Sup3rnality

Maybe lakes will run
Break ranks and banks
Seep through the cracks
Bleeds dry and cries.
Maybe nightingales'll sing
Breaking dawns and dusks
Sirens beg and plead
Traction bends and gives.

(c) Hazlin Aminudin, 2010.

* A shorter, edited version of the original I wrote which had a slightly more comedic ring, although the purpose of this is far from it. This is the tip of the iceberg of emotions that is waiting for that ship to come. Not altogether complete, but will have to do for now.

Disclaimer: "The Lily Pond" by Lynn Andrews was taken from Fine Art America.

When I got out of my car this morning to walk up to my office, after parking it by the roadside, I saw in the morning's sunlight a chip in the paint of the car somewhere to the right side of the hood. Argh. This is the third one. And I hate it when I don't know how it got there.

If I know why a scratch is there, I could reconcile with the fact that I was careless. But if it's just suddenly there, then I get a mite tetchy on the origins of that offensive mar in the smooth exterior of my Sylvie (the Silver Viva). Yes, I can actually see your eyes rolling when I say this, Sayang, cos you know how dusty and dirty my car is at this point of time. I swear, I don't have the time to clean it.

Anyhow, all this fuss about car colours and paintjobs gave reminded me of arguments I often have with my father. Arguments that often leave me huffing in frustration. Why? Because he loves saying this:

"Alah, colour tu seasonal!"

Meaning: "Alah (said as negative exclamation that expresses disagreement or dismissal), that colour is seasonal".

Operative word: "Seasonal"

This is my father's most favourite word. And when he says it like above, that's pretty much the end of the argument. No buts, no ifs. That's it. And why does he say what he says? Ah, this is where I give you a little backstory.

My father is not the kind of person you'd request things like clothing, handbags, accessories from. First of all, he doesn't like buying them. Rather than buying those, he'd rather buy you a Nintendo DS. No, seriously. He will. And while some might think that that is fantabulously awesome, it's not when all you really want is a nice t-shirt. Or maybe, he will get you what you asked for, but in a really boring colour.

Okay, scenario: Say he goes to Japan, and you tell him: I want a t-shirt with nice cherry blossoms on them.
Likely end result(s): (a) He buys a Nintendo DS with cherry blossoms decorating it, or (b) he'll get what you want, but in a safe, and often drabby colour.

My father, for the most part, likes to play the safe card when buying something that he'd be owning for a long time. Like clothes, he'd rather get grey or black or white or brown. He'll never buy red or green or yellow. Unless someone gave it to him and he'd have to wear it. But even then, he'd probably only wear it once.

Same goes for cars. He'll only buy a black or silver or grey car. Which is fine if those were the only options. But cars come in so many wonderful colours now, but would he want to get a nice vibrant colour that shines beautifully in the sun. No. Simple as that.

I have argued with him way too often, and my anger has never been assuaged. It's just that I got so tired of his adamant reply. It's a seasonal colour. What I would very much like to say, but never will is: So what?

Come on, think about it. I would think that anyone would be excited about getting their first car. I know I was. Other than type, model and brand of car, almost certainly you'd have an ideal colour in mind. It's your first car after all. You'd want it to be something that reflects what you like.

I knew that when I started working, a car was in the cards. And there I was fantasizing about a beautiful blue car. Okay, so I wasn't really particular on what car it was. Just like a woman, you might think. But it's not like I had oodles of money to have the luxury to choose, so whatever that moves would have done me just fine. I just wanted a blue car. I've loved the colour blue since forever. It always made me think of skies. Also, I think that would save Ash from having to dump Chelsea-blue paint on my Sylvie likes he's been wanting to do :p

But you guessed it, my dad got me a silver Perodua Viva. Thing is, he didn't even consult me when he bought it. I didn't even know he was buying a new car. Next thing my mom knew there was a Viva in the garage. No one knew. He just got it.

