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For one to be truly brave is to, firstly - have the determination to lift up their hands forward and touch, then hold with fist clenched, the other one that is staring straight to one's eyes; the eternal reflection that manifest the deepest desire within. Hold her with both hands and ask with voices so soft - the meaning of such quandaries which, she, when being honest, can expose to you as easily as her mimicry unto your actions. Until one is yet to do that, one then is forever trapped in the limbo of dreams and wishes that is built with buts and if onlies.

One needn't plunge oneself into the bottomless abyss of self-blame, however, if to muster the courage to do so, one is yet not able to, but to sit oneself down, far from the brouhahas of thundering information, is what one is ought to do. Find a place quiet and tranquil, deep in a place untouched by other beings save you and God, and stare deep inside, until the stars emerge and sing mighty glories into your ears.

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I am no longer a student of knowledge. Still, I strive to be one every day, but each time, I fail. I no longer attend classes, I no longer meet friends to discuss, and I no longer have a study schedule that I can follow. I am tired, and I find myself sleeping away. I am left behind. The thought of quitting keeps coming, more frequently than ever.

I wonder, where did all the zeal go? Why am I so weak? Why did I not have the will to fight this and persist? Why can't I be like other moms who keep going despite the circumstances? I know that I'm a slow learner, hence I know that I need more time than others to study, but why am I not doing that? Why did I not fight all these pathetic feelings? I hate that I'm having all these feelings of despair and fear, yet not having the will to bombard it through like I used to.

Perhaps, I still can. Perhaps. I just need to be strong. This is only but a small inconvenience in life - just a prick. Be strong.

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Maryam, sudah hampir dua bulan kamu datang keluar bertemu ibu, cuba menatap wajah ibu (walau belum tampak jelas :)), dan hari-hari yang ibu lalui bersama kamu, semakin hari semakin memberi ibu bahagia.

Kamu anak pintar, Maryam. Waktu kamu baru lahir dan ibu belum punya susu untuk kamu minum, kamu tetap cuba minum dengan sabar dan bersemangat, sehingga usaha itu membuahkan hasil yang sangat baik, alhamdulillah! Susu ibu mengalir deras, dan sehingga sekarang, sentiasa ada dengan cukup buat kamu.

Kamu juga pandai melekap di puting ibu. Ibu yang tidak tahu apa-apa perihal menyusu pada awalnya, sangat terbantu dengan kecerdasan kamu, puting ibu tidak lecet! kamu juga pandai memperbetulkan lekapan dengan sendiri, sesuatu yang ibu sangat-sangat syukuri. Baiknya Allah dah berikan kamu pintar!

Bila kamu mahu tidur, kamu tidak menangis-nangis kencang (buat waktu ini haha) - kamu mampu tidur sendiri dengan bantuan yang minimal. Menurut buku-buku yang ibu baca, ini tanda anak yang cerdas! Hanya apabila kamu tidak selesa di perut, kamu bersuara sedikit, minta mahu didukung dan ditepuk belakang. Oh ya, kamu menangis agak keras jika kamu lapar ;) tidak mengapa Maryam, in sha Allah ibu akan sentiasa ada untuk bagi kamu susu.

Maryam, kamu mengajar ibu untuk menjadi ibu. Ibu berterima kasih kepada kamu, kerana melalui kamu, Allah berikan peluang untuk ibu mengalami nama-namaNya dengan warna baru. Allah berikan ibu peluang untuk kembali merenung ke dalam diri dan memperbaiki.

Ada kalanya ibu penat, tetapi bila melihat wajah kamu; mata kamu yang bundar, senyum kamu yang manis, jari-jemari kamu yang halus memegang ibu, sungguh, penat ibu terbang. Rupa-rupanya, hal itu benar.

Maryam, kamu amanah dan pinjaman dari Allah khas untuk ibu. Kamu bukan mutlak milik ibu. Kamu tanda dari Dia, yang menunjuk pada makna-makna yang sedang ibu berusaha untuk menggalinya hari demi-hari. Mengingat hal ini, ibu jadi sedih sekaligus gembira. Aneh, kan?

Ibu sedih, selayaknya manusia biasa yang punya keterikatan dengan dunia dan apa yang dia sangka miliknya, selayaknya seorang ibu kepada anaknya, yang merupakan sumber tampak kebahagiaannya. Gembira, kerana ibu tahu bahawa hakikatnya Allah-lah yang menjaga Maryam, Penjaga yang teragung, Pemegang hakikat dan segala kejadian. DaripadaNya lah Maryam datang, denganNya lah Maryam hidup dan kepadaNya lah Maryam kembali.

Maryam, membesarlah kamu dengan gembira dan bahagia. Carilah kebenaran, dan apabila kamu menjumpainya, gigitlah ia dengan gerahammu. Membesarlah dengan ilmu dan cinta. Selagi diizinkan Allah, ibu akan terus ada dan menunggu, memelukmu di malam-malam dingin dan sunyi.

Hayyakillah, ya Maryam!

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Assalamu'alaikum Maryam!

HasbunaLlah, wa ni'mal wakīl.

Ibu suka bila scan dapat tengok kamu, walaupun kamu selalu sorok muka 🩷

Ibu akan kuat in sha Allah, ibu akan bacakan al-Quran untuk kamu, walaupun hanya kita. Ibu akan bacakan buku-buku juga. Ibu sedang belajar banyak perkara, paling penting Ibu sedang belajar untuk tak gantungkan bahagia dan gembira pada apa-apayang fana. Kita perempuan Maryam, tak dapat tidak jiwa kita mudah terusik. Kita selalu mahukan orang yang kita sayang untuk ada di samping kita, tapi sebenarnya itu bukan syarat bahagia. Hasbunallāh, ya Maryam. Ibu sedang belajar itu:)

Sampai jumpa!

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Jiwa-jiwaku,

Jika ditanya apa impian ibu, ibu mahu menjadi tempat pulang kalian.

Ibu mahu menjadi tempat ayah, dan anak-anak ibu pulang melepas lelah dan sakit, gembira dan sedih, cinta dan benci dan segala rasa yang kalian temui di luar sana.

Ibu mahu menjadi rumah kalian.

Ibu mahu menjadi atap yang meneduh di kala matahari terik membakar, menjadi rumah yang melindung di kala hujan ribut menebal.

