Back when we were young, we ran into the sun

The reality is so much harsher than what we thought it would be when we were six. The reality is so much harsher than what we thought it would be when we were sixteen. Its a sad moment of truth when you figure out you have actually stopped looking into the world through rose tinted glasses. The moment when you realise that you stopped believing in fairy tales, you stopped imagining yourself to be a princess who is treated royally by the world. When you know that the movies with happy endings are not real, when you catch yourself admiring the acting skills of those people inside your laptop screen instead of imagining yourself to be one of them. When you can't imagine the relationship between two people to be perfectly romantic and happy twenty-four-seven.

I watched an amazing movie - Waiting for Forever. Its not amazing because I admire any of the characters, nor is it amazing because I want to watch it over and over again. It was just perfect for the one and a half hour or so that I watched it, and near the end, after what seems to be a very long time in my life, I bowled my eyes out. It was amazing because the story portrayed our harsh reality, and it reminded me, over and over again, that I grew up. That it actually is not okay to pretend to freeze time in childhood.

There was a time when I could imagine anything and everything. In fact, when I was young, I remember imagining very crazy things, things that I have never mentioned to anyone (I think). I had a whole world inside my head, because I knew the world would never exist in real life. It didn't go away as I grew up, though the people and places in my imagination changed. And now, I think I have consciously restricted my imagination to certain things because I know that if I let it roam to far, it can affect my actions, and that would count. Now, everything counts. Everything counts. Everything counts. Every step I take, every thought I think, every word I say, every person I interact with, matters.

 In all honesty, if I am ever told to describe what I imagined, I couldn't. Because, now that I think about it, none of it makes sense. If whatever the ten-year-old-me thought about doesn't even make sense to the twenty-year-old me, how can it make sense to anyone else?

Its not just things I thought about ten years ago. I think, my life, and my way of thinking, changed very rapidly in the past few years. So many thoughts are trying to reach out of my mind that I don't even know what is what any more.

Do I miss the old me? Or the old me-s? (Since, clearly, there were many of them. Many twists and turns that completely changed my way of thinking, several times.) Do I want to become one of them again? I think not. I like my current state, alhamdulillah. However, they are just like a shoebox of memories that randomly pop out when I watch/read/listen to something. When I can relate to something, its like those old feelings returning to my body, mind and soul. Like, this afternoon, I fell asleep a little after lunch. It was around 3 PM, the soft sun was streaming through the blinds and falling on my face and taking some of the cold away. It was very, very comfortable, and I just fell asleep. I had a horrible dream (the dream was about how some person deceived me in a horrible, horrible way. Don't really want to give too many details. Funnily, I don't even know this person in real life. Yet, she played a huge role in the dream), then I woke up to see darkness all around. And I thought, I'm sure I slept for a very long time, why isn't it morning yet?

And then I got reminded of The Violets, by Gwen Harwood. We studied this poem in year twelve. I loved it - it talked about a little girl who woke up after her nap in the afternoon, and gets scared because its dark outside. She runs to her mother for comfort. And I think it was about how things have changed as she grew up. Funny, the internet is full of everything, yet, I cannot find a single text of The Violets. When I googled it, all I got was notes on its analysis!

I remember those moments from my life though. I would wake up when it is nearly Maghrib, and sometimes, I would wonder if its Fajr time. So, this afternoon, I sort of had a three step nostalgia: current state; eighteen year old state when I was pacing back and forth in my backyard trying to learn my essay; and the five/six year old L - when I would wake up, find myself sleeping on my tummy, look around to see darkness, and think that I need to get up to get ready for school.

I'm trying to think about why exactly I liked this movie. The music was definitely 'my type' - soft, guitar strums, simple lyrics with vivid imagery; The characters had a Hollywood glow to them, yet, the way they talked sounded normal - I think I liked that too. I liked the fact that Will has a child within himself that he always likes to unleash, yet, everyone around him knows that he is not doing himself very good. I like how he eventually figures it out. I like how the film portrays the fact that we often don't have control over our situation. What someone else does, can often have a huge effect on our present and future. We just have to accept it and learn to deal with it.

Its late. I have an assignment due on Friday, an exam on Sunday another on Wednesday. I have uni five days a week, work five days a week. I should probably stop thinking about happy things and go to sleep.

However, here is a beautiful song from the movie. I guess it would have seemed even more beautiful if I was in love. But, even now, it made me smile. The words are so carefully uttered, the music is slow in the beginning, then it picks up its speed, as if it gains confidence as time passes by.

Benefits of attending classes...

Days like today make me wish I would bother to get myself off the bed every morning and implement some sort of a discipline to my life. I enjoy my classes when I turn up to them, but I usually do not seem to have the motivation to turn up, especially when they tell you that only eighty percent of attendance is compulsory, and even then, its negotiable.

However, this morning, I realised that I have already filled up my 20% quota of missing classes, therefore, I must turn up. I got a cafe macchiato (quite bitter, yet, surprisingly refreshing) because it was the only I could afford with the silver coins in my wallet. Its basically espresso, with a tiny bit of frothy milk. I poured three sachets of sugar and prayed to God that I would enjoy it. My last experience with espressos went quite bad - I threw it out after about three sips.

The first thought that popped to my head after the first sip was: 'why do you do this to yourself, L?' Second thought: 'I shall try to like it.' Being a psychology student, I know that this actually works. Attitude and behaviour affect each other. An experiment was done by giving a group of people something to listen to while they nod, and to another group, while they shake their heads. It was found that the nodding group tended to agree more to the message. So, I kept telling myself it would taste okay if I drink in small sips, I tried to imagine how awake I would feel and how much work I would get done after I finish the coffee. I also kept praying for it. :)

Result - I managed to gracefully finish the tiny cup of macchiato. And I actually liked it! That, my dears, is the power of imposing positive attitude/behaviour.

As you could tell from the previous posts, I have been thinking about my faith lately. And I realised, the result of this experiment actually shows one of the wisdoms behind the words that we say in our daily prayers. A lot of the words are the same, and they are words of praising God and asking for guidance. It had occurred to me in the past that, asking for guidance makes sense. I already know that God is above all, He has infinite power, wisdom, mercy and is Just, and I'm pretty sure God knows that too. Why do we need to praise Him? Why not just jump straight to asking? As an answer to this question, I was always told that when you ask something from someone, it is polite to say good things about them before you ask. This explanation never quite satisfied me, because, I know that God knows everything in my heart. He knows I will ask Him for something, why be polite?

However, now, I understand that it is actually for ourselves. When we repeat His praises, we are reconfirming them in our mind. I am saying them to myself, reminding myself of them - which is an 'action' (action of 'saying' it) - a 'behaviour'. This, in turn, would affect my attitude. It would renew my determination, trust and faith in Him. Therefore, God does not need to be praised, rather, we need it for our own selves.

Interesting.

But that is not the main point of this post (lol), as you have probably guessed (or not). I really do need to be more organised with my thoughts, and I plan to do so! In my other blog. If you visit this one, you are choosing to suffer from reading my thoughts as they pop up, even before I have a chance to organise them.

So, the main point of this post is, the Barnum Effect. This is one of the two things I learnt in class today (the coffee paid off in keeping me awake for a 9 am start!). The tutor handed out an analysis of every student that was done based on a handwriting sample we handed in. (The sample was handed in during the first week, naturally, I wasn't there.) It was about half a page, explaining their personalities. She told them to keep it to themselves while they read, and give it a score out of 10 on its truthfulness. When she recorded the scores, we noticed that most people rated the explanations by 8 or 9. There was only one 5. Then, she revealed that, there were no psychoanalysis on any handwriting. Everyone got the same piece of paper! Yet, in a class of about twenty, most people were fooled into thinking that their handwriting in fact reveals a lot about them. This, she explained, is the Barnum Effect - when you read a general statement, for example, in a horoscope, and think to yourself, hey! That perfectly applies to my life! This must be true!

