angry because I'm not clear of what is unacceptable. I know, I know, I should have asked if that is why I was mad. But I was in too huffy to do so. Really, I would have understood if it was not up to her standards or if it was not entirely what she wanted. At least, in some way it was ok and there's just part of it that was not up to scratch; but this was the whole effing paper! Okay, okay, I'm cooling down. I know it happens, but I never thought it'd happen to an assigment that, in my opinion, 'kacang'.

So yeah, that is me with the writing bit. Yeah, I know I'm longwinded (I already know it, you don't have to tell me. Look after your own hem) and I could go on... But I'll stop here for now so I can catch some air and you can digest it all.... So, bye.

Love, Lin~

I keep trying to justify the large gaps between one entry and another; but everytime I do so, I risk sounding like a bloody broken record. So I'm not gonna bore you with my usual opening lines (or paragraphs, mind you). Let's just jump straight to the non-existence of substantial things to say.

So, yeah, honestly speaking, there are not a whole lot of exciting things that can grace this space. same old, same old. But hey, this is my space and I can say bloody well what I want; so don't go complaining. I writ for my satisfaction and no more.

Last semester ended with not much of a bang. Or, you cold be if you define it to be a total lack of sanity. Due to the obliviousness and insensitivity of many parties, I foud myself more than simply just begging for a holiday. On a normal day, the prospect of a holiday meant wishing I was on my feet, occupying my abundance of time doing something. But that time around, a holiday was a welcome reprieve.

I had 3 weeks of holidays. And damn, I made every day count. I missed my family a whole lot. It's hard having to see my family only once a month or so. I know others don't even have that luxury; but e all have our definition of missage; and this is mine. The 3 weeks I had I spent having long conversations with my mother, who is hands down my best friend in the world. It's nice to see my father whom despite his lack of conversation, gives so much affection. And my siblings, well, miraculously, we hardly fought. All my frustration and temper I kept under wraps. I was determined to enjoy my holiday.

But the weeks came and went, and the next thing I knew I was on a train back to KL. As fun as it is thinking of a brand new semester, I wanted more time with my family. The thought of leaving them for another month or more made my heart ache so. But no amount of wishing could bring me more weeks to spend with them... So, I found myself in KL sentral on the 22nd of April, armed and ready for yet another semester.

Starting the semester, well, nothing new to me now. I'm halfway through my third year, so this is fairly a rountine. I got a new room, which is now on the second floor, or rather, the ground floor. I share a room with Aaina, Zaza (my old roomie from PJ days) and a new roomie who is a Law student (I don't know her so I hope we get along great). The room is pretty nice. It's clean and well taken care of, so when I moved in, all that was needed to be done was just to sweep the floor and to scrub the walls clean. And now it already has the home-y feeling of comfort.
Subjects I'm taking? Well, I'm taking 'Linguistics Approach to Literature' as well as 'Tilawah 2'. I was planning on taking Arabic but chickened out at the last minute. Aaina and I thought we should probablt take it with a whole bunch of friends so it would be easier for us to study. So I have only those two subjects.

Now it's only 2 weeks into the semester but we've hardly had any classes due to the lots of holidays (occasions and public holidays). But hey, no complaints here. Although, even with the extra holidays, it's not like I can go to Kedah... But then, I get to go back to Shah Alam and that is quite good enough. I get to spend time with my aunt and uncle as well as my friends.
Speaking of, I managed to spend some time with my friends whom I miss very much; Hamzah in particular. See, Fairuz has this final assignment whereby she has to create an advert on mobile TV. After spending the whole night discussing the layout and the script of the advert, we had a shoothing done over the weekend. It was fun, just driving around Shah Alam and going to various spots to shoot the advert. I had to play the part of a heartbroken girl who is trying to let go. And I, well, I have no talent whatsoever in the acting biz. I've done here and there some scripts and stuff, but that is the extent of my abilities in that department. Acting, I don't think I can pull it off. I think I rather looked like a typical 'jiwang karat' girl walking about in the bushes clutching a box full of memories... I threw away a heart in the river and looked sooo 'jiwang'.