Ibu mahu menjadi ruang kalian bersujud gembira, menangis luka, meratap hiba, tertawa bahagia.

Segala sakit san luka, jangan malu-malu; datanglah pada ibu. Ibu tetap akan mencium kalian walau dengan tubuh yang berdarah-nanah; ibu mahu kalian tahu bahawa Rahmat Tuhan itu abadi.

Jiwa-jiwaku,

Ibu mahu sekali kalian melihat keazalian Tuhan melalui ibu, namun ibu tahu, ibu terlalu banyak memeluk dunia. Oleh itu, semoga dunia yang kalian genggam dapat membawa kalian menemui ibu dicelah-celahnya, dan semoga Tuhan memegang mata hati kalian.

Jiwaku,

Tidak ada harapan ku yang tertinggi melainkan kita kembali bersatu di alam abadi, di dalam naungan Arash Tuhan kita yang Ahad. Semoga mimpi-mimpimu tercapai dengan penuh Rahmat, semoga hatimu sentiasa kuat, semoga langkahmu penuh berkat. Aku sungguh ingin menjadi tempat mu pulang, sepertimana kamu, aku.

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Dear Maryam/Toha.

Ibu is a crybaby, and if you later are one, I promise I will love you and tell you it's okay. I will not get mad. It's okay to cry, but your heart must be strong. You can cry, and Ibu will always hug you and tell you it's going to be okay. But after the cry, you must paddle onwards. Take a deep breath and live life. The world is full of hard things, so Ibu will try to be the place that you can come back and cry to. Ibu will always love you.

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The pregnancy journey so far has me feeling unlike myself or rather, the self that I tried to hide for so long came out like a grizzly bear from her cave after a long period of hibernation. I feel sleazy, tired, sleepy, nauseous, dizzy, moody ad all things from cuckoo land combined. I feel weak and unmotivated, which has led me to compare myself to other mother-to-bes who are so energetic and hopping here and there like there's no tomorrow - I am a weak-ass douchebag, the snowflakes yall been calling them gen zs as.

And adding to the identity crisis, never in my foodie gastronomic life have I thought that I will be this food-aversive, picky-eater, dont-know-what-to-eat girl. I have always been an easy-eater, I love food. But now, now everything's DIFFERENT AND I DONT LIKE IIIIITTTTTT! *vomits*

But hey, the old me inside my head keep popping up, collecting the dignity that I still have left and remind me that comparison is never good. Each journey is different, and once you start to compare then you only have yourself to be blamed, yada-yada. Nobody ain't telling you to do that! relax...

BUT RELAXING IS NOT GETTING MY WORK GOING ANYWHERE! said the other me, but not that angry because we all are tired mofos, I'm just adding the capslock for a dramatic effect.

eughhhhshhshhshjsdhjhdn now I'm tired and sleepy and feel like vomiting, again.

p/s: sorry Maryam/Toha, ibu is kinda wacko as she always is, not your fault. Hope you can be patient with me later on :D

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It has been a while since I let my mind wander to a distant land, disguising as a fairy travelling on a caravan.

It has been a while since I let my heart soar free into the night sky, dancing with the stars in my gown made of shimmering warm lights up high.

It has been a while since I frolic among the trees and roll in the grass at the foot of the mountain, with the wind singing peaceful lullabies about the lore of old.

It has been a while since I release my soul into the endless pages of old books, that talk about what it means to be and to be not.

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I'm standing alone at the endge of the grey lake. The wind is blowing strong rustling the trees around, the skies are a mixture of a distant orange horizon, black clouds and piercing lightnings that bolt once in a while. For a long time, I have never felt this peaceful. I wish for the wind to build and take me away to a distant land, far from this, this place I once call home.

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fugging hell I hate this feeling make it stop, God! I feel like vomiting. All the problems in the world be damned. I am being irrational but lo and behold - I am already in the pit!

Think of daisies, think of the Alps and the Appalachian mountains. of the cool breeze and the soft rain. of the agarwood smell that dances with the warm music, and caramel.

Syllogism be damned.

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My bloodied hands lay motionless against the burning asphalt. The bruises didn't hurt - but the thing that squirms inside my gut is hurting; it wanted out. I can feel its many hands finding its way out, tap tapping against the insides of my body; my heart, my lung, my throat. Slithering with silent desperation. I stared at my blackened fingernails - the edges were chipped off and jagged from the frantic clawing last night. Some splinters could be seen protruding - but it no longer hurt. The blood has dried out, hardening my skin with shades of red, like marbles.

I let the rain fall unto my face; its small and rapid droplets came down like prickling needles, hoping that it will tame the gnawing creature within. Looking back, this is exactly what I fear, and hate. The pain, the gnawing deep inside that makes me shiver in my sleep. I used to think that I couldn't pinpoint where the hurt is, but when the silence is the most deafening, the spot right in the middle of my chest gave out a mystical sound unlike any other. That was when I knew, where the pain came from. I used to despise all these - the anxiety, the worry, the overthinking, the meta self-evaluation that seems to be stuck in an eternal limbo; it sucks all the energy in me. What is worse - I am alone. Alone in this madness, in this abomination that I have brought up upon myself. I thought I could play pretend for a long time, but I am fooling nobody.

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I still remember the days when I used to stare for hours into the sky - the cloudless blue canvas spoke to my innermost heart with voices like tinkling glasses. I didn't care that the light blinded my sight, the afterimages that crept inside my vision made me chuckle - it reminded me of the worms squirming under the bright sun. I heard voices calling me from afar but it just came for a second or two - they didn't care, why would I? They asked, they always do, but when I spoke, pausing at times to search for correct words - they disappeared.

They always ask; when can you be better? look at other people - they are far away up there! Be better!

But what is better?

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I miss you. I miss all your smiles, your warm hugs, your kisses. I miss your presence.

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One of the things that I love (so far) about getting married, is that it forces me to be honest in facing my own thoughts. It then has propelled me to uncover sections of me which, truth to be told, has been covered, and locked away deep inside – for fear of its overflow that will inadvertently hurt myself. I am afraid of getting hurt, of sadness, of all the grim colours that clogs the peaceful serenity. But to love fully is to welcome all that come with it and hurt is one of them. We get hurt when things didn’t go our way, especially when it involves things, or persons, dear to our hearts. Thus, in it came the test, like what has been said by our Lord.