I just thought I would post it, because, I remember having a long conversation with a blogger once, who tried his hardest to convince me that it is possible to predict a person's personality from his/her birthday. I hope you eventually come across this! :)

Ah - the perks of studying psychology from proper sources!

What the world taught me

So, this morning, I was on the train and I got a text message. I immediately called up a friend that I was supposed to meet in half an hour and said something along the lines of: 'Assalamu Alaikum! Where are you?... It got cancelled. I don't know, I had nothing to do with it, but I don't know why they would plan it for so long and then cancel it like that.' Maybe I was imagining it, but I think I felt a few heads turn towards me.

I was talking about rock climbing.

I am a Muslim who has lived in Australia for nine years and four months (minus two days) of her life of twenty years and a month (minus five days). All of my good to best friends are from Sydney, the family that matters to me are in Sydney. The biggest events of life occurred within these past nine years. The biggest identity crisis I have had in my life was when I was a teenager. My problems in a day usually include: should I order a coffee or not? If yes, cappuccino or mocha? Small or large? Should I turn up to my lecture? Should I stay up on Facebook or be a good girl and go to sleep early?

I have a friend who has recently converted to Islam. If I remember correctly, she converted about two years ago and put on the hijab about a year ago. She was, what pop culture would call, 'a true-blue Aussie'. (Yes, she has blue eyes. :P) Her family has probably lived in Australia ever since they came here as convicts from England or Ireland. She used to love her beer, the beach, BBQs and fit every other possible Australian stereotype that you could think of. After she became a Muslim, she gave up alcohol. She married another person who is also a convert, and an ex-true-blue Aussie (if you can ever be an ex-true-blue). They love each other, and are soon having a baby together.

She put on the niqab a few weeks ago. And guess what she faced? At shopping centres, people have told her to 'go back home'. She laughed when she said that to me, saying, 'where is home?' The people she grew up with suddenly changed their attitude towards her. Her own parents cannot stand 'bloody Moslems'.

What is happening to our world? Yes, many people have mentioned it before, but, I don't think I ever truly experienced this feeling before. What I believe in, no matter how peaceful it is, is increasingly becoming a test for me, because other people do not believe that is it in fact peaceful. Everyone else is deciding how I should feel.

There is no reason for the 'us vs you' attitude that I am facing lately, except for the fact that I wear a hijab. Every time I say something, there is no real reason for me to think, 'am I making everyone else feel uncomfortable?' There is no reason to feel apologetic for what I believe in. Therefore, I decided, from now on, I shall try to live my life a little more conscientiously. I will try to focus on the things that matter, people that matter, issues that matter.

After I made that decision, I actually felt a change within myself. When I stood up for prayer, every word that I said made sense to me. I was praying to the Being who has infinite power, infinite mercy, infinite justice. The Being who created everything, knows what is in the heart of every single person, the Being who I have to return to one day. Most people cannot comprehend this, because they think of God as someone like themselves. That's why He is God. By definition, He is above all. By definition, He is the most superior. By definition, He is the only One who has power over anything and everything.

The whole situation and the controversies that are arising right now has just made my faith stronger. How? No one clearly knows what really happened. The US government spokesman is revoking and changed his words a few times already. Basically, no one knows the 'truth'. YET, there is a truth. In that night, in those hours, 'something' happened. This reminded me that 'truth' will always be 'truth', no matter who says what and who believes what.

P.S: Assalamu Alaikum means 'Peace be upon you'. Allahu Akbar means God (refer to the 'by definition' rantage above) is Great.

P.P.S: If you hear alarms going off in your head, if you are finding yourself thinking, 'has this girl gone crazy?', you need to turn those off. And think to yourself, how much the people in authority is affecting your way of thinking. If you should learn anything from what I said today, it should be: Learn to think using your own brain.

Peace lovers

Why can we not fight violence with peace?

Knowing that violence breeds violence,

hatred breeds hatred,

blood requires more blood to be poured out on earth.

Why can we not face a frown,

with a smile?

Words are sweeter,

Yet pens are mightier than swords.

(2.5.2011)

The following is copywrited to the fifteen year old Sum, one of my awesomest little sisters: "...the endlesss cycle of war and hatred, because once ur hurt, no one thinks justice has been served until they hurt those who hurt them. But where does this get us, other than just more confusion, more chaos, more hatred, a chain. Why is it so hard to fight violence with peace? Because violence gives born to nothing but violence. How beautiful is it that Islam tells you to smile and frogive and give somethign BETTER when you've been delivered unjustice?" (4.5.2011)

ps: Its 'injustice', Sum. :P

You're cooler than the flipside of my pillow

Today, when I was walking on an usual street, I saw a very old man standing in front his house. I smiled and said hello. He smiled back, and said, 'You are a very happy woman. Beautiful! Bella!' That made me smile for the next five minutes.  There's another old man on our street who usually stands in his balcony and smokes, or talks on the phone in a loud voice. And every time I go past, he smiles and waves. I actually talked to him today, and somewhere in between, I managed to get permission to take photos of the spider-web in his front yard. The house opposite ours has a beautiful old lady who smiled brightly at me the first day that she saw me. 

I love having these random nice moments with people in the street, people who I know nothing about, yet, are polite to, because, we share the same space for a few seconds.

Or, like yesterday, on the train. I had one of those moments of 'should-I-or-should-I-not'. The guy in front of me and I got up from our seats at the same time, then both of us hesitated. I hesitated because he was in front of me, and he hesitated because I was female. And as my brother pointed out the other day, I would make a very bad feminist (although I do admire some of them); predictably, I just laughed, said thanks and walked out. The nice thing is, he laughed too - not an annoyed laughter - but a genuine, thanks-for-some-entertainment laughter.

But I don't think I was always a bad feminist (Politically correct readers: I'm using the word quite loosely. Don't crucify me in trying to define it.). Once upon a time, I used to feel bad when guys got up for me and I do still feel bad when someone else (other than my family) tries to pay for me (now that I earn). However, in most cases, I think I was quite reasonable in my demands. On two separate occasions, randoms got up for me on the university bus and 'insisted' that I sat. I mean, they probably were not even five years older than me, so they could not have been brought up with the chivalry of previous generations. The only other option is that they thought themselves stronger than I am and hence could endure standing up for twenty minutes while I could not. Which is pretty insulting.

As for the paying thing, that goes out to you Emu from Mars. Talking of Martian emus, where have you disappeared? Leave a buzz if you ever come across this. :)

Since the martian is a female friend, I guess that makes it okay and awkward both at the same time. It is okay because she is older and I eventually just stop saying no. It is awkward because I actually want to pay, so when I stop saying no, I don’t say it from my heart. However, I suppose things would be different between a man and a woman. As one episode of HIMYM pointed out, the ideal situation is, the man reaches for the bill (or his wallet, or calls the waiter, or whatever, I don't know how fine dining works), the woman insists on paying, but the man never lets her pay. Which would be both okay and unawkward.

I had a mocha from Jamaica Blue on my way to uni today. It is absolutely awesome - I did not need to add any sugars, the combination of coffee-coco-milk-sugar-whateverelsetheyputin was just perfect. I officially do not like GJ or Starbucks any more - overpriced and overrated. The coffee cart coffee is okay. At eight in the morning, when I am deprived of sleep and in need of getting work done, it works wonders. The Quad coffee is okay too, and, I think I stopped liking the Gradueat coffee. Even though it’s the cheapest.

I think I wanted a coffee maker once upon a time, but I have now realised, I would much rather go out, sit sleepily and lazily on a chair, reading something, while someone else makes a delicious cup of mocha (in one of those ceramic cups) and brings it to me. 