Now you might say that my dad got it, I should be thankful. Yeah, I am. But, he could have at least asked what colour I liked. And besides, yes, he paid for the downpayment; but I'm paying for the monthly installments.

I'm not saying I don't love my Sylvie. I do. She serves me well and I take care of her the best I can. But when I see a nice blue Viva on the road. I get envious. Not just the blue, in fact. The red is nice, too. And the jade is also real eye-catching. Sometimes I wish I could have gotten another colour instead.

And when I ask my father why didn't he get another colour, I'd always get his typical reply: Buat apa, Ayin? Colour tu semua seasonal. Sekarang ni cantik la, lepas ni dah bosan tengok sebab semua orang pon ada colour tu. Baik beli colour macam ni. Original. Colour lain tu semua lama-lama nanti bukan trend dia dah. Lepas tu semua nanti nak tukar balik. Kereta nak simpan lama, nak ke tengok colour boring macam tu lama-lama? Ah, seasonal je tu.

Translation: What for, Ayin? All those other colours are seasonal. Now it may look nice, but soon it will be terribly common because everyone else will have the same colours. It's better to have a colour like this (silver). It's classic. Those other colours will soon be out of style. Then soon everybody would want to change back to normal colours. Cars are meant to be kept for a long time; do you really want to look at a common, seasonal colour like that for that long? They're all just seasonal.

Queue seething anger. But --- I like blue! Whether or not it is in "season", I will always like blue. Blue has always been my favourite colour. Everybody knows that. I was easily spotted in campus cos I was almost always in a blue tudung. Ask me this year, and the next year or next decade, or go back in time by another decade, I would still say I want blue. What really is the problem? I'll be the one driving it anyway.

But then, it's no use. My father is not the kind of person you'd argue with. You cannot argue with him. You will never win. And he is too intimidating and can get quite angry, so you cease argument at a certain point. And that is that.

I love my father. But sometimes his stubbornness and hard-headedness really grates me. But then again, now you see where I got it from, eh?

Love,
Linzy

I've just realized that I haven't taken the time to say how wonderful a birthday I had in December. It was small and modest, but memorable nonetheless. I couldn't possibly ask for more. To be surrounded by my close family members and also have my Sayang with me was a recipe for much happiness :)

But my birthday celebration started earlier than that. It began with my Asdil's surprise dinner location on Tuesday. As soon as I got home from work, I told him I wanted to have nasi lemak at a certain shop. He wordlessly agreed and so we went out. But when we got in the car, he drove and passed by the shop with no sign of slowing down let alone stopping, I knew we were gonna go for one of his hijacking trip.

He said we were off to Johor. I would believe him. He's capable of it. But he decided not to in the end (or did he?) and took me  for a joyride, driving around on unfamiliar winding roads surrounded my jungles. Suddenly we passed by a lake and then he turned the corner and parked. Casually he said "This looks like a nice place".

It was a nice restaurant built along Tasik Idaman, it was beautiful in the twilight, with little lights lighting it up all around. The gentle waves break along the grassy banks, and the soft breeze made it all the more wonderful. It somehow felt like stepping in another world; to drive along the highway then all of a sudden end up in such a quaint little haven that was like a hideaway getaway.

The ambiance was nice. We sat at a table on a floating section right on the lake. The wind blowing was nice and cool and the purple sky was real pretty. We had a good dinner there. And I was delighted by the unexpectedness of the gesture of taking me someplace new and surprising and so beautiful. I loved it. It was certainly a beautiful night :)

I love you, Sayang *hugs*

I had another birthday surprise the very next day, as it turns out. Since the Fun Inc team organized the company's Annual Dinner earlier in December, the company brought us to TGI Friday at IOI Mall. I arrived late due to traffic and the heavy downpour. But in time to eat and finish with the rest. But I suppose while I wasn't there yet, they conspired some evil plans.

For the benefit of those who might not know, at TGIF, it it's your birthday, they will make you stand on the table or chair and make you do outrageous things. So you really have to sing for your birthday cake. And there's no getting out of it.