In being honest, I am forced to be brave. To show every shade and corner, some of which I desperately want to hide from people, to someone that you love – takes an amount of courage that shakes the ego within. But when the bravery that you mustered is respected and appreciated by the lover, it is as if the seed that you planted on the rough terrain suddenly experiences a downpour, thus from if blooms the flowers of trust.

At times, the helplessness is overwhelming and I am not sure to where do I hold onto?

I have fears lurking behind my eyes, but knowing that He is al-Raḥīm, I will continue planting the seeds inside, for it to become gardens that eternally bloom in an invincible summer.

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Tuhan, jika inilah jalannya untuk sampai padaMu dengan penuh cinta, permudahkanlah.

Tuhan, jika inilah jalannya untuk nama-namaMu bersinar dalam diri hamba sehingga cahayanya memancar terang dari dalam ruang hati hamba yang paling dalam, permudahkanlah.

Tuhan, dengan segala rahsia-rahsiaMu yang agung, kurniakan hamba bahagia yang abadi, seperti yang ada di maujud yang lebih tinggi, agar hamba sentiasa dapat menjadi.

Hamba ini tiada, namun seringkali saat tanda-tanda kian bertindihan, saat yang fana menghulurkan cangkirnya yang manis dan tersenyum ghairah, hamba terasuk rasa-rasa palsu yang merangkul ke dalam jurang dalam, hitam.

Tuhan, hati hamba sangat rapuh. Jika dengan wasilah jalan ini, dapat hamba merasa Cinta, permudahkanlah.

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Apa hujung sebuah keyakinan?

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My Head Hurts and My Heart Sometimes Palpitates Extra Hard but It's Going to be Okay.

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My Head Hurts and My Heart Sometimes Palpitates Extra Hard but It's Going to be Okay.

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At times, my head goes woosh woosh and my vision goes wiu wiu.

At times, my heart goes ba-dub-ba-dub-badub-badubadubadub and I feel like vomiting.

At times I feel like not eating.

At times, I feel like eating Samyang 3x spicy with additional chilli oil.

I feel like an incompetent, wobbly old snail.

There are ----- be done--

Deep breath.

In syaAllah we can do this.

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This disquietude throws me into a maddening war against the sinister self, always taunting from the hidden corners, laughing silently, but its echoes ring all across this endless plane of nothingness. My words are all jumbled inside my mouth, my thoughts erratic; to whom do I call, on this desolate island of tomorrow? To what do I hold on to, in this internal vicissitude?

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"وجعلت قرة عيني في الصلاة..."

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Kadang-kadang saya keliru untuk memahami ma'na yang ditunjukkan oleh tanda-tanda yang bermunculan, dan saya rasakan bahawa saya yang selama ini hanyalah balutan kertas pada sebuah kotak kosong, yang sedang koyak-rabak ditimpa hujan lebat. Saya membaca perihal sang kekasih-kekasihNya, yang merasakan halawah bertemuNya, yang melihatNya pada setiap yang maujud, yang merasaiNya pada setiap harakat dan sakanat - lalu dada saya terasa berat, kerana ia semacam asap-asap yang terlihat namun tak tergapai.  Saya ada membaca tentang tingkatan tajrid dan asbab pada para hamba; yang pertama ialah tingkatan dimana ia sedang dijemput oleh Tuhan untuk berada disisiNya, dan asbab zahir tidak lagi bergerak untuknya seperti hal kebanyakan hamba, malahan jika ia berpaling pada tawajjuhnya dan bergantung/risau akan asbab, maka ia telah berlaku zalim pada diriNya; manakala tingkatan kedua - asbab - pula, saya fahami ia ialah tingkatan kebanyakan kita, dimana  tawajjuh kita memerlukan kita berpegang pada asbab, jika kita mengabaikannya maka kitalah yang zalim. Saya hanya tertanya, bagaimana rasanya dijemput untuk berada di sisiNya? Apabila dibukakan penglihatan dengan Nur Allah? Mungkin orang yang masih bertanya-tanya seperti saya memang tidak akan merasai semua itu. Saya masih sibuk bertanya-tanya dengan hal-hal zahir setiap tanda, dan sering terlepas apa yang ditunjukinya. Saya masih runsing-risau akan saya, saya, saya...
Masih sempatkah?

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breathe in - breathe out
bismiLlah

inoutinoutinoutinouuuttttjhsjhas

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Let this be the Way, to know myself, thus Him.
Let this be the Way, to exist by Him, through Him and in Him.
Let this be the Way, to manifest the wasiyyah bi al-haqq and the wasiyyah bi al-sabr.
Let this be the way, that my forehead is forever bound to the ground, while my heart soar with the birds of those who have Witnessed.
Let this be the way, that I am brought to Him - with Love and Mercy!

بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم

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There was once a fabled Mountain, where all sorts of stories were heard about it.
---
Day by day, the Mountain looms taller, and the peak seems further than how it was when the Mountain was but a far-reaching dream. Now that it is a little bit more than an arm's reach, the majestic splendor of the great asphalt giant clenches my heart and entrances me into an exhilarating stupor, which sometimes is quite maddening - imagine a blizzard with fireworks and a rainbow, while anticipating an incoming tornado. But all is well because tomorrow is spring and the tulips and poppies that you planted will bloom, with all its adversities. I am still, at times, having a hard time believing that I am here --- I am scared, but my happiness overwhelms it, and so is my trust.

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Sometimes at the crossroads, the questions and doubts came out like slithering snakes, hissing and spitting venomous whispers. How do I carry this torn self forward, this ragged and grimy soul? How do I face myself, my dream, and my hope that seems to be oxymoronic to what I am? How do I navigate my soul in these cacophonic brouhaha from within? it is madness. This heart won't sit still, it is wild like a horse wanting to sprint over yonder. Like cattle spreading out in the green fields. I am lost rā’i, struggling to control her mar’ā.
Sincerity sometimes became like an ungraspable concept, far beyond what I could reach. We talk and talk - there will always be excuses and justifications, often disguised in 'intellectual' clothing, but only He knows.

وَالَّذِي قَدَّرَ فَهَدَىٰ
وَٱلَّذِىٓ أَخْرَجَ ٱلْمَرْعَىٰ
فَجَعَلَهُۥ غُثَآءً أَحْوَىٰ

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Untuk Tuan, yang mengenalkan Cinta pada saya.