P.S: I watched the last few episodes of season 5 of Little Mosque on the Prairie, even though I only watched one or two from the beginning. I found it annoying so I skipped a whole bunch - I just wanted to see the wedding. 'Twas cute, and slightly funnier than the beginning episodes.

P.P.S: I am a little more than half way through reading Alice in Wonderland. It is an amazing book, I am thoroughly enjoying it! I probably will be quoting all my favourite bits here sometime soon (and there is a lot of them!). I wonder why I never thought of reading it before.

 P.P.P.S: While I was reading an article for my psych assignment, look what I found: a research that is quite depressing for the physicists out there. 'physicist’s big ideas are thought to come by age 30 or not at all. (Sawyer, 2006)'. And something that is probably bad news for all those depressed poets: 'creativity seems to flourish when people are in positive or neutral affective states rather than negative affective states (Amabile, Barsade, Mueller, & Staw, 2005; Fredrickson, 2001; Fong, 2006). Which makes sense, because rhyming 'pain' and 'rain', 'cry' and 'bye' (and die), 'sad', 'bad' and 'mad' have all been tried and tested many many times, therefore, they really do not fall under 'creativity'.

P.P.P.P.S: I picked up the habit of naming my posts with lyrics from songs from a blogger - http://s00kylala.blogspot.com/. She is one of those entertaining writers, much like Rimi, although, she probably does not remember me from the two years of schooling. :P Although the lyrics often have nothing to do with the post, it is an indication of the weather of my mind (cloudy/sunny/shower-or-two).

Because

Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn!

In this extremely secret mission, they killed Osama Bin Laden. A lead that no other country knew about, not even Pakistan, which housed the man. After he was killed, he was 'buried at sea'. No one saw him, no one knows what really happened, except for what they have been told by the media. No one has ever seen this man except for his creepy videos.

In September 11, in an around the twin tower, there were 2752 deaths.

In 2010, in one year alone, at least 2777 civilians were killed in Afghanistan, being caught in crossfire. The 'war against terror' has been going on for the past TEN years.

No one knows if this person actually ever existed. A lot of conspiracy theories are rising right now, and yes, they will continue to rise. Newspapers will keep reporting on news on war against 'radical jihadism' or 'Islamists' or whatever new term they come up with next.

But, this is for those people that were looking at me with scared eyes today. And for that employer that did not give me a job because of my hijab. And for those cars that pass by, with people screaming obscenities from within, telling me to 'bring out the bomb' or 'go back home'. And for that girl at the very beginning of high school who bullied me with words because of my hijab. And for my year 8 english teacher who thought hijabs really should be banned in schools. And for those million ignorant people who think 'Moslems' are not people.

Frankly, my dears, I don't give a damn.

Ye all bloggers

Work life

Someday, I think I will have to have the two-sentence-convo with one of my employers - 'You're fired.' 'You can't fire me because I quit.'. His sense of integrity is somewhat higher than his wife (another employer of mine), however, it hasn't quite reached the standard of 'nice' human beings. They run a tutoring centre, yet, the main thing they care about is the apparent satisfaction of the parents. They could not care less about the well-being of the students as long as the parents do not utter a word. These tiny minded people seriously need to get out and experience the world a little more. They need to see that not everything in life is paid for with those colourful plastic stuff.

Having said that, I do quite love the colourful plastic stuff I get at the end of the week. Although, I need to revisit my list of wanted possessions or experiences, otherwise, I feel like I am saving up for nothing. I wish I was one of those people who indefinitely save, and when a calamity strikes, digs into their large pocket without a worry. Or those who save up for something that they want to do in five years time. I struggle to save for something I would like to do in five months! Here's a tip for bad savers: Do NOT use your bank account unless necessary. Every time I have some extra money in my bank, it seems to disappear within the next few days. The best method of saving in our family is to put the money in an envelope and give it to ma. She is an extremely disciplined person, so we can be quite sure our money is safe; and the simple act of putting it in the envelope myself gives my mind some peace and satisfaction.

Since I started tutoring a lot, there is a few changes that I noticed within myself. In certain situations, I can be very sure of what I want. I think this developed because children need definite answers - if I don't tell them what I want, they won't know. And because I have a position of authority, they are mostly willing to accept whatever demand I have. When I see the results of their work, it makes me a little more confident in asking for what exactly I need them to do. For example, after teaching fractions to a few kids, I have worked out exactly which approach to take, what to teach them first and what their level should be. Once you do that, the rest of the job is pretty easy. They look at you with awe - how can you know so much? :)

When teaching children, the best thing to do, I find, is to have complete confidence in yourself. Only then, are you qualified to assure them that they are able to have confidence in themselves, they can try doing whatever it is they do and that they will definitely succeed (eventually). If you don't know something, say, 'I don't know', with complete confidence, and smile. This actually goes for slightly older kids too, because, at the end of the day, you are the teacher. Of course, along with that, there needs to be honesty, humour, love and warmth. But without giving that vibe of confidence (even if you don't feel it), none of that really ties in together when teaching children.

However, the same logic does not really work in real life - not to the extent that it does in the classroom. It may come off as condescending, or controlling. The trick is to leave work at work and leave personal life wherever it lives. I am yet to master the trick.

Someday, I need to privatise this blog. Any future employers would take one look at my flaws, and run for their lives.

Cleverly done

How many times must a man look up before he can see the sky?

This morning, as I made a cup of coffee (quite elaborately, with my new frother), my mother gave me a mixed look of extreme love and a little sadness, and said, 'I worry about you. You don't take life seriously at all.'. That made me laugh and love her a little more. However, as I thought about it later (over the coffee), I realised she is right. I have these sudden bursts of energy when I feel like I want to accomplish great things in life and I dive right into it. A few days (or hours, or minutes) pass by and I lose half of my interest. I need a specific and a definite direction to my life.

I am experiencing a very beautiful set of moments now. Through my netted window, I can see the swaying yellowing leaves of the tree with bright red flowers. Through the yellowing leaves, I can see bits and pieces of the blue sky. The soundtrack to this moment is an acoustic cover of Bob Dylan's Blowin' in the Wind. This song is one of the soundtracks of Forrest Gump, and surprising yet true, I haven't seen the movie yet. However, I plan to do so in the next holidays, in a sleepover, with a box of chocolate. The way I see it, yes, I need to take life a little more seriously, but why take it too seriously? There will be plenty of time later to pay the bills, work because I have to, cook because there's no one else to do so, be responsible for more people than just myself. Not just later - from next week - uni is going to start again and I will be up to my neck with studies, teaching, people, 8-to-8 schedule etc etc etc. But, right now, I can just look at those yellow leaves and imagine the smell of sunlight without a worry. Alhamdulillah.

My sister told me something a very long time ago. Every person sees you through a window. It is often up to you to decide how wide you want to open those windows. Your family, or the closest people to you, the people who see you the most - have the biggest, clearest windows. Everyone else just looks on through tiny spaces. For example, some of my friends think I am extremely active, doing useful things all the time, I think logically and my life is almost perfect. Some other friends think I am sluggish, I waste a lot of time, I can get quite emotional and they thank God for not living my life. However, it is extremely hard to choose which friend to open your window wide for. One of my best friends just told me something the other day, something that she didn't tell me for a very long time, because she was afraid of how I would take it and what I would do with what I hear. Of course, the fact that she told me, pulled us together closer, but, it could have gone wrong. Moral of the story: Take care when opening windows. A dagger might fly through.

'Yes, how many years can a mountain exist
Before it's washed to the sea?
Yes, how many years can some people exist
Before they are allowed to be free?
Yes, how many times can a man turn his head
Pretending he just doesn't see?
The answer my friend is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.'