Urgh...Well, lets see. the outcome. But the best part is having the chance to spend time with some good friends. There was Fairuz and Iylia, and not to forget Hamzah. I haven't seen Hamzah for over a year and I missed him very much. And eventhough the weekend was more of a work thing, it was just nice to be in the company of people who make me feel so safe and happy. Thanks guys. Love you lots.

And so, that has been my life in the past month. I know, not much to go on about but it was good for me all the same. I'm not so much on the going wild bit, so no matter how tame I spent my time having fun, it's good all the same, and I couldn't ask for more.

Well, I guess that's all I could conjure up for the moment. I hope to get more posts up. I'm feeling rather full and need to unload a bit. Will do so as soon as I get them into writing. So this is all for now. Bye then!

Love, Lin~

I think I turned so many shades of crazy last week that beginning is just so difficult... Where do I find the words?

well, to be honest, I never had much of a problem with crazy. It's always there, a constant in my head. What am I, if not a little crazy? Heh, I've heard people tell me that I am over and over again, so there's not much to hide anymore. I've left normal long ago, crazy is definitely the way to go. What with my theories about lecturers taking over the world with frogs as their pawn?

But last week, well, crazy took up many different forms. Well, I'm not surprised. As a Language and Literature student, I know that there are always more than one way to look at things. If you can see things in only one dimension, it means your mind is not open enough...Or so my crazy mind thinks.

There are so many levels of crazy, and it's quite possible to say that each one of them visited themselves upon me last week. Now, I'm always so hospitable, so I welcome all for tea and crackers whenever they come a-knocking. And the crazies? Yeah, them too.

I guess I cannot really turn them away. A little time out of my mind is a reprieve like you can't imagine. Not having to have your thoughts swirl around the same vicinity of things like 'How am I gonna finish that paper tonight?' or 'will I study Sociolinguistics in time?' or 'I don't get Research Methodology just one bit', is such sweet respite.

But then again, crazy has more than one way in making themselves known. And not all of them brought about the jollies in me. Nah, some of them were the kind that drove Spike bug-shagging crazy in the basement of Sunnydale High V.2. You know, the kind that would make you so crazy that you'd offer yourself up to burn, very much like Spike's smoking Jesus pose... (nooooo, not Jesus cereal, you guys. And no, you can't use the Judgment Day card)

So, yeah, there are many types of crazy. And while I like the thought of being crazy (of course, not Tanjung Rambutan crazy), I'm not a fan of the ones that just make you wanna hit your head repeatedly against the wall so you'll be forced to get your mind back in place again. Although, come to think of it, doing that will only serve to rattle my brain out of order to another shade of madness. Oh well.

Last week was just mad. But let me tell you, despite the mental suffering of it all; it was a pleasant albeit a painfully pleasant week.

Monday was all pick'n'mix if you ask me. A whole jumble of emotions. I woke up early to meet up with FidZy regarding the Sociolinguistics presentation. There was some confusion about it, but we decided to go ahead anyways. However, we couldn't as other presenters just took bloody forever. But I guess it was kinda of a relief. I mean, at least that gave us a little extra time. Methods of Da'wah was the usual...we got our midterms paper back. I did good...and that's such a relief. From here on end, I know I'd be fine doing that paper. Usul Fiqh was the same as well. We had a replacement class that night though. Aaina and I got back to the room, I rested a bit and later we got ready to go for the replacement class at 8.30pm. After the class we had a major craving for ice-cream and we picked out a childhood favourite: Paddlepop Rainbow. It tasted so good...brings back a whole lot of memories. We even got others to crave it as well... heh, we were walking adverts. watched abit of Lina's class' Romeo and Juliet rehearsal. Later, our Methods of Da'wah groupmates came over to give us their part of the assignment. Had a bit of a gossip session.