And that's what happened to me. I finished my food, and happily enjoyed the chatter and watched as the waiters placed little plates and dessert forks on the table. I didn't suspect anything. Until they brought out the cake. First I stared at it. And then, realization dawned. "Oh. sh*t", said I.

I was made to stand on the chair and sing Christmas songs using a ketchup bottle as a microphone. It didn't help that the TGIF there was open; meaning that people from outside could see and hear what's going on inside. Argh. And so I sang them Christmas songs...Oh, the pain.

Joo Hong and about 6 others have videos of it. Hopefully my stuttery, nervous laughter and singing doesnt end up on Youtube for laughs. Not that it is YT material to begin with, but I know these people would love to get a few laughs outta someone else's expense.

Hmmm....My next pre-birthday happiness was on Thursday, when Ash and I went to pick my birthday cupcakes from Ambition Bakers aka Fawz's (a fellow coursemate in IIUM) cakes and cupcakes shop. They were so delightfully pretty. I loved them at first sight. I chose the Red Devil Snow cupcake which is a red velvet cake base, with cream cheese frosting which was absolutely delicious. Fawz gave us a sample which Ash and I fought over in the car. Even the cup was (partly) devoured to savour the last few crumbs. Sigh...heavenliness. Fawz so definitely found returning customers in us :)

After that, it was off to Seremban for my birthday the next day.  I was a little disappointed at first, cos my plans weren't exactly happening the way I wanted to. But in the end, it turned out wonderful. I picked Ash up from the train station in Seremban around midday, and as soon as we arrived home, my mom and dad (aunt and uncle) and another aunt and uncle (from Kota Bharu) and a couple of cousins arrived. Later, my cousin and her husband and their 2 kids arrived. My house was full to the brim :))

We had the steamboat buffet that I love so much. Ate so much til I couldn't walk :p

Then when we went home, we had a whole lotta desserts to eat...the cupcakes that I was looking forward to eating. And a Secret Recipe cake my uncle bought. And lots of kuih my aunt brought from Temerloh. It was a makan fest! And Ash has so been initiated into the makan-like-a-pig family.

It was real nice. Later the guys sweat it out by playing table tennis in front of the house. it was fun watching...I played a bit, but my coordination is crap. Oh, and I have horrible depth perception (a dyslexia symptom--but that'll be in another post).

Basically, the celebration was 2 days, with lots of food involved. I cannot even begin to describe all the food we ate. I know Ash was so full he felt it for days. Hehe... But it was all good.

Thank you everybody for a wonderful birthday celebration. Turning 24 and being surrounded by people I love is all I could ever really want. Really. Love you.

Love,
Hazlin

"There is a major Season 8 spoiler out there, one that no one wanted to see early, and that was released by accident."
- Scott Allie

Hell yeah, there was a gorram spoiler I did not want, nor expected, nor intended to see. WTFufi?!

I mentioned before that I get daily digests of the latest Whedonesque news via Whedon.info, which contains everything from updates on comic upcoming issues to what ex-actors/actresses of the Whedonverse are doing now. Each day I would of course take the time to read the reviews and find out what's new on the Whedon front, just to sate my lust with whatever I can get; despite Dollhouse going down the drain and Firefly being no more.

But then, there are days when I would very much like to rip the pc off of it's wires and hurl it to the end of the room. And while I'm in such rage, I'd like to claw my brains out and burn the tattoo of the memory of what I'd seen off my mind.

Like that time when they had that page preview of the upcoming season 8 issue, and it had Buffy and Satsu in bed, and naked. Arghhh...my eyes. Assaulted by unwanted spoilerssssss...Why why???

And now this? Twilight is... Bloody hell. I'm not gonna give in and say it here. I'd very like to feign blissful ignorance and go on with my life and still wonder on what Twilight is all about. I want to go about with no knowledge on who he is.