Frothing, parenting, teenaging and mistaking

I only mentioned it in my last post, but did not elaborate. However, I think it is something that is worth elaborating on - my frother. It is as amazing as it sounds - it froths! Currently, I am trying to work out how to maximise the froth. The most amazing thing is, it costs only $2.99. A small, cheap cappuccino (only to be found at universities because the coffee makers know how broke most of us are) costs $2.80 and it only lasts about ten minutes, twenty if I am concentrating extremely hard. This frother will (iA) be with me for a very long time, if not forever. :)

I taught my first high school classes yesterday at the coaching centre - science for years seven to ten. The year eights didn't turn up at all, and there was two, three and four people in each of the other classes. Nevertheless, it was nerve-wrecking when I was walking up to the centre because I am well and truly aware of how high school kids tear up and munch on new teachers. One of the other teachers informed me of some dreaded students, none of whom were there today, thank God! I am not exactly sure if they will call me back because this is the time slot that I was rejected from, for my Hijab. Interesting fact: my manager's son is in the year ten class. I don't think he is as racist as his mother, but I could see some alienation in his eyes at the beginning. I hope he does not grow up to be like her.

Being a parent is such a huge responsibility, in not just providing for the children physically, but also being there for mental support. Just the other day, I found out that three of the people I went to high school with has already become mothers. I am not quite sure how many more are there. When I hear about these people, I wonder how they do it. It is one thing to take care of yourself, and it is a completely different thing to take care of another person almost constantly. You have to be a constant role model, there is no break, no 'switching-off' period. Any little thing you do can potentially be picked up by the tiny person and followed. When they see racism in you, they have a chance of growing up to be the next Pauline Hanson. When they see unhealthy habits, they might increase those statistics about obesity in your nation. When they see confusion, they may turn towards depression. At the same time, you can't fake it, because, if they see dishonesty, there is a great chance that they will turn against everything you want to stand for.

I have been extremely lucky. I was born to a mother who knows how to be almost perfect, someone who knows how to have almost no flaws. She was a conscientious mother right from out childhood. Although I did not undergo the restrictions that my older siblings went through (they were not allowed to touch the remote control or open the fridge without permission - this made perfect sense in their context, even though people nowadays will probably shudder at the thought), I did live a pretty protected childhood. I was reminiscing such things with my primary school best friend LS the other day. She still remembers how my mother talked to my teachers to take me out of certain sex education classes, because, at eleven, those probably would have corrupted my mind, rather than cleaning it. She made sure I prayed duhr at school, made sure that the teachers knew my prayer times when I went to camp and even told the teacher that I cannot take part in camp disco in year five. I didn't end up going to year six camp, and now that I think about it, I think it was good. My mothers kept me protected for as long as she could. Yes, that meant that I never knew that certain parts of the world existed. It meant coping with being bullied in for about a year and not knowing what my friends mean when they refer to certain analogies for the next few years. However, it meant that my mother did a terrific job and I actually had a healthy, happy childhood before those teenage years.

I think my parents tried to exercise similar controls when I was a teenager too. They tried their best and I cannot thank them enough for doing so; and in fact, I really don't know what the best way of handling teenagers are. One of the seven types of people who will be under the shade of Allah's throne on the Day of Judgement will be a 'youth who grew up in the worship of Allah'. And when I look back to those years, I can completely understand the wisdom of this hadith. Being a teenager and growing up in a society full of fitnah is extremely difficult. I think its because when you are a kid, your world is pretty limited. You only see yourself and what is immediately around you. When you are an adult, your world expands a lot and you can put things into perspective. However, in that middle time, when your world is in the process of expanding, you go through an extremely confusing state. You realise that happiness is not just about getting that red balloon or snuggling up to your mum when she comes back from work. You realise that people are not satisfied with just a handmade birthday card. You start to realise that the world is in fact big and often pretty bad, and you are not quite sure if you should join them in their ways, or stick to what you are taught.You start to make your own decisions about things you shouldn't, because your society tells you that you can, even though you are not equipped with the intellect or knowledge to do so.

So, when I see friends or friends of friends beating themselves up over their bad choices, going through depression, leaving home forever, turning to alcohol and sex, being afraid of all men because of one certain incident or turning to suicide because they think there is no way out, I really don't know what to say. It takes a really strong person to hold a person together, a person who tends towards such things. And after such a thing happens, it takes really strong people to survive it. I am extremely grateful that my parents never let me make mistakes that I would regret for the rest of my life. Yes, I did make mistakes, and a lot of them too. But, I am thankful that (hopefully) they all taught me something new and that I did not take any drastic measures to escape the pains of the mistake. I hope lesser and lesser people in the world experience such measures.

P.S: I started off with talking about my frother and I honestly have no idea how I ended up in such a morbid topic. Apologies for ruining whatever part of the day you are in, however, I do hope that you use the take-home message from this the next time you come across a troubled teen. :)

Freedom

Freedom feels like smelling those eight fresh roses that your best friend gave you on your birthday. Freedom feels like walking in the lightest of rain - being touched by it, but not becoming wet. Freedom feels like tasting that first sip of water after a long day when you've forgotten to take your water bottle. Freedom feels like watching the ocean break its waves on enormous stones. Freedom feels like listening to a baby's heartbeat while she is still in her mother's womb.

Freedom is giving your thoughts some place to breathe. Freedom is turning over a new leaf. Freedom is quitting looking for signs and creating different ones yourself. Freedom is when you can finally wrap your past in thick wrapping paper and store it away forever. Freedom is when you realise that the future has many possibilities, and you are the sole human owner of it.

But its raining, raining in my heart

The holidays have flown by so far and I know for a fact that the rest of it will do the same. There is something to do, some sort of an event, every single day. I was looking forward to this week because I thought that I could finally spend some time just with myself, sorting out my thoughts, cleaning up my act. However, due to a lot of procrastination on my part and a little lack of co-operation from the rest of the world, I have not been able to. When your brain is suffocating, your thoughts have no place to breathe, and they get agitated. They push your negative emotions to their ends and drive them overboard. A small matter can attract a huge outburst of anger, making the situation much uglier than it should have gotten. Then the situation just gets awkward.

Its drizzling ever so softly outside my window. The rain drops are making perfect forty five degree angles with the window sill (correction: I just took a photo, and they actually are more scattered than it looks from this perspective). I am listening to a Tagore song that I first heard a few days ago, and have been trying to remember yesterday. Yesterday, we went out as a family after a very long time. It was raining then too, and we were trying to remember rain songs, and after failing after a while, just any nice songs that we know. We went to a beautiful place and just relaxed for a while.

I got a frother yesterday. This morning's coffee actually had froth on top, like coffee at a coffee shop. Now I am sleepy. I do realise that this blog often (nearly always) becomes something like Rebecca Black's Friday. However, when I have nothing to say and feel as brain-clogged as I feel right now, recounting events is what I do. Apologies.

However, I shall leave you with one of my favourite songs. I have loved this song ever since I listened to it carefully and figured out what most of the words mean. It would be a perfect proposal song, or the song for a marriage anniversary when an old couple decide to rekindle their love. However, I do not like the video that this person made for it. It would have been much better with bangla letters and possibly a bit more effects. I found a better video, but it wasn't sung by Srikanto, and I did not like the way it was sung. It also had an english translation, but I did not like that either. So, I attempted to translate the song myself. Gave up halfway, as usual.

I suppose I can tell him,
On a day like this -
In such pouring rain,
I suppose I can open up my heart.
Under the heavy clouds,
As the raindrops fall
In the windless darkness;
I suppose I can tell him.

The words that are only for his ears
Will pass my lips, breaking the silence.
With him across the table,
We will reminisce shared sadnesses
As the rain pours down endlessly.

Not another soul would exist,
Our realities would disappear,
The clutters of life will become lies;
We will speak through our eyes
of the words of our hearts.