"اصبروا حتى تلقوا الله ورسوله، فإني على الحوض"

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Take a deep breath and let us sit on the cosmic rocks, let us skate on the cosmic clouds while watching the swirling Andromeda passing by, let us gaze at the Hamal of Aries while you sing your favourite songs. In the evenings, come watch the Proxima Centauri dawning on one of its planets, while eating cheesecakes and crackers. And cup noodles too.

We will bring a thermos-full of hot lime tea, less-sugar, and two small cups. Recyclable paper cups,  because #savetheplanet, that is. Come watch the cosmic ducks migrating from the stars - do not shoot them; for they are His Majesty's Property. Let's just bring our binoculars, and then you can explain the ontology of flying, what it means to fly, what it means to be a cosmic duck, and I will happily listen.

You can bring your laptop, and write your manuscripts, while I will continue reading the to-be-read piles I had at home. On the way back, we can stop by Orion, on Betelgeuse, to buy some snacks. I heard their steamed bread are good. Then we'll continue our way home; the ride is bumpy and quite nauseating - but there is nothing more that I could ever wish for.

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(draft)

The First Part: Stowaway

The ocean seemed still, with occasional ripples against the silent breeze that seeped unnoticeably through the fabric of my shirt. Sometimes, the flock of Seagulls came flying just a few meters above my head, searching for the day’s meal, their chatters wild. There were no clouds that day, and the sun was shining in its friendly whitish hue. The great hot orb was looking at me with his unnerving eyes, but I avoided any possible eye contact. I didn’t want to go blind, yet. All around me was an endless outstretched plane of blue; the sky, the sea, and the boat (no, the boat isn’t blue. It’s a mixture of green, yellow, and khaki). It was rocking gently like a cradled baby, like the hypnotic pendulum in the Grandfather clock. I took the paddle out from the water and placed it in front of me – I was tired. Tired, hot, and hungry. It seemed like I was going nowhere. The salty smell of the ocean penetrated my lungs when I took a deep breath, sending me tingling sensations in my stomach – a mix of excitement, fear, and what’s in between.

The Second Part: The Encounter with the Hoopoe and the Dolphin Named Syihāb.

I watched the sun as it went inside the seemingly endless line far in front, leaving the sky to turn from its reddish gleam to black. For a while, I couldn't see a thing but strangely, the darkness didn't scare me. It felt so certain, that everything was going to be alright, that there was nothing to be afraid of. I looked up to the sky, and sure enough, the stars were like the fairy shimmers twinkling on a black gown - the sky was waving at me like a long-lost friend.

Suddenly, I heard a soft buzzing from under the wooden cabinet across me, and I saw something flickering. It was an old lantern somebody had placed before, or maybe it came together with the boat. I smiled. See? Darkness will not stay forever.

The Third Part: The Syi’rā Spoke to Me.

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Why do you stay? You have heard my apologies probably a thousand times for the same and new mistakes that I did again and again, yet you say it’s okay. Many people get bored easily for recurring things, especially the bad ones, yet your eyes glistened with peaceful reassurance that soothes the cacophony within. You saw the abyss that I desperately cover with layers of glistening cloth, hidden beneath the pretty, snow-like façade, yet you smile and say it’s okay. You didn’t brush it off; you acknowledged it, and in that acknowledgement I find reason to be. Your words touch the rotten wound caused by the thorns shoved deep inside, so deep that I didn’t even realise it even exists – but the moment the wound was traced by your hands, the pain shot me awake with a tremendous jolt. But it was like going through stormy, thunderous nights, as the mornings that came were always peaceful and calm. A comforting presence, a warm embrace.

Your words compared to mine, are like hand-woven silk and brittle; yours are carefully thought of, with intricate details like handcrafted woodworks, while mine are jagged and winding, like a blind mole searching its way out of the dark tunnel. It eventually gets there but after a hell of a time, with stumbles and accidents. Yet you still smile and laugh; and those responses tinkle pleasantly like the fairy-bells hung on the willow trees. The sound of the waltz echoed from somewhere deep within, and playing it is still.

You once asked me why I said that the sky suits you; it is because I see its vastness in your eyes. I see the soft clouds hanging around you when you speak, the twinkling of the stars in your eyes like Sirius on the night sky. The sky has many states, which all of them reflects His Beauty and yours, from its clearest to the cloudiest, from its brightest to its darkest, its storms, lightnings and rainbows; I love them all. The sky to me omits bravery, as its seeming boundlessness challenges the hearts of its traversers – for it is an epitome, a locus of reference to a higher life, a higher existence, a place of a constant perfection. Looking upwards, it has always been to me, a symbol of grounded hope.

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I don't remember the first time I met you, for the memory of your pleasant company has always been there, implanted deep within the core of my consciousness. You appear to me as an epitome of feminine beauty; classy, messy, sweet with a hint of acidity and uh...aromatic. Those who do not know you, and have no intention to, will be easily repelled by your boldness, your strong impression, and your loudness - your mark will forever be emblemed to those who dare to traverse your inner treasures with haste. But those who came with knowledge, patience, and witty wisdom will be endowed with an otherworldly delight - a happiness unparalleled to any others.

Your physicality enamored me; your organ-like physique sent jolts to my heart, your soft flesh relaxed my strained muscles, your milky-white tincture contrasted to your purplish-red overcoat excites my slumbering soul. The hat that you always wear gives a hue of quirkiness that adds to your regal beauty, a distinguished form among the forms that do not be. You are one of the best of His creations, inside out, a paragon of charm and all things delightful.

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She felt uneasy. She had never felt that way before, and letting in the unknown who knocks relentlessly, inside, seems the stupidest thing to do. If anything happened, she only had herself to be blamed. She was the one who chose that decision. Nevertheless, she did - and now she waits.

Outside, the pearly orb starts to disappear behind the dark clouds, bidding its farewell to the desperate hoots of the owls, whose longing for the moon never falters.

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on that day, the lacuna has been filled with poppies, in different shades of red; enchanting, thrilling, relaxing.
To the wind that blows and the rain that pours ever so softly - send my gratitude to the Lover, for I have been kissed with His Light of hope and otherworldly beauty.

30/7/2023

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In the end, there is only You.
Do not
let me
go.