Tuesday....Hmmmm....not much honestly. I guess this is the one day that actually did not have me go all crazy and out of my mind. In fact, I was blessed with so many hours of blissful sleep... I suppose I should have taken that as a sign that I should get as much sleep as I could on that day. Because for the rest of the week, I barely slept a wink. Oh, I did meet up with FidZy, though; and we discussed our presentation that was to be the next day. But other than that, I was in my room the whole day enjoying the day off.

Oooh...Wednesday.

Where do I begin? I have to say that this is the day that started the onslaught of craziness throughout the week.... It was mad, man. It started with Sociolinguistics. We finally did our prsentation, FidZy and I. What was weird was the fact that the lecturer actually thought that it was well-prepared. I was on the edge and ready to kill anyone who got in my way and he actually thought we were well prepared? Well, in the wise words of Captain Mal Reynolds and Oz, "Huh".

Hmmmm, then came Methods of Da'wah. It was our last class. She had a bit of a lecture, just some things before we left. Then she told us that the semester has been great and she had fun teaching us... I think I was a bit teary thinking it was the end of the sem. Despite actually getting kicked out of the class that one time, I love her class. It's just one of the classes that relied more on opinion rather than hard-facts.

The same was with Usul al-Fiqh. Ustaz Maszlee was a bit teary eyed himself. I really have to say it has been a really inspiring semester with him as a lecturer. He really changed my perspective on religious lecturers... He's a man to be respected. He genuinely sees the bigger picture of religion, and that is something hardly anyone has.

classes finished early due to the fact that it was the last day. So everything was just some parting words and stuff. So Aaina and I had a lot of time to get ready for the big event of the day. We got back to the room and I had a short snooze. I was dead tired and needed a bit of R'n'R. Woke up and started getting ready. I forgot that the thing was this week so I forgot to bring any nice bajus. Ended wearing this simple blue top. When we were ready, we headed down. We were early so we thought we'd catch a bus instead of a cab. But of all days, luck wasn't on my side. I got stopped by a security guard who said my top was too see through. He told me to go up and change. I went to the building, hid for awhile, decided to take a jacket thing to wear on top and crept back down. Thank God the guard wasn't there anymore. We were already a bit late and it was starting to rain. We ended up having to take a cab. We got to the LRT station to the LRT to KL Sentral. But I guess luck decided to let us play our own game this time around.

We couldn't get a damn komuter... it was full and it was delayed. So after quite a while hanging about KL Sentral, we decided to catch a cab. We bought the cab coupons, only to find out that the line for te cab was long....damn. However, we eventually got ourselves a cab a arrived in Midvalley at the time we were supposed to meet up... So I guess we weren't so late after all. And we were the only ones.... The rest were not there yet.

We met up with Julia and Zeph first. God, babes, I miss you guys so much. It's been way too long. Zeph was a bit of a surprise, cos she didn't confirm her attendance. But it was soo good to see the both of them. These two were the two (very Willow of me) whom I've not seen for quite some years. We headed down to Kenny Rogers to wait for the rest. FidZy and Tasha came next, then sarah, and lastly, Anis and Liyana. Oh, and not to forget Matt. Anis couldn't stay though. But it was nice to be together, the eight of us for the first time in more than 3 years. It brought back so much nostalgia. can't believe that's how much we've aged throughout the years. Anis and Matt left, leaving the seven of us, eight including Tasha. We were so crazy there in Kenny Rogers. So crazy that every now and then, God I am the Responsoble One aren't I?; I had to remind everyone that it was a family restaurant. Talking about things like umm...well, lets just say things like that are confined to the well, nevermind. But I guess people around us caught the vibe and there was actually avoided us like the plague. There was no one sitting around us, everyone was sitting in seats several feet away.

Zeph paid for the food. THANKS FOR DINNER BABE! And we went looking about for another place we could sit and hangout. We decided on Secret Recipe. Sat there, fooled about, took pictures and basically just caught up with one another. It was nice, just sitting together like old times. I know it's no Lepak Place, but it was cool nonetheless.