Follow up

I was going through my blog and I found this:

http://lamzblog.blogspot.com/2005/11/you-are-13-years-old-hey-its-close.html#comments

So I went to the source of my knowledge and did a quiz of similar sort. Back then, I was fourteen and a half.

Here is my result now:

http://www.blogthings.com/whatagequiz/results/?result=20

I turned 20 exactly two weeks ago. Am I that typical? :|

As it turns out, five minutes later I do a quiz similar to the second quiz in that old post.

Here is my result:

http://www.blogthings.com/whatgenderisyourbrainquiz/results/?result=73

In the last 5.5 years, I have increased in femaleness by 3%. :)

One of those rants

I had brunch with my best friend from primary school at a chocolate restaurant a few days ago. At times, I found myself wondering why she still wants to keep in touch. Her intellectual capabilities are obviously much higher than mine, we have grown to grow up in completely different contexts and we are looking for different things out of our lives. Yet, the whole day turned out to be great. We reminisced about the past, laughed about our childhood crushes (well, just mine - she was a practical kid who didn't waste time daydreaming about and analysing actions and words of random boys, although she did agree to analyse my crushes with me; come to think of it - I still don't know if she ever had a crush on anyone yet!) and talked about the present and the future. Yet, a lot of the times, I felt that we failed to understand each other because we were not on the same page with things. This is something that did not bother us much because our connection was that we were best friends when we were eleven, and we both understand that we will never return to that time.

I think I might have broken the trust of one of my best friends without even realising it at the time. Then I did it again, and I might have done it the third time. How does one girl make up to another girl? I have no idea. It is harder to deal with this because I am not quite sure if my apologies were real enough or if I have even done something wrong. I will not get to see her for over a week, and I not sure how things will be afterwards. She is one of the absolute best friends I have ever had, and it would a shame to lose her. I think I vaguely understand her cautiousness though. She has felt betrayed by some of her closest people about a certain issue, and she will not let it happen to herself again. I wish she would just talk to herself completely honestly and figure out what she wants first, then just come clean completely. 

Another friend is possibly very annoyed with me too. Her issues are much bigger than anything I have ever faced (or wish to face in the future). Even though I thought I could help when we first started talking, I realised I cannot deal with it. (Dejavu, L?)

I guess the problem with both of the situations above is that I do not know myself very well. If I did, I would be exactly sure of my capabilities and intentions and make it clear to others too. I guess 'I am unwritten, can't read my mind, I'm undefined. I'm just beginning, the pen's in my hand, ending unplanned.' Ah Natasha Beddingfield. She says she 'threw some chords together, needs some help, some inspiration, but its not coming easily'. As if!

The amusing thing about a lot of us is that we obsess about the future, yet, we do not even know if it will come. We worry about what is to come, we dream about the possibilities, we calculate the implications of the decisions we made or were made for us in the past. Yet, we do not even know if they will pay off.

I watched one and a half romantic comedies in the recent past - He's Not That Into You and High Fidelity. I gave up after watching half of High Fidelity, although, I did like one quote from the very beginning: 'What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?'

And yes, I do feel a tad miserable today. And I wrote a pop song. FG gave me eight very fresh roses on the 11th. Eleven days have gone and they have become droopy. Though they smell quite horrible (must chuck soon), they have this certain saddening beauty to them. I wrote a pop song (slash poem, whatever you want to make of it) after coming up with the first two lines about these flowers.  I also have a tune in my head, but unfortunately (or fortunately) the out-of-tune tune will not see daylight and be heard by public ears.

The roses have dried

They are drooping to the floor

My eyes have cried

Some of my heart tore.

I waited for that knock

I waited for your call

No one  came by

And I began to fall.

Do you remember

The days of our laughter

Do you remember

Days of perfection

Do you remember

That morning after

The way your heart lay on mine

We noticed every sign.

Those days are gone

Not looking through

Rose tinted glass any more

There were new dawns

New ways we washed up on

Different sea shores.

Yet, our memories are there

Pieces of happiness stored somewhere

Do you remember

That morning after

The way your heart lay on mine

We noticed every sign.

Illusive

You yearn to breathe in their scent, your fingers grapple to touch, you listen intently for any of their signs. They make your heart beat faster. They put a smile on your face. They force you to close your eyes and enjoy their view through your mind. 

Yet, you feel cautious. How many times does one linger near fire after being burnt, regardless of its warmth and vividness? 

Beautiful words bear no meaning beyond what they appear to be. They are not real, nor do they depict reality. There is no way of testing their honesty. No way of knowing if what appears to be innocent is indeed it.

Baking

My mother is now on holidays from her work. However, being the superwoman that she is, she does not usually take 'holidays'. She has been constantly working around the the house - preparing amazing meals for us every night, cleaning the house, organising cupboards, supervising reconstruction of the backyard and every other possible thing that needs to be done. In one of these endeavours, she discovered that we had a little under a kilo of dates hidden in our pantry. Food that should have been used a long time ago.

Therefore, the duty fell upon me to use my famous sticky date pudding recipe to further rescue the fruits. (PC readers: The recipe is not 'mine', I got it from here.) Every time I bake something, or cook something, or try to create anything for that matter, it is always an adventure. I never really know how the end result with turn out - disastrous or heavenly. So far, the best method that I found to control the unpredictability is to make dua for the sake of the people who would consume it. The best method of stuffing it up is to get smug about my abilities.

Last Eid, the only time that my friend Ana (now the proud owner of Des'ree Daily Desserts) visited my house, I had a sudden urge to bake some sticky date pudding. While I prepared everything with immense enthusiasm the day before, I realised that we didn't have any self-raising flour at home. The old trick to overcome that is to mix plain flour with baking soda. I figured I knew everything there is to know about baking and I just chucked a whole lot of baking soda along with the measured flour. I thought it would give it 'extra rise'. That was also the first time that we used the oven in our new house (its fan forced, so we need to make the temperature 20-30 degrees lower than it is said in recipes; but we didn't know that). I mixed all the ingredients, shoved it into the oven, and checked on it about half an hour later.

They had a rather tragic ending. The puddings burnt to blackness (looked quite good though, looked like chocolate) and retained no shape whatsoever. I also happened to be fasting during that time, so, it was not until much later that I realised how horrible it turned out. My mother suggested that I ball them up into little round things, so that their current shape would not matter. It took me hours to do so, and when I finally finished putting the last piece into a plastic box, it seemed to weigh like a rock. I should've probably guessed the enormity of my stupidity right then. I didn't.  

SB was the first one to taste it during Iftaar. At that time he was concentrating on getting accustomed to different taste of certain food from other cultures, so when he popped one ball of pudding in his mouth, he said something like 'interesting'. So the rest of us decided to try some too. It tasted like a mixture of dry coffee, cement and possibly some other unimaginable things.

So this time, when I mixed three recipes worth of dates with the rest of the ingredients in a bowl that was nearly not big enough for it, I felt truly helpless. It was supposed to feed 20 people (according to the recipe), and I really could not bear watching another part of my confidence droop to nothingness. So, I made dua so that it turns out well for the sake of the people who would have to eat it. 

I had some with my coffee this morning. It actually did taste quite divine (and it does not look too bad either)! Such is the power of prayer, peeps. 

Shomoresh

Just finished reading yet another depressing novel written by Shomoresh Mojumdar. Of the books I have read, most of them have been about a person (or people) who have been some sort of a victim by another deceptive fellow human being (or beings). This one was about a middle aged man who derives sexual pleasure from violent attacks on women. He basically starts off by being extremely romantic and a perfect gentleman, who also happened to start a business to help the middle-class population. Everything was going well for a few months - the couple were engaged, the business was flourishing - everyone was happy. However, at about the tenth last page, his forshadowing (real) character became clear to her and the rest of the people. Having said that, the novel was unpleasant right from the beginning. Every single character had some sort of a moral issue, and most of them were victims of others' moral problems too.