But damn... Not that I didn't suspect him. I did. All the hints were there. The "I know that move" line, the profile when he pulled Buffy close, the duster...and the built is just right. He fit into my top 3: Xander, Angel and Spike. It's jus that he wasn't first on my list. Cos I was sure as hell that it was Xander.

Nevermind. I shall be immune to this and avoid Whedon.info for now. Ignorance is bliss (although I sure as hell will be painfully curious on all the updates now).

Thank you very much.

Love,
Linzy

*This just in: Dark Horse is apologizing for the leak to all the distraught, spoiled fans. Sigh...what to do?

There is this street in the town of Seremban which, on weekends, is closed off to make way for the street walk. This is when people come to open little roadside shops where they sell knick-knacks, curios, old magazines and books, and a myriad of other things. You never know what you will find. There is always something that would catch your eye.

Just being there gives a whole new meaning to another person's trash is another person's treasure.


I am quite the thrifter. I suppose I get it from my dad. I love going to junkshops and shops where they sell used stuff for a fraction of the original price. And with each junk comes so many possibilities. Like the retro heart-shaped sunglasses that will soon be on my Vintage shop. Or out-of-date handbags they wanna shove off, that is now also a vintage collection of mine.

But I think one of the things I like best about going to the street walk is the book stall. There, all the books are strewn in boxes and all over the road unceremoniously. I'm not kidding, the books are just dumped there like so much trash. And you, the potential buyer, would need to dive in and do a little spelunking to look for a book you might  like. But it's not that hard. You can find a good one in every five books you pick up. By the time you are at the end of your tether, you'd have a stack of 20 books at least. But the most wonderful part is that, the books are mostly RM3-RM5 each :)) The last time I went, I forked out RM33, for about 11 books. What a steal!

On the last trip, one of the books I picked up was the book above, Inside the Kingdom by Carmen bin Ladin. I got it for RM3 by the way. And I read it about a week back. This wouldn't be the first time I would have read books -- fictional or non-fictional -- that describe the life and status of women in Islamic countries.  I've read Soheir Khashoggi's Mirage and Nadia's Song, Fauziya Kassindja's Do They Hear You When You Cry, Betty Mamoody's Not Without My Daughter and a few other titles I do not remember right now. Some of these books are about women who grew up in that environment and wanted to get out. And some of them are books on women who were brought into that life via marriage etc. So I am no stranger to these books and stories.

This book by Osama's sister-in-law is quite the interesting read. While it was not really that thick to be really immersed in it and it didn't take that long to read, it was so engaging that I kept turning the pages to know more and more. Although, at the end, it didn't really leave me with much to think about.

Let me clear a few things first about the book: If you're looking to read a first-hand experience on living with Osama bin Laden, then this is not the book for you. If you're looking to read about women being terribly mistreated then this is not it either. It merely is a story of a woman who fell in love, got married, followed her husband to his home country, and saw a way of life that she did not agree with.

But of course, I am not living in a Islamic country where women are made to leave a cloistered life. Nor am I an European woman. Perhaps it's not my place to say how one should think. But this book was written for the masses to read, and so a reader will form opinions, it's a given. So my opinion on this book is based on what I think as a person by just reading this account and not judging any sides.

Carmen, the woman who married Osama's elder brother, tells what she witnessed in the Laden household. She saw oppression, injustice, fanaticism and/or extremism, backwardness and a lack of education. They, the women of Saudi Arabia, saw responsibility, a show of faith, an obligation and honour. Who really is the one missing out?

For me, after reading many books such as these, I have both a sense of pity as well as a sense of respect for women who live their lives shielded from the eyes of any other. I say pity, for as a woman who is (almost) free to do as she pleases, I cannot imagine being forbidden to do the things I love. For example, read, listen to music, pursue knowledge.. These things that people take for granted are things that these women are forbidden from enjoying. But then again, if they were born into that life, then they might not miss it to begin with, since they would have never known such things. But other than that, I pity them knowing that they (might not) have the freedom of choice, the freedom of opinion and speech and the freedom of knowledge. But I also say I have a sense of respect for them because, for the love of their religion, they are ready to forsake their earthly pleasures. Although their extreme thoughts on Islam are not the same as mine, and their practice of that belief is not in line with what I think should be, I admire their will and dedication.