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There are bubbles floating around you – shining like weightless crystals under the morning sun, radiating a halo-like glow. When they pop, the water droplets tingle my skin, sending a sensation similar to when a cat licks your nose – pleasant and warm. I also see them rising to the clear sky, becoming one with the azure infinity, resembling the ever-expanding hope for goodness. I see vibrant lights – the seven of the rainbows and what is in between - coming out from your lips, forming colours, swirling around you like the gymnast’s silk ribbon when it dances and glides at the hands of its master, whose calculated steps were like the flowing water; natural and enchanting. In it, I do not see black, for black, in the light spectrum is the absence of light, but I see shades of it on your glass-stained eyes, for it is, in the colour spectrum, a mix of every colour. It adds to the beauty, for eyes with strong blacks shine the most, with all their tears and jeers. I hear astounding melodies in your gaze, at times like Shostakovich’s The Second Waltz; both joyful and sad, and at times like Hans Zimmer’s Davy Jones; bewitching, heart-wrenching and alluring. The rhythmic movements of the cogs and gears in your mind add to the warm symphony as the bell chimes on New Year’s Eve. It all plays together methodically, like an orchestral show with perfect diapasons, and at times with Bob Ross’ ‘happy accidents’ – gravely needed to form an intrinsic canvas of life.

The nightingale sings its lore into the night, and I am still gazing into the eternal moonlight within.

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Apa yang sanggup aku korbankan, untuk mencapai sebuah kedekatan?

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لا بأس، طهور إن شاء 

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لا بأس، طهور إن شاء الله. ذكّري يا من تنسى نفحات ربها: أن تغتنمي الخمس قبل الخمس، وألا تتركي الأوقات سدى. لعل الله يحدث بعد هذا أمرا! فهل يا ترى!

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They came like whisps of smokes; dancing silhouettes against the black night. Then came the whispers, then came the quiet calls - their hot breath against my ears, their intoxicating smell of burned incense enveloping my rationale.

They came like shadows, they came like the warm touch of your beloved.

And then the world is red.

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Truly the Hidden Abode is beyond imagining...

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One needs to find his/her own way of hearing His message and seeing Him in this scheme of wujud. As difference is one of the essences of our being (which without it the world won't be, but just a flat, empty plane), we ought to recognize what are our 'signs-of-being' and how they reverberate with its Creator, thus finding the path to Him; the Truth. To be truthful and sincere is the key, as at times, one does not possess the ability to articulate one's reverberations but nevertheless feels it strongly to the extent that other people might misunderstand it when seeing the manifestations of the innate desire to reach Him.

One can hold on to a person who has trodden the Path, (whom he/she has been ascertained to really have trodden it, based on qarinahs) but one can only tread his/her footsteps for so long until one is forced to let him/her go, to continue the Path alone, as that is where the differences start. Nevertheless, to ease the heart, one is never truly alone as the souls who were destined to the same end are always together, one - thus one might see the silhouettes of his brethren along the way; whispering our own soliloquy.

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The girl let the cooling fragrant breeze envelop her. Closing her eyes, she can feel the wet grass underneath her feet, the gentle dewdrops falling off the edge of the leaves onto her fingers, the rustling of the wind-kissed tress - whispering radiant praise. She could not hide her smile, for her heart is soaring upwards with immense joy, dancing alongside the twinkling celestial spheres. People say that the sky is the limit, but she knew that it goes beyond -- far beyond the 'space' where she can no longer point to the 'where' of the 'there', only that it is everywhere and ever-there.

She jogged slightly to the stream that came from uphill, squinting at the meadow far right. The House is still there, welcoming her now more than ever -- petite, homely, warm, gentle, kind. She chuckled. The 'Tawus' had told her before, that ...

... the journey upfront would be hellish; the beasts that lurk behind the shadowy mountains and slither among the ravaging waves are no ordinary beasts -- they possess the cunning human-like intelligence that appeals to your reasoning, speaks to your intellect, and grapples your heart in ways one would never imagine monstrous beasts like those would. Some say that they were once human, sages who, then, in their desire to grasp beyond what their hands were meant to reach - were enveloped by their own greed, thus the injustice that they committed against themselves has changed them into something they were not. Hence many a traveler and vagabonds were then lured into the endless creek and bottomless ocean, a facade of promised paradise.

"but Tawus" the girl interjected.

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...and to Those Words and those words, I hold on to, amidst the possible vicissitudes that seep inside every crack, whispering unnerving thoughts, lulling -- like the Siren's lament from the unfathomable deep.

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I know well enough how does it feel to be stuck in a place where you can't find any solace however you tried -- the people trying to communicate with you and 'soothe' you seem so alien and distant, the back of their heads hold another menacing grin invisible yet felt.

The people you trust the most look at you with disdain and confusion -- why is this child crying? Have I not given you what you wanted? You tried to explain, but the words are jumbled because you thought of all people, they would understand, they would hug you and say "let's get out of here", but they didn't . Your trust is then confined in a series of gigantic stonewalls -- impossible to reach.

But then, there is a part of you who understands that they are also people fighting their own battles -- nevertheless you're still stuck. And your chest aches more and aches still.

That pain, I wish no one would ever feel that - neither a child nor an adult.

To listen with sincerity and have the desire to understand, can calm angry waves and silent raving thunderstorms. Be that -- the rabi' al-qalb.

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I trust Him, therefore I trust him.

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...decree it on us, make it easy on us, and bless it for us.

Gaze upon us with your Rahmah, embrace us with your love -- so that our hearts may reflect your Beauty and Grace.

اللهم إنا نسألك الاطمئنان

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اللهم، إن كنت تعلم أن هذا الأمر خير لنا في ديننا ومعاشنا وعصمة أمرنا، فاقدره لنا ويسره لنا ثم بارك لنا فيه.

وإن كنت تعلم أن هذا الأمر شر لنا في ديننا ومعاشنا وعصمة أمرنا، فاصرفه عنا واصرفنا عنه، ثم اقدر لنا الخير حيث كان، ثم ارضنا فيه.

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Overwhelmed? Yes. Stomach churning? Yes. Feeling like vomiting? Yes.

Regret? No. So far not an ounce.

I fully realize my nuqsān, my uyūb وكيف أكون في المنزلة الأدنى منه في كل شي، ولكنني أثق بأني لا أفعل شيئا خطأ .