SM's novels are of those that you cannot put down once you have started reading them. Yet, you cannot enjoy it completely because it describes situations so corrupt that you almost lose hope in humanity. The occasional sweetness that you come across every now and then gives the impression that all the problems have disappeared, yet, when the twists and turns get worse, it feels like that is all there is - bleakness.

Time to read something uplifting.

Girls and the Goodbye Round

Goodbyes are very awkward, as NCho pointed out the other day. It was raining, I was wearing a long dress (as usual, it needed to be shortened, therefore I was holding it up (un)gracefully) and both of my hands were occupied with things. We were standing under open sky and talking to FG and her group of four or five friends for about five minutes. It took us five extra minutes just to say goodbye, because it involved hugs, see-you-laters, take-cares, lets-meet-up-sometime-soons, byes and more hugs. Since the cycle of goodbye returned back to the hug, a danger of beginning another round of goodbyes arises. Which in turn became awkward. Which NCho just had to point out to me a few minutes later, and thus, I have been noticing it ever since. Today, HS introduced me to her friend P. And an hour later, when class ended and I was departing from them, the whole round of goodbyes started again. This is especially long when there are a group of girls who are all equally close friends, thus, all of whom deserve the whole round. (Thankfully, P happened to be a guy, and so, escaped with just a nice-to-meet-you, see-you-later and bye.)

And since I have watched too many episodes of HIMYM, I seem to want to label every theory of mine. Therefore, I dub the above as falling under the theory of The Goodbye Round. 'Tis truly a dangerous phenomena when there about ten girls. Its more of a dangerous situation when there are ten girls and one guy, the latter of whom is forced to just smile awkwardly while the others share those moments of (pseudo?) happiness. 

The other interesting thing is that we (ie: girls) tend to be more affectionate towards each other, even if we are completely and utterly straight. We use a lot more hugs and kisses, and express our love with varying words (depending on how bored and creative we feel.) (P.S: This goes out to one of my favourite girls who always expresses her love in elaborate ways - miss Worshipper. :P Although... I am not quite sure if she will come across this any time soon...)

I have my psychology midsem tomorrow. Maybe I should do a bit of studying instead of applying intuition and coming up with (amazing) theories. 

P.S: It is only the 14th and I have already posted nine times. The addiction of recounting what-happened-today must be returning to these fingers. :(

Arts and Annoyances

I am sitting in one of the most beautiful places at uni. It has a little fountain, many trees filled with absolutely green leaves, some with pink or red flowers; and it is surrounded by one of the oldest buildings at uni on all four sides. There are brown park benches here and there, with a silver sign on each: 'NO SMOKING. VENTILATION AIR INTAKE IN THIS AREA.' Ironically, as soon as I read the sign, I smelt smoke. Looking around, I found a man smoking away (slightly guiltily?). I think I frowned at him frequently enough - he stubbed his cigarette and left after a while. There's a nice breeze blowing now. I am listening to a not-so-famous band playing a song called 'niyom bhangar gan' (direct translation: rule breaking song). It has some really nice imageries. The first few lines can be translated to something like this:
Clouds are travelling to the land of the ocean,
Ocean waves are travelling to your place,
I say, damn this rain!
...
Okay this is not working. I shall paste the actual words:


মেঘেরা চলেছে সাগরের দেশে,
ঢেউয়েরা চলেছে তোমার ঘর,
আমি বলেছি, ধুৎছাঁই বৃষ্টি!
সূর্য্য আকাশকে করেছে আজ পর

পিকাসোর ছবি, লোরকার কবিতায়
আজ কিসের যেন ছন্দপতন,
এই বাড়ি, এই গাছ - কিছু থেমে নেই আজ
রাস্তা বইছে নদীর মতন।

If you cannot read the above, yes, you are missing out. This just made me realise yet again that one language can never substitute for another. I really have to start learning that language that I have been wanting to learn soon!

There are flower petals scattered around this brown bench.. Totally missing my camera.

I have made a new start on self-discipline. For possibly the billionth time. Amongst other things, I have decided to spend no more than ten minutes on Facebook everyday. Since it has only been three days since I made this decision, I am not yet quite sure about how I am going... however, I would like to think I am being great at being a 'grown-up'. :P

So, the day that I turned twenty went something like this: wake up, do some things that I cannot even remember any more,  rush around the house while A&SB get ready to leave for a week, lunch, mop most of the floor downstairs because the tiles-guy left dust everywhere (it has been three days and my entire body is still hurting!), eat, sleep.

The gifts that I received were all very nice surprises! I think the fact that I keep reiterating my love of surprises helped. :D
- An album filled with 'my-type' songs
- I found out that the core price of my laptop will be paid for my my brother and sister, as suggested by my lovely mother! She initially suggested it to be paid for by one of my siblings, while the other gives me something else. I was quite surprised, and extremely grateful! (even though I think it didn't show in my face... they looked a little confused.)
- Two beautiful photos were dedicated to me on facebook, one by FG, who now definitely knows what my favourite flower is; and the other by CJ - the amazing photographer friend of FG. :)
- Countless wall posts...
- Last, but certainly not the least: Eight beautiful roses from FG, along with a heartfelt card that I read many times and smiled every time (the first time was while walking, I had to make sure I didn't bump into people while I walked with roses and a card, with a silly smile on my face. Funny that the first time that happened was from a female best friend! :P)

The roses were so amazingly beautiful that I was very sorry that I had to wait for about six hours before I could put them in water. Even after two days, they still seem quite fresh. Although, that night, I did not think it would last too long, so I took a photo, even though the lighting was horrible and my night photos usually turn out equally horrible. Even though I have manual options in my camera, I never really use them (unless I am experimenting). This time, I used the 'aparture control' option, manually focussed it, resting the camera on the table (my hands shake beyond belief). And this is how it turned out:

I have already shared this photo in many places. I am that excited about taking a decent photo. (Yes, if you must, that gives you the license to call me sad...)

I am reading this book by Shomoresh Mojumder. I love his books because of their details, the way he creates his characters. However, after every book, I feel extremely depressed. They are like drugs that you can't stop taking half way through, even though you know that they will not end well.

Some guy came and gave me a book on Jesus then asked for a coin for printing costs. He crossed a long distance to get to me, and he did not do so to any other people sitting around. I have my headphones visibly on and I have a frown on my face that says 'I don't feel like talking to people today.' He asked if I read much, I said yes, he said, what, I said, dunno. *go away sign*. He said 'shukria, do you understand hindi'. 'no'. 'dhonnobad? where are you from?' And then he went on talking for the next five minutes about how he came from Bangladesh too but his accent is different from mine because he came a little later than I did and etc etc etc. I think he realised that he isn't really helping and left after a while. I think the same guy gave me a free CD (in exchange for coins for publishing cost, obviously) for something. I never ended up listening to it...

And I have another smoker somewhere nearby. I do not understand what part of the current Government initiatives on smoke packets aren't getting them off smoking. Idiots.

Anyway, that is all.

An old song and an old photo

Let everything I do
Be for You.

My smiles,
The beats of my heart,
Footsteps,
Every new start.
Eyelashes
Crawling down my cheek
with tears,
The light that my eyes seek.
Every word that breaks the silent night,
The rays of hope that keeps me alive,
Let them keep shining bright.

Every moment, every glance, every breath.
'Till I knock on the door of my death;
Let them be
For You.

Precious

Precious, a photo by LamZity on Flickr.