And the author? Well, I cannot help but think that she is too judgmental of others. I don't blame her for not being able to accept the culture, she is after all from a totally different background. But she didn't seem to make an effort to acclimatize herself and seemingly spent a lot of time complaining. Not that I don't agree with her, as a number of her opinions did ring true with what I thought, but for the most part, she did act like a princess who is too used to getting her way all the time; and would go as far as being disrespectful to another's culture to get what she wants.

Compared to the other books I have read, she got it easy. The Laden family is filthy rich, and could afford her all the luxuries she could ever want (albeit in limited supply or choice). She was not physically abused in any way. She got to travel back to Europe several times a year and also contact her friends in the States and from Switzerland. She had it all, just not in the right place.

I, of course, do not know how it feels. I suppose feeling homesick and lonely and far from everything you know plays a large role in all of that, too. So, who is the wrong party, really? Hard to say, since everyone wants to be right, and everybody would have a plausible answer. So unless every race, nation, continent and basically everyone on earth unites and live under one, absolute set of rules, there will always be a difference in ideas.

And Osama? Well, he hardly gets that much of mention in this book. He is often mentioned from glimpses of him, or brief run-ins with him; but besides that, nothing much. Here is a story of a woman who, in a place foreign to her, discovers herself and makes every effort to retain what she almost lost.

I can't say I liked the book. I can't say I hated it either. It was an entertaining read, that is all, for me. Substance-wise, it left a lot to be desired. Content-wise, it was engaging enough. It just didn't jive with me. But from reading this, I do have somewhat of a better appreciation of what I've got. It's not much, but it's everything to me. And I am content.

Love,
Lin

I have no words for the burning of the church in KL. It left me speechless. I cannot find the words to say anything. I feel like bowing my head and fading into the background. I am, outwardly,  the same as what those barbarians are. I am Malay. Pure, as far back as I can tell. And I am Muslim.

Of course, those savages are no Muslims.

But in my multi-raced company, where Malays are a minority, I feel all eyes on me. And I am ashamed. Ashamed that by identity, I could easily be identified as being like them. Like savages. Like ignorant, stupid, and intolerant bastards.

Here is what I think, based on what I learned, particularly from a wonderful lecturer whom I admire, Dr Fadzilah, who taught me Islamic Aqidah in IIUM (I am currently looking for my old notes to make sure I'm saying the right things):

• Allah is not the word for the Almighty Creator. No name could contain Him. But 'Allah' is the closest word to encompass Him (I want to revoke this statement, cos I think I got the facts wrong, but in any case, what I'm saying is that, in a way, cos I don't know how else to put it, what's in a name?).
  
• I don't know what to think about the issue on the name Christians would like to use to address God, but in whatever way, God is still God. What differentiates religions is that how we practice our belief and how we believe in the concept of God. But what makes us the same is the strife towards good and peace. So if we can't reconcile the dissimilarities in belief, at least unite on the want for peace.
• We all think we are right. We all want to be right. We will always feel we are right. So therefore we all want to be superior to the other. But it doesn't mean we are. Nothing gives us the right to force someone else to take what we believe in. For example, me as a person, I want to know something before I believe in it. I don't want to be forced without knowing what I'm doing means. Otherwise, where will appreciation come from?
• Everywhere I am reading "...a row over the use of the word "Allah" for the Christian God", or "Other religions Gods cannot share the name..." etc. Don't they know that to say "their God" or "other gods" or "their religion's god" etc is a form of monolatry? It is as though they are saying that there are many gods, and each religion has their own god. It is just up to us which one we want to worship. This needs to be corrected. It may be an honest mistake in semantics, but it does connote the wrong idea. 