Too bad we had this meeting at night. We couldn't stay long cos we had a curfew and had to get back to campus before we get locked out. Getting locked out is not so bad...but Aaina and I had to finish up a major assignment and we could not afford to just sit around and not do anything. Especially since our laptops were in the room.

So after our goodbyes (I was so sad, it's not often we meet and when we do, it's always so brief), we headed back. FidZy volunteered to send us back, but we managed to get held up by some traffic, missed a turning and I was just at the edge of my seat. Stress and anxiety gets me testy, I guess I snapped a little too often. HOwever, we got there right on time, exactly at 12am and thankfully didn't get into any trouble. Thanks FidZy, and I am sorry for getting abit testy and I do hope you didn't get into any serious trouble for being late.

So, when we got back, hearts all a-thundering, I was high on adrenaline. There was no way I could sleep after all that. Plus, the coffee I had before that made me a bit jittery. So I decided to take however long it takes to finish my assignment. I was awake all night, working on that paper entitled "Da'wah by means of the Internet: A study on Concept, Methods, Reliability and Effectiveness". Besides, it was due the next day. So....I did not sleep all night, save for the hour I had before I had to get up for Research Methodology.

So, that brings us to Thursday...

I couldn't get up. I was groggy. Bone tired. Brain tired. Physically tired. I just couldn't get myself to move. Even my brain was a bit slow on the uptake. I was officially spiraling into madness. The night before was circumstancial madness, but this, well, this was craziness nothing can stop.

I couldn't go to class. Unless I wanted to tumble down the Nusaibah stairs like a domino, I could. I was just not fit to walk. so I told Aaina to not expect me. I sat in the room and finished up whatever I can of the assignment before my brain lapsed again. Then Idzaid called to check if I was free. He was leaving for Germany that night. We agreed to meet in Gombak at 12pm, so I had to get moving. GOt ready and stuff, with my head simply swimming and mind just gone. The bus decided to NOT make an appearance that day so I had to catch a cab.

I got there in one piece. And without murdering anyone! That's progress! Mwt Idzaid and decided to skop our usual McDees and head to Secret Recipe. Sat down and decided on 'Mango Delight'. It's this cake with creamy mango-ey goodness. We finished that and decided that we wanted another cake. So we got a brownie with ice-cream and chocolate sauce. I have to say that was perfection. It was a beauty. It looked so good. But we dug into it anyway. Aah, it was nice to have a little respite amidst the craziness of the week. Eventhough I was still high on crazy and was not completely right in the head. Sorry you had to see that, Idzaid. Don't worry, it doesn't happen often. That knida crazy only makes its appearance every now and then.

Idzaid's friends joined us a little later and we hung out abit. It was great, meeting nice new people. I really haven't had the time to go out, so it was just so good to be out and about, thinking of things other than work....although the assignment was constantly at the back of my mind.

I was having fun, but work was not leaving me alone. I had to make several frantic calls all through the outing (sorry again for that), discussing what time to meet up and what not. However, it started raining heavily and there was no way I could get out of the rain and get back to UIA. So I called Aaina and we decided to take a chance and send it in the next day. A message to Mdm Megawati assured us that it was alright. So I stayed on with Idzaid and his friends and waited the rain out.

By the time I left Gombak, I was very tired and it was quite late. I got back to campus, met up with FidZy and was just brain tired. I guess it was obvious to everyone looking. I was walking like a zombie and spouting nonsense. Even started speaking Kelantanese when Raqib and FidZy was sending me to Nusaibah. When I got there, I was given firm instructions by FidZy and Raqib to sleep and get enough rest. I straightaway conked out as soon as my head hit the pillow.

What a great snooze that was. But with my assignments on my mind, I couldn't sleep that long. The next thing I know I was up again and on the paper again. I was just so determined to finish it and see the end result. Got a call from Idzaid who was from KLIA, again reminding me to get enough rest.. I guess I really was all crazy that day; cos everyone had that concerned look on their faces and concerned tone of voice.