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-
bergumpal macam tali yang hujungnya tersimpul mati

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I am fascinated by Dr Adli. If, perchance, I went to his office and found him smoking a hookah, I wouldn't be surprised (lol). I kinda picture him as a hippie (probably because of the hawaiian shirt that he sometimes wear to class, and the pineapple socks). When I first went to his office, I thought his curtains were  weed-themed, but then I realized those green leaves were not weed - I don't know what they were. I also couldn't help but notice the books in there, there were Tintin and Paulo Coelho's. I love Tintin (I don't think it screams white-man's-burden), but I think Coelho's a bit overrated. We, edgy people, don't like (some) famous things. He seems like a free spirit, and fun to talk to (he is).

I'm sorry Dr. Adli, if I have pictured you wrong, and that you are not hippie-ish nor weed-related. You just seem happy and care-free, and I, kinda like that.

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Tuhan, aku ada banyak keresahan-keresahan. Aku ada banyak lohong-lohong hitam yang melingkar di sekeliling fikiran, yang buatkan aku mengecil menghilang.
Tuhan, perlihatkan aku hakikat kebenaran, dan pimpini aku menujunya.
Rangkul aku agar taufan yang bingit ini hilang, selimuti aku dengan pandanganMu.
Tuhan, sampaikan aku.

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I don't usually feel the need to write down my feelings about the future (filial), especially regarding my kids (bi idzniLlāh), but today seeing kids playing together at the masjid, from various races, languages and background - I want my kids to grow up familiar with these kinds of interactions. Heck, God knows kids ain't my specialty, but sometimes they're ... interesting 😌 (the well behaved ones). God pls help me to love kids and have patince with them :')

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Sometimes, it feels like it'll be relinquishing to just blurt out "fuck y'all, everyone and the world!" and just be alone, minding my own business.

But the world, is You.

This journey is tiring, but I really, really need to reach You. I miss You. I know I'm a nobody, I'm far, far away from the likes of Your loved ones, the ones that know You. I didn't ask to be here, and yet, You, with all Your Grace, presented me with this possibility of experiencing You, and reacing You. Its a gift beyond words!

I often times feel that I will be abandoned halfway, but I am here. And that is a reason enough. Hold my hand. Take me to You, please.

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God knows how bad I am with emotions - my own, that is. How I detest anything that needs me to feel strongly. How I hate it when I have to tell people what I really feel.

God knows how much I hate to share my feelings with others.
God knows how coward of a person I am.

In all honesty, it's not the emotion that I hate, it's the drama that comes with it. The interaction. The talking. The explaining. Emotions need to be experienced, not explained. And thus, I am not emotionless - it's that I restrict those who can interact with my emotions. They are, in a way, sacred.

But God knows, how this has been a problem to me. People often assume I don't feel. And this has led me to failed relationships. And friendlessness. I do appreciate people.

And God knows I'm trying to change.

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I told you I am not good with words. Unlike you, I don't have the suave that lulls people into your world, my words are as still as the pond in winter. See? What a bad analogy.

But you always

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Hey, last night I dreamed of you. You are now in Turkiye, studying, and you sell books as a side hustle. you said you are searching for yourself there. You seem different, in a good way. There is this word that you used, saying that you are now a ... but I didn't remember it. It's in turkish.

Maybe it's hadīthatun nafs, as I've been reading about Turkiye and books lately, but you are a novelty. I didn't think of you. Or did I, in the subconscious? Perhaps, as there are situations that I'm going through now reminds me of you, and made me realize this must've been what you felt, when you told me ages ago.

I hope you are doing good, I hope you find what you're looking for, I hope you find sa'adah. I still have the guilt for how things end, but I still believe it's the best for us.

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You came again, rousing that inexplicable feeling at the bottom of my stomach. (...) It all swirled together in the cup on the table, into a black, bitter-sweet coffee.

You came again, without prior notice, as you always do. Smiling at me with that unbothered smile, as if we had just met yesterday. You asked me about my day; what about my week, my month, my year? It was as if nothing had happened between us, as if this is our daily meeting - both releasing the ties that wrap our shoulders tight, a breather. Your eyes had the same concerned look, your laugh still feels like the ocean waves. You asked about the green scarf that you gave me - didn't you remember? I told you the last time we met, ages ago.

You came again, with rain pouring outside the little shop, holding your blue umbrella like you always do. Even in the dim light, I could see your worn-out shirt - have you been good? I was torn between wanting to spend an eternity with you or killing you, yet I answered all your questions like a loyal puppy. You never answered my queries and just like that, you are gone, and I was still torn.

Your cinnamon smell still lingered around me, leaving traces of otherworldly existence. But this time, you left a poppy with a note that says "Be".

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In between the ruins, blood-curdling howls were heard echoing from many places at once, making it hard to determine the source. Menacing barks reverberated from under the cracks, with intermittent growls that seem to come from all sides. They were formless creatures that reside in the dark, their existence a pure mystery-an unknown essence amongst the known.  Nevertheless, the girl continued to place her foot forward, forward, forward with a slow rhythmic trance-like steps, with her eyes gazing into the unknown distance; glazed. She wore a neat white t-shirt, topped with a crisp khaki blazer, together with a black-dusty pink batik sarong-floral design. Her head and face were covered with a worn-out shawl, mindlessly wrapped around multiple times like a desert bedouin.

As she walked, each step that she took produced a strange jangling sound, at times like a bunch of keys swaying back and forth in the prisoner guards' hands, and at times like chains that bound the prisoners, holding them captives.

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I am a building under construction, playing with the salty waters of Wonders and Mystery.

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31/12/2022

"O quiet 'morrow, what have you in store for my sorry ass?" is the wanna be lines for the nonexistent poem in my nonexistent poetry book. (not censoring the last word because it means 'donkey' not 'a**hole') (but hey, what does that even mean?)

So, tomorrow's a new year, and people are doing reflections and resolutions, and here I am feeling lost and jaded. (again? what is it this time?).

But enough of these negative self-perceptions, here I'm listing my new goals:

1. Focus on improving my Arabic. (how did you become accustomed with English huh girl? Do that with Arabic!)

2. Less social media.

3. Make new GOOD friends.

4. Learn to explain things well.

Actually, I have loads to say about the first goal. lately, I have been constantly smacking myself (rhetorically) for my late realization of the importance of Arabic, linguistically. I need to be good at it like I am with English. (am I good in English? am I??) I used to say that I have a love-hate relationship with the Arabic language, and that I have no intention to learn its intricacies, but well well well, how the turn have tables. Why did I not feel the opium-like euphoria when I learned Balaghah in high school? why did I not see the keys to another realm when I learned Adab in high school? why oh why? why did I just memorize all those things like a blind bat?