I do not know what to think anymore. Flashes of scenes from "Green is the Colour" is coming back to me. Please God, let these people's minds be open.

Ashamed and afraid,
Hazlin

This feeling so wrong
I think I knew it all along
I just wanted to belong
But then I heard it: "So long".
And now, world at my feet
Nevermind a light sense of defeat
I can't help but wonder abit
A little wistful yes, but what got me beat?
My heart's full, and I'm content
There is no need to smile and pretend
I'm just wondering, if this light bends
Would we have chosen these same paths again?

(c) Hazlin Aminudin, 2010

Love,
Lin

In my earlier days in IIUM, I quite liked borrowing novels from the campus library. I say this like it is a big thing because, first and foremost, the idea of being loaned a book and then having to return is a heartbreaking experience for me. I'll prolong my possession of the book for the longest time possible, cos I don't wanna return it. Mostly I'll avoid borrowing if I can. And second, well, the IIUM library does not have that many books of the fiction genre anyway.

But yes, I did borrow fictions in those days (in my senior year I was more immersed in journals). I was adjusting to my new life there and was looking for things to do to occupy my time. I can almost imagine Ash rolling his eyes and calling me "nerd" right now :p

One fine day, I saw this book: The Lovely Bones. The synopsis on the back piqued my interest and so I took it back to the room and started on it.

I was crying by the end of the first chapter.

You are faced with your own mortality and weakness when you read of a young girl being raped and killed. You know that, put in the same situation, you wouldn't fare any better, and I cannot imagine how it must have felt to know that no one could save you as you died alone. I remember waking up with a start once when I dreamed that I was being held down and I could not scream after reading that book. It affected me so. To the extent I was painfully scared of being alone in secluded areas.

Reading The Lovely Bones put me in an ordeal, trying so hard to finish the book but finding it hard as I was crying at every few pages and had to put it down while I calmed myself down. The story is told by Susie, the girl who was murdered, who watched family, friends and other people she knew live their lives after she died. She watched the futile police investigations on her disappearance. She watched her family crumble, watched her friends grow up and do things she never will, and basically saw how people moved on without her. It was painful, wistful and sad. She was only 14, and had so much to live for.

Sometime in 2008 I heard that Peter Jackson was taking up the movie to adapt to the silver screen. I felt scared, anxious and doubtful. Translating a story based so much more on emotions rather on plot is not an easy task, assuming that it is not interpreted wrongly. With the absence of words to describe the matters of the heart and soul, visuals would need to do it justice. On top of that, with the story covering the lives of so many characters, you can only hope that the story would not be snipped and changed too much from the original to fit in to a movie.

I, however, will give Mr Jackson the benefit of the doubt. I'm sure he'll manage to pull it off. The movie's coming out very soon, and I'm very anxious to see the outcome. Perhaps for me, it is not so much about the story. I'm not so bothered on how true it'll stick to the book, cos I've learned to just accept that movies could never adapt the exact storyline from books, it's just too difficult and complicated. Although I do wish that the essence of the story won't be distorted too much. What I'm more worried about is whether the emotions that was told so heartbreakingly well in the book could be captured in the movie. I want to see whether what made me cry from start to end would be there as I watch rather than read. That is my utmost hope, for the emotions to not be overlooked.

Anyway, here's to hoping that the movie will be as good as the book. From what I saw from the trailer and all, it looks pretty good. And having enjoyed a few movies by Mr Jackson, I suppose he wouldn't do too shabby. So let's wait and see. And for those who has read the book, too, keep your fingers crossed!

Love, Linzy

P/s: After reading TLB, Aaina lent me a Alice Sebold book which told about Sebold's own rape experience. I never could finish reading it, it was too horrible. Like any other woman, I find rape to be the biggest betrayal, something that I fear and have restless thoughts about.