Friday...

I woke up a little later than I wanted to; but it was early nonetheless. Put in some fianl touches to the paper. With Aaina's part of te paper combined, we had a total of 50 pages! Phew, wow, no wonder we were going all mad. look at the number of pages we wrote... And the lecturer, I think was only expecting about 20 or so. We printed it, submitted it and was so damned relieved!!!!!! It's done. Omigod, it's FINISHED!!!!!

I met up with FidZy, went up to my room to pack up my stuff, then left with FidZy to KL Sentral. There we discussed our paper on Sociolinguistics (yes, another paper). We were gonna submit it on Monday and we don't care if it was overdue. Had lunch there and talked some. Probably scared a few people away with our topic of choice.

Then I left for Shah Alam. Ooooh....sweet heaven, I was going back home at last.

But craziness never stops. can't stop the signal. It's always there in my brain. I was down with fever the second I reached home. My temparature was high and I had a killer headache.

But I managed to pull myself together to watch 'Bridge to Terabithia' and then later 'Pan's Labyrinth'. Both were just so sad. I guess I was super emotional due to the assorted chaos of the week, that i was extra sob-by when I watched those movies. But all is well and good now.

So, you see, craziness is just inherent to me. Sometimes I may not be the one to evoke it, but it comes to me all the same. And I somehow welcome it. It's part of my life. It drives me crazy (heh), well, ok, it drives me off my rocker, but I love it all the same.

So, there goes my crazy week. I would have been more specific on the happenings of the week, but I just got so tired of typing. So, that's all for now.

Love, Lin~

This should have been said on the 10th of March.

Well, I know it's belated, what, with this being three days late and all.... But at least I remembered. It was just that it is only now that I've gotten a chance to get online, so it's only now that I can post this... So, anyways:

HAPPY 10th ANNIVERSARY

BUFFY THE VAMPIRE

SLAYER!

Thanks Joss and crew for the lovely memories... the smiles and the tears... Thank you for creating and sharing such beutiful characters whose life and deaths have been the source of inspiration to so many of my thoughts and ideas. Thanks even for giving me the opportunity to get to know so many people around the world who shares the same love. Thanks for the wonderful decade.

JOSS IS BOSS!

It's possible that--well, that we'd be forever locked in this vacuum where we'd never progress, nor ever find out what lies in these paths that we *might* have if we break out from this. We'd have to be the humans we are supposed to be, and fall to our knees, careful to not break as we hit reality.

It's nice to know that we aren't always lifeless like we make ourselves to be. Too many times I've realized that I've let myself become an automaton, safe and predictable. But in such welcoming reprieve, I am comforted, I am brought to peace. I find that a lock has been undone, and for a little while, something is able to stretch the legs of its long dormant wilderness and run free. I think its beautiful.

It is times like these....it gives you freedom of time in its vacuum. Allowing my mind to visit dusty yesterdays and see how they've been, though my presence isn't always welcome. I gain a little something here, lose part of me a little there... Sometimes I like burying my head in the past, and let my mind swim with memories, sweet smelling, almost like home. I love how your sense of smell can bring you back to a certain part of your life and plays a clip of it in your mind, finger pressed on fastforward. Waking up from it is both painful and sweet...it reminds you of things you no longer have as well as that you've come this far.

We live in the now, so deceitful yet so forceful in its truth. Sometimes I cannot see the blurry lines that I walk upon, wondering where it begins and where it stops. I suppose I cannot really see when I am standing on it, my footsteps marring them with each step I take.

We'd find it. Damn, I know I'd find it. It's just that, now, I am afraid of where I'll find it.

Love, Lin~

And I have found that we choose to immerse ourselves in closets of thoughts and let time bind us tight. We find ourselves reaching for the doorknobs, only to retract our hands with worried fear. 'What lies beyond?', the question plays a heavy tune. A thrumming in the back of your mind. Coupled with the wonderings of what happens behind those other doors.