But, enough of the whys.

shazam.

oh, of the 3rd one however....arghhh, damn hard la that one...

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here's a continuation of the conversation:

Me: Dostoyevski's books are examples of the efficiency of conveying philosophical ideas through dialogues, dont you think?

R: Fyodor Dostoevsky was a Russian novelist and philosopher who is known for using the dialogue form in his writing to explore philosophical ideas. Many of Dostoevsky's novels, such as "Crime and Punishment," "The Brothers Karamazov," and "Notes from Underground," are structured as dialogues between characters who represent different philosophical viewpoints and engage in debates on a variety of philosophical topics.

It is certainly true that Dostoevsky was skilled at using the dialogue form to convey philosophical ideas. The dialogues in his novels often serve as a means of exploring complex philosophical questions and ideas, and the back-and-forth nature of the conversations allows for the presentation of multiple viewpoints and arguments on a subject.

However, it is worth noting that the effectiveness of using dialogue to convey philosophical ideas will depend on the specific context and goals of the writing, as well as the preferences and needs of the reader. Some readers may find the dialogue form to be a helpful and engaging way of exploring philosophical ideas, while others may prefer a more straightforward approach.

Me: what is the characteristic of a dostoyevski-ish character?

R: Fyodor Dostoevsky is known for creating complex and nuanced characters in his novels, who often represent different philosophical viewpoints and engage in philosophical debates. Many of Dostoevsky's characters are deeply troubled and conflicted, and their inner turmoil often reflects the larger philosophical and social issues that Dostoevsky was exploring in his writing.

Some common characteristics of Dostoevsky's characters include:

1. Psychological depth: Many of Dostoevsky's characters are highly introspective and self-aware, and their inner thoughts and feelings are explored in great detail.

2. Moral ambiguity: Dostoevsky's characters are often torn between different moral principles and values, and they may act in ways that are contradictory or difficult to understand.

3. Struggles with identity: Many of Dostoevsky's characters struggle with their sense of self and their place in the world, and they may go through significant personal transformations throughout the course of a novel.

4. Social and political commentary: Dostoevsky's characters often represent different social and political viewpoints, and their actions and interactions can be seen as commentary on larger societal issues.

Me: can you write a short story portraying a young man in a Harry Potter universe, but having a Dostoyevski-ish character depth and conflict?

(here's where it gets interesting)

R: Sure, here is a short story featuring a young man with a Dostoevskian character depth and conflict in the Harry Potter universe:

The young man's name was Alex, and he was a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. On the surface, Alex seemed like any other student at Hogwarts - he was intelligent, ambitious, and eager to succeed. But beneath this facade, Alex was deeply troubled and conflicted.

Growing up, Alex had always felt like an outsider. His parents were Muggles, and he had always struggled to fit in with the other students at Hogwarts who came from magical families. This sense of isolation had always weighed heavily on Alex, and it had led him to question his own identity and place in the world.

As he entered his seventh and final year at Hogwarts, Alex found himself struggling with his conscience. He had always been a good student and a model citizen, but something inside him was urging him to rebel and break the rules. He found himself drawn to darker, more dangerous paths, and he knew that he was playing with fire.

One night, as he was wandering the castle alone, he stumbled upon a secret passage that led him to a hidden room. Inside, he found a group of students who were plotting to overthrow the Headmaster and take control of the school.

At first, Alex was tempted to join them. He had always felt like an outsider, and the chance to be a part of something bigger and more powerful was tantalizing. But as he listened to their plans and watched them plot and scheme, he began to feel uneasy. He realized that their actions were wrong, and that they were driven by greed and ambition rather than any noble cause.

In the end, Alex made the difficult decision to turn his back on the group and report their activities to the Headmaster. It was a risky move, but he knew it was the right thing to do. As he left the secret room and returned to his own bed, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had just made a crucial decision that would change his life forever.

Me: I think his name should be Alexei

R: Certainly, I can edit the story to use the name Alexei instead of Alex:

The young man's name was Alexei, and he was a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. On the surface, Alexei seemed like any other student at Hogwarts - he was intelligent, ambitious, and eager to succeed. But beneath this facade, Alexei was deeply troubled and conflicted.

Growing up, Alexei had always felt like an outsider. His parents were Muggles, and he had always struggled to fit in with the other students at Hogwarts who came from magical families. This sense of isolation had always weighed heavily on Alexei, and it had led him to question his own identity and place in the world.

As he entered his seventh and final year at Hogwarts, Alexei found himself struggling with his conscience. He had always been a good student and a model citizen, but something inside him was urging him to rebel and break the rules. He found himself drawn to darker, more dangerous paths, and he knew that he was playing with fire.

One night, as he was wandering the castle alone, he stumbled upon a secret passage that led him to a hidden room. Inside, he found a group of students who were plotting to overthrow the Headmaster and take control of the school.

At first, Alexei was tempted to join them. He had always felt like an outsider, and the chance to be a part of something bigger and more powerful was tantalizing. But as he listened to their plans and watched them plot and scheme, he began to feel uneasy. He realized that their actions were wrong, and that they were driven by greed and ambition rather than any noble cause.

In the end, Alexei made the difficult decision to turn his back on the group and report their activities to the Headmaster. It was a risky move, but he knew it was the right thing to do. As he left the secret room and returned to his own bed, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had just made a crucial decision that would change his life forever.

Me: Did Alexei had deep inner conflict like Raskolnikov?

R: Yes, in the story I wrote, Alexei is depicted as having deep inner conflict similar to that of Raskolnikov, the main character in Fyodor Dostoevsky's novel "Crime and Punishment." Like Raskolnikov, Alexei is torn between different moral principles and values, and he struggles with his conscience as he contemplates taking actions that he knows are wrong.

Raskolnikov, an impoverished student, murders an old pawnbroker and her sister in order to prove his own theory of the "extraordinary man," who is above the law and morality. He justifies the murders as a means to an end, but ultimately finds himself plagued by guilt and remorse.

Similarly, in the story I wrote, Alexei is tempted to join a group of students who are plotting to overthrow the Headmaster and take control of the school. He is drawn to this path because he feels like an outsider and wants to be a part of something bigger and more powerful, but ultimately he realizes that their actions are wrong and decides to turn his back on the group and report their activities to the Headmaster. Like Raskolnikov, Alexei is torn between different moral principles and values, and he struggles with his conscience as he contemplates taking actions that he knows are wrong.