Short story long

Ideally, today was supposed to be one of the most productive days of my life. I had the whole house nearly to myself for nearly most of the day, I have tonnes of cleaning to do, I have tonnes of studying to do, I am at a stage where I have began to realistically plan for my activities, I currently am not suffering from an extremely low or extremely inflated self-esteem, I have my laptop and I began the day with a cup of coffee. Yet, it turned out to  be quite the opposite. My long list of to-do's are left uncrossed (apart from one of two tasks...), my eyes are still heavy with sleep (and I'm beginning to think its psychological), I am sipping on yet another cup of coffee and wondering why my day seems circular.

One of the only goods that came out of today is that I am beginning to feel annoyed by both How I Met Your Mother and Little Mosque in the Prairie. After a certain point, people really need to learn to stop. HIMYM Season 1 was amazing - cute, innocent, funny, relaxing - the package, season 2 continued to uphold it, season 3 was addictive enough, season 4 was hard to finish and now that I am a few episodes into season 5, I really do feel like it is an utter waste of time. Thirty-year-olds making lame jokes and acting silly is only funny the first few times.

The other nice thing that happened was that I got a call from my employers. The ones that rejected me for one of their jobs due to my hijab called to ask me to fill in the spot for the regular teacher who got employed instead of me. (For the beginning of the story, refer to this.) Currently, I am teaching primary school students and helping them with possibly everything they need help with. That other position was for a high school science teacher, for which apparently I do qualify, but for which my looks does not suit the parents' choices. So about a month ago, they decided to employ someone who is not suited to teach science (the fact which the employer admitted herself!), but met the criteria of looking 'appropriate' for the parents. I failed to understand this logic (still do), but I smiled sweetly anyway. In the long run, they lose. :P

As I have dreadingly hoped many times before, I hope none of my employers ever set foot in this sanctuary of mine where I may have bagged them out once or twice (or many times...). But, in my defence, I have never mentioned any names. ;)

So, just as you are beginning to re-realise how immature I am, let me remind you, I am stepping out of my teen years in a few hours. Let me cherish these last few moments of the years that start with an one. OfcourseIrealisethatthecomingyearwillbeexactlythesameaslastyearthewaylastyearwasthesameastheyearbeforeandtheyearbeforeandtheyearbeforeandsoonandsoforth.

Recently, I have began to reconnect with my friends from my first high school. We had a group of seven people who somehow managed to adopt each other into a family. Smru was daddy; Risa was mummy; NJ, DS and DJ were the sisters; Arsh was the brother; and I happened to be the family pet - a hamster. (We eventually agreed that I used to be a human before, but Smru turned me into a hamster during one of her science experiments). We had 'complications' in the family, the nature of which shall remain a secret from blogland. Lets just say, Smru played the role of a guy very well in our little group. (Disclaimer: Smru is a female, who has become way more feminine in the last three years.) So the other day, I discovered that Arsh is doing the same degree as me! We both hated our previous degree and thus became first years again. I bumped into DJ at the bus stop, who also happened to change her degree. I was close to Smru and Risa last year anyway, and this year hasn't changed many things. NJ and DS are the only people that I do not see very much, although I do keep tabs on them. Anyway, the rest of us (especially Arsh and I) often reminisce about those days. We used to rule our own worlds back then. I'm trying to organise a lunch to catch up with each others lives, but everyone is so busy that it seems absolutely impossible to get all seven of us under one roof at one time.

I was looking for a post from that time, and I came across this. Although this did not involve any of the people mentioned above, I perfectly remember that time. Emu, this shall come back and haunt you from time to time. :P

So yes, long story short: the past was glorious. We were innocent dreamers who thought they could touch the sky the moment they wanted to. And then something happened in the next four years and bam! Turning twenty tomorrow! I miss being sixteen. :(

But, not to worry, the future could be glorious too, only if I want it to be. ;)

--

P.s: Pick out the made-up-word in the post. :P

A moment of happiness

When I finished my class at 10 today, I had the same feeling as I did after the first set of exams of year 12. My last exam was extension 2 maths, a few hours after which we were flying to BD. On the way back, I had this feeling of absolute happiness – top-of-the-world feeling. I felt as if every single thing on the entire planet was at its most beautiful state and I was lucky enough to experience it.

I had that exact same feeling today. And sure enough, a little after 12.30 pm, I welcomed home the newest member of my life – my red Dell Inspiron Mini 10.

ps: I’m posting from ‘My Blog’ in Windows Live Writer. Never used it before, but hopefully it’ll work.

just a nice song

I currently am not in love nor can I stand any mushiness amongst my friends or strangers. Yet, I loved this song as soon as I heard it. It is indeed very mushy, and at a certain level, it is very cliched. But I think I love the imagery that it begins with. It also sounds like the tune of a few of my songs, especially this one:

You took my heart and broke it into pieces,
You analysed hard and wrote a huge thesis,
You took your heart and cut it in half to see
If you can find any broken piece of me.
When you found that none existed,
Did your eyes get a little bit misted?
...

But yeah, their song is better, of course. Mine sort of goes downhill after those six lines. The parts I love are bolded. :)

Also - I do realise that my song is about a break-up with this one is about something completely opposite. Meh.

My head is stuck in the clouds

She begs me to come down
Says "Boy quit foolin' around"
I told her "I love the view from up here
Warm sun and wind in my ear
We'll watch the world from above
As it turns to the rhythm of love"
We may only have tonight
But till the morning sun you're mine all mine
Play the Music low and sway to the rhythm of love
My heart beats like a drum
A guitar string to the strum
A beautiful song to be sung
She's got blue eyes deep like the sea
That roll back when she's laughing at me
She rises up like the tide
The moment her lips meet mine
We may only have tonight
But till the morning sun you're mine all mine
Play the Music low and sway to the rhythm of love
When the moon is low
We can dance in slow motion
And all your tears will subside
All your tears will dry

Ba-ba ba-ba ba-ba baba
Da da-da dum da-da dum
Ba-ba ba-ba ba-ba ba-ba
Da da-da dum da-da dum

And long after I've gone
You'll still be humming along
And I will keep you in my mind
The way you make love so fine
We may only have tonight
But till the morning sun you're mine all mine
Play the music low and sway to the rhythm of love.

3/4, morning

The windows are open,
I feel the cool breeze touching me -
Touching my heart.
I send out a smile,
Smile for those
who are living this art.

I know the world is full of bloodshed;
Tiny stomachs that need to be fed;
Young souls passing on each day,
Even before they had a chance to play
In the field of life.

I know the world is full of bleakness -
It has lost a lot of its sweetness.
Just another face in the street now cause unspeakable crimes,
I know we are creeping towards the darkest of times.

Yet, I send out a smile
that'll jump over the vile
and reach out to a child
who's yet to see
how humanity
is ripping up the art
that's filling her tiny heart.

Its not even 10 AM

Complaints (skippable): I woke up at 2-something-AM in excruciating pain and extremely cold feet. I was literally wide awake and knew that I would be unable to go back to sleep for a very long time. I made myself a cup of coffee and sat down to summarise physiology. At 6-something-AM, I realised I had not done much, even though it had been about four hours. If my annoyance level was moderately high when I woke up, at this point, it shot to the roof. The train ride was okay, apart from the fact that I was half-asleep-half-awake the whole time, and felt worse than I felt before it. The store that usually gives a discount didn't give me a discount today on the pack of gum. There was an annoyingly and awkwardly mushy couple right infront of me in the bus line. On my hurry to get away from them and silently praying so that I do not have to sit behind them, I lost my brand-new-unopened pack of gum. I had to wait in line for about ten minutes or so for my coffee and another pack of gum. Then, I came and sat in my computer lab where I have been having my psych tutorials for the past few weeks. A few minutes later, I realised that my tute is not in here, and I do not have a chance in getting in now, because they are doing hypnotosis today, which must be complete uninterupted. I missed the most interesting class of this semester.