We seem to not want to go on. Even when these heavy feet rellentlessly trudge through sand and stone, we often ponder on the footsteps we leave behind; wondering whether there is a wisdom in going back. The treadmarks were lies, for there were none to speak of. We would discover them deceiving the orbs of sight, forking into different paths we do are not meant to take.

Where have we gone? We ask ourselves, as we turn the pages in our minds. We have gone ways with pathways only wide enough for one, admitting no other. Trying to steal glances at the distant shadows of yesterday makes us empty; for shadows change with each change in the rays of light. So all we're left with are the dark mass trailing at out feet, lonely in its wake.

Words now have lost their flavour; a blandness that leaves a bitterness in my throat, satisfying no hunger in my mind. And all I'm left with are what I own in all of me, and whispers of a distant past. And I smile and I think that branches may continue breaking off when they descend, but they came from the same tree... I am comforted.

Love, Lin~

Mag ik nog even
Hier bij jou
Mag ik nog 1 keer
Voor het leven
Mag ik in stilte
Hier bij jou
Mag ik nog 1 keer
Om je geven
‘k Heb niet altijd juist geleefd
Maar toch iets moois geleerd

En ik leef
En ik leef
Alles gaat fout, maar ’t is goed
Zolang ik het beleef
Want ik leef

‘k Was je verloren
En mij ook
Alles proberen
Voor ik oud word
En ik sta nog steeds rechtop
Dit keer gewapend
Voor het koud wordt
‘k Heb je altijd graag gezien
Ken jij mijn geheim misschien

Want ik leef
En ik leef
Alles gaat fout maar tis goed,
Zolang ik het beleef
Want ik leef

Dat ik nu zonder spijt
Nog verder mag,
Nog kansen maak dat jij
Dat je weer lacht naar mij
Je lacht naar mij
Je lacht naar mij

En ik leef
En ik leef
Alles gaat fout, maar ’t is goed
Zolang ik het beleef

Ja ik leef
En ik leef
Alles gaat fout, maar ’t is goed
Zolang ik het beleef
Want ik leef

- "Leef" by Sarah Bettens aka lead singer of K's Choice

I'd promised in my last entry that there'll be more of this...that is, more entries to follow, and not lone ones that make up for months of silence. Well, let's hope this one would be the beginning of well, new beginnings. Although, I have to say, there isn't much to talk about of late.

Hmmm...

Well, there is one thing that I have been wanting to put a word out about. Well, actually more than just a word but you know what I mean. My birthday, that is what I wanted to talk about. It's been more than a month since...and I thought I'd give it that much time before I brought it up. I thought that in a month I would gain a better perspective about how I feel about it... Heh, although to tell you the truth, it was more out of utter lack of motivation to write rather than to "gain perspective".

Anyway, turning 21 is fantastically overrrated. Oh wait, I didn't mean to sound so cynical but I really didn't feel anything. Not that I expected to see big flashing lights go off in the night's sky or have a male stripper (did I just say stripper?) knocking on my door but well, I did think that I would feel more...I don't know, maybe the word I'm looking for is 'different', but it doesn't roll off the tongue as it is supposed to. Perhaps it's something else, and I have no word for it.

Eversince I was a kid, I've always wanted to grow up real fast. I read alot and had alot of things that I wanted to say and do. But when you're about 3 feet tall no one takes you seriously and that frustrated me. I didn't like being thought of as someone who was not capable of thinking for herself. Age never mattered to me, I always thought it was the mind that really determined your age, but hey, not everyone thinks that way. So I pretty much had always looked forward to the time I would be old enough to be taken seriously. Don't get me wrong, I didn't have a bad childhood. I had wonderful friends and an ever supportive family. But many a time, especially when I was in school, I felt like someone older stuck in a child's body.

And now, I'm 21 years old and I'm an adult, and I sit here and I've quite lost the enthusiasm of my looking forward to this time. Again I'm not being a cynical, bitter person; but I'm just seeing it with different eyes now.

I don't regret anything. Wait, there are a coupple of things on my mind that I would very much like to change but then they are also the things that have made me the person I am today. So...not going through those experiences would have made me into a different person, and truthfully, I am comfortable with the way I am. So, whatever those things are, I have to bear the weight of my mistakes and remember to not repeat them again.

I still feel older than I should be. But that doesn't make me a bitter biddy who sits on park benches lecturing the young 'uns about the good old days. I feel older in the sense that I have managed to find a firmer foothold, and I've gone up a tad higher than most. And I'm not sitting up there higher than others laughing at them. Instead I have the time to not only stop and smell the roses, but bask in them and soak up the sun. It's a good feeling.

Of course, things are not perpetually rosy. But I like that I get nicks and scrapes every now and then. It's no fun going through wars and never getting any souvenirs along the way..

I've battled more demons than I'd care or am able to say. Sometimes they stay dead, sometimes their ghosts linger and haunt me when I let myself sink. I live with them, but like I said, I try to live with no regrets; so I put them aside and try to make up for my past wrongs. I am able to reflect and make a choice.

So this is me. I'm not perfect and I know it and I love myself nonetheless. I am comfortable with what and who I am.

But....I'm still searching for it. Will I find it?

Love, Lin~

~I am feeling complacent~

I can't find it. I can't find it. I can't find it. I can't find it. I can't find it. I can't find it. I can't find it. I can't find it. I can't find it. I can't find it. I can't find it. I can't find it. I can't find it. I can't find it.

"The more you live in this world,the more you see how apart from it you really are."
- Whistler, Becoming 1 Season 2

I think I now see the disease that has slowly been making me feel more and more hollow as each day passes. Not emptying the words into this chosen vessel of mine makes it worse I suppose; filling emptiness with emotions that are not made flesh... That's a recipe for disaster if you are me.

Yes, the disease... It's possible that I don't need to mention the incident that caused so much despair in me. It's been a constant theme throughout the past few months, I need not cause myself so much heartache. I've exhausted enough tears and energy into expressing them both in words and in actions to want to mention it again. It starts there, with my loss.

I made myself detached after that, not wanting to live in the now and having to connect with everything and everyone around me. I wanted to be left alone. Well, not really. I wanted to be held so badly but I'd rather be alone than be surrounded by half-hearted attempts at comfort or words that hold no understanding. I wanted so much to just drift away into my own mind.
Since then, I've been finding a way to feel again. And I managed that after a long talk with a dear friend over Italian food and drinks. He made me find that spark again and I see it, and now I need to catch up with it.

Now this is where the problem lies. After so long of lying so dormant without my usual zest, I've found myself a bit worse for wear from he lack of use. The second hand emotions that have been feeding me with me on my back has made me sluggish with rust.

I was awake yet catatonic, now I have to remember how to function normally again.

I realize that I was absent from the world this whole length of time. I think I stopped believing for a while; not in terms of faith but the belief in ever finding comfort or my belief that I can keep on being all that I believe I am (does that make sense?). I think I lost me, and I've found me now...It's just that I have to put the pieces back together.

I guess I believed that my strength will never wane. I know deep down that that's not realistic, one can't possibly expect something to last. But I did not expect things to go that way. But then again, possibly it's a test of sorts for me.

It's like how Angel felt in TCToNC Ep6S5. He felt so disconnected and disheartened that he forgot himself. He stopped believing in the Shanshu Prophecy. He felt like it was all useless and that it was just some fairytale story to make things seem that it will all be shiny at the end of all things.

And that was how I felt. I got so disconnected that I felt so weary and jaded and stopped believing in a part of myself that keeps me going.

So now, it's about me taking hold of the wheel again. It's time to come back to the world and do myself justice again. And most importantly, I must begin writing again. For ultimately, it was my lack of expression that led me down deeper into my gloom. And this is how it begins again....I hope.

Love, Lin~