On a brighter note (or two): I love the poetic lyrics and soothing yet catchy tunes of Cat Stevens/Yusuf Islam. My laptop is now on its way to Australia. The expected date of its arrival is now the eighth of april. :)

Beautyfullity

I ordered my Dell inspiron mini 10 yesterday. Yes, I am already refering to it as being 'mine', even though it has not been created yet. I already feel a deep sense of attachment to it, I guess its because it is the first huge thing that I am buying after working like crazy for the past few months. I have never been able to save up this much while I still had access to my money. Never! So yes - I'm bathing in a sense of accomplishment! (lol)

Alhamdulillah. InshaAllah, it should arrive here on or before 12th April, according to Dell. That is one thing crossed off my wish list. (yay!) Here are the other things on that mental wishlist:
- A pair of sunglasses (good quality, something that I would look good in, something that I will be able to wear for years)
- Huge, comfy, airy, square hijabs (maybe 4-5?)
- Ticket for climbing the Harbour Bridge during sunrise
- Ticket to a hot air baloon ride (possibly during sunset. It would be amazing to pray Maghrib up in the open air!)

Hopefully all of the above will be mine before I turn twenty-one. :D

Also - I discovered today that if I order six more coffees, I can get a free one from my regular place. However, I am a tad bit disappointed that they did not offer me the card before today, in which case, I probably would have already been able to enjoy my free coffee. So anyway, there I was, ordering my usual - small cuppaccino with two sugars, when I thought, why do I never order anything else? Of course, the answer is, I did not know the differences between any of the other coffees. Once I tried espresso without knowing what it was simply because it was the cheapest option available. I had to throw it out after three sips. Hence, I decided to help fellow confused self proclaimed coffee lovers by listing some of the common drinks:

- Cuppaccino: 1/3 espresso, 1/3 steamed milk, 1/3 froth.
- Latte: less coffee, less froth, more milk.
- Macchiato: coffee to milk ratio is 1:1. (hmm... I guess I can try this one too...)
- Flat white: something similar to latte.
- Long black: double shot of espresso with hot water. (never trying it, unless it is after two days of no sleep and constant work.)

I want to try and do some sort of course on making coffee and latte art. And then get a coffee maker. In the future, hopefully, inshaAllah. :)

Have you ever tried writing beautiful over and over again? It looks slightly weird, and far from beautiful. However, beautyful does not, for some reason. It has a floweryness to it. (Yes, floweryness looks better than floweriness, in my eyes). Life is beautyful. I hope more and more people start to see that it is. :)

Kids these days...

A typical weekday in my life should go something like this - wake up 10 minute-ish after alarm goes off, pray Fajr, ponder over what to wear for the day, have breakfast, run out and catch the train, university, work, home, pray Maghrib, dinner, Isha, sleeeeeep. On a typical day, I should not be able to see day light from home. On a typical day, I should be able to be so tired from the whole day that the hours in bed would be treasured like life. I made a timetable so that I can fit in everything I want in my life in a typical week. Its working, more or less. I know - its only been five days since I felt the glughbiness, but hey - that's how my life is. Its perfect for about five days and I start to think, life has always been like this! Anyway, 'tis a nice feeling. I guess its because I sort of sorted out the things I need to sort out, and the things that I haven't sorted out that needs to be sorted out are in a realistic plan to be sorted out.

:)

So anyway, I teach children at a coaching centre on Fridays and Saturdays. The Saturday kids stay in that centre pretty much 9-5 and do work, with hardly any breaks. These eight to eleven years olds just sit in a stuffy classroom, and do the work that they are given, mostly because their parents are pushing them to become geniuses. I teach them from about 1 pm to 4.30 pm, and I clearly see the deterioration of interest and energy in them. I try to make things as interesting as I possibly can, however, everything is tightly scheduled and I cannot give them any more than ten minute breaks within that time. It is absolutely horrible to see the torture that these kids go through - they are literally missing out on a childhood! Yesterday, before their weekly test, one of my ten year olds just sighed and said: I feel so stressed all the time. And it broke my heart. She's TEN! When I was ten, I was writing songs about happy suns! (Seriously, I even presented it in a Talent Quest at school, and my friends pretended that they didn't know me. I admit, it must've been very embarrassing, but at least I did not have anything to worry about in life. I might post it up someday...) There's another eight year old who just sits there quietly and does her work the whole time, even when her time is over. She waits for her sister in a room, all by herself, and finishes off her homework. She's so cute and chubby and hug-able that I feel like giving her a huge warm hug every time I see her. But work ethics prevent me from doing so. Stupid pedophiles, they make life hard with their unnatural, twisted ways of thinking. The world is just not innocent any more. Speaking of innocence and children - they are losing it, fast. When I was ten, I did not care how I looked like, did not know what the latest look is, did not wear branded clothes and did not own anything with straps, did not notice what everyone else wore. My ten year olds turn up every Saturday with amazing shoes and tasteful dresses clearly designed for people with a bit more curves than a ten year old is capable of having. Times have changed and I feel like an old lady. 

Speaking of oldness - I am turning twenty in exactly two weeks. (InshaAllah.) Two decades old, can you believe it? I feel like my eyes have sunken, skin has wrinkled, hair has fallen and bones have softened. (Which may also be due to lack of exercise, sleep, lotion and shampoo - but thats just details.) 

Feeling the glughb

After three days of constant rain, the sky now a brilliant blue with picturesque vanilla clouds. I think I have reached either the fourth of fifth stage of my circular life. I am feeling extremely lazy about everything, even though, in theory, I should be enjoying every aspect of my life. I chose to do most of them. I chose my degree, I chose my job, I chose my community work - I chose how to spend a lot of my time. However, being 'me', I guess I cannot live with perfection for too long. I cannot enjoy anything for too long! Why is that?? Why do I feel suffocated after a while, in every single freaking thing I do?

Interesting question. Could be my research topic in three years.

I can identify two reasons for my grogginess.
1. Lack of exercise and way too much intake of junk food.
2. Getting further and further away from my secret strength.

No, its not coffee. Or sleep, as someone suggested on Facebook. Its Allah. I am feeling the lack of His presence in my life to my bones. I don't feel the baraqah. And every time I feel like this, I feel like there is no way I can get back. (Even though somewhere, very deep down, I know its not true.)

Another thing has been happening way too much lately. I feel like people are tightening their control around me. Which is perfectly normal in my case - I step out of line --> I prove myself to be irresponsible --> The people who love me the most start to think I can't take care of myself --> They start to take control of the things that they think I've lost control over. However, that increases my feeling of suffocation. And I want to get away, more than ever.

I spent the whole day on Sunday with a few extremely productive people. And the two days that followed it turned out to be two of my most unproductive days since starting to be 'good'. I feel like indulging in sadistic beauty. (Which is extremely pathetic.)

I
need
to
shake
out
of
my
glughbiness.

Summary*

Favourite time of the day: Sunset
Favourite flower: Frangipani
Favourite accessories: Red glass bangles
Favourite weather: Rainy morning
Favourite beverage: Coffee
Favourite part of the body: the wrist (I don't know why, but I think a person's wrist spells out innocence.)


*subject to change according to mood, age, weather, day, moment.

Epiphany of the week

My favourite flower is Frangipani.

Hummmmm

My life was so empty at the beginning of this year that I started piling things in it. Now, things have piled up so much that I am wondering if I could somehow coax some scientist into lengthening the time of each day, without taking away any time from the next. (I know my only solution is getting organised.. but I was hoping there was an easy way out of this...)

ps: I hope none of my employers come across my blog. Ever. Its filled with confessions of my weaknesses.

p.p.s: The title is the sound I make in my head when things pile up too-too much.

(...)

A word is dead
When it is said
Some say
I say it just
Begins to live
That Day.

(Emily Dickinson)