Me: But Raskolnikov did kill a woman. Why did Alexei not kill the Headmaster? And why were the students planning on overthrowing the Headmaster? was he a Tsarist?

R: In the story I wrote, I did not specify a reason for why the students were plotting to overthrow the Headmaster or why Alexei did not kill him. These details were left intentionally vague in order to focus on the inner conflict and moral dilemmas faced by Alexei.

In Dostoevsky's "Crime and Punishment," Raskolnikov's murders are a central part of the story and serve as a means for exploring the theme of guilt and redemption. In contrast, in the story I wrote, the attempted overthrow of the Headmaster and Alexei's decision not to go through with it are meant to serve as a means of exploring the theme of inner conflict and moral dilemma.

It is important to note that the story I wrote is not intended to be a direct parallel to "Crime and Punishment" or to depict a character who is identical to Raskolnikov. Rather, it is meant to be a creative exercise in which I used elements of Dostoevsky's writing and character development to create a character with similar inner conflict and moral dilemmas in a different fictional setting.

Me: I see. Nice job.

R: Thank you for your kind words. I'm glad you enjoyed the story. If you have any other questions, don't hesitate to ask.

Me: Can you make another similar story, but the main character has parallels with Alyosha from the Brothers Karamazov

R: Sure, here is a short story featuring a main character with parallels to Alyosha from "The Brothers Karamazov":

The young man's name was Dimitri, and he was a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Unlike many of his classmates, Dimitri was not interested in power or fame. He was a deeply spiritual and compassionate person, and he spent much of his time at Hogwarts helping others and volunteering at the school's infirmary.

Despite his kind and selfless nature, Dimitri was not immune to suffering. His family was deeply troubled, and he often found himself caught in the middle of their conflicts and drama. His older brother, Ivan, was a brilliant but troubled young man who was struggling with his own demons and his faith in God. His younger brother, Smerdyakov, was a sly and manipulative character who seemed to delight in causing chaos and strife.

As Dimitri struggled to balance his own needs and desires with his loyalty to his family, he found himself at a crossroads. He knew that he needed to make a choice, but he was not sure which path to take. Should he follow in Ivan's footsteps and give in to his own doubts and despair, or should he stay true to his own values and try to bring some measure of peace and understanding to his troubled family?

In the end, Dimitri decided to follow his own heart and do what he could to help those in need. He knew that he could not solve all of the world's problems, but he believed that he could make a difference in his own small way. As he left Hogwarts and stepped into the unknown, he felt a sense of hope and determination that he had not felt in a long time.

Me: In your story, in what Hogwarts' house would Dimitri, Ivan and Smerdyakov belong to?

R: In the story I wrote, I did not specify which Hogwarts houses Dimitri, Ivan, and Smerdyakov would belong to. In the Harry Potter series, Hogwarts students are sorted into one of four houses based on their personal qualities and characteristics: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff.

It is possible to speculate about which houses Dimitri, Ivan, and Smerdyakov might belong to based on their descriptions and characteristics in the story. Here are some possible options:

Dimitri: Dimitri is described as a deeply spiritual and compassionate person who helps others and volunteers at the school's infirmary. He might be a good fit for Hufflepuff, which values hard work, loyalty, and fairness.

Ivan: Ivan is described as a brilliant but troubled young man who is struggling with his own demons and his faith in God. He might be a good fit for Ravenclaw, which values intelligence, wit, and learning.

Smerdyakov: Smerdyakov is described as a sly and manipulative character who seems to delight in causing chaos and strife. He might be a good fit for Slytherin, which values ambition, resourcefulness, and cunning.

It is worth noting that these suggestions are based on speculation and are not intended to be definitive. Ultimately, the sorting of students into Hogwarts houses is a matter of personal interpretation and can vary from reader to reader.

Me: I actually agree with your suggestions. Brilliant, as always

R: Thank you for your kind words. I'm glad you enjoyed the story and found my suggestions helpful. If you have any other questions, don't hesitate to ask. I'm here to help.

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Once there was a girl who liked to try every damn food she encountered. Until one day, she tried this one creature called Ginko Biloba, she didn't even know how to spell that thing. Walao, she then became the strongest girlboss ever sia, can even open pickle jars by herself. Ginko biloba is actually a chinese medicinal plant thing, looks like pegaga sometimes. Well, not sure if it came from China or what, but it sounds like that.

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As you can see, I have been naming these posts randomly, at least recently. Well, actually it's not that random; it does reflect the deepest, most resonating abstract feeling inside of me, then it resurfaces into something that you see in the title cards, however gibberish it is. Anyway, lately I have been feeling....yes, I have been feeling, and that is the most awesomest thing ever, because I don't feel burdened by it. Not like, at all, but I can feel that I am enjoying it - these strong feelings; angry, sad, love, care. But its tiring. But anyway yea...

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It has been a long time since I wrote something personal as I was so busy (ha, busy my a**!) dealing with my laziness and comatose brain. No, actually, I think the animate world has consumed me more than I think it has, which is scary. And listening to Dr. Husaini yesterday who warned us of the dangers of too much 'animation' because of its 'animalistic' tendencies, made me slap my cheeks (exaggeration) in the hope of waking myself from this virtual life. Dr talked about 'movement'; that we all are moving in 'love', powered by 'love' which is the Ultimate Love. Is that what the Dervishes trying to symbolize by their whirlings? I guess so. The word animate originates from the Latin word anima (it's always them Latins) which means breath, life, and soul. It signifies movement, mere movements. Humans move too, but we move with humility which the animals lack. (humans, humility. see?) It reminds me of the conversations that I had with some of my friends about the spirit of 'haraki'. It is interesting, as I used to be quite skeptical about that 'word', apparently because of its dogmatic understanding, but now I think I have understood it a bit more. I would say that we are all 'harakis', with or without us realizing it. The more intense the realization, the more real the manifestation, which will then mark its place in the schemes of wujud.

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"it hurts" whispered the soft, red heart.

"I know. It hurts me too." replied the girl. Her eyes glowed with fluorescent blue tears, like the Fremens of Dune.

"I should've heeded your advice. I shouldn't have let the whispered words cloak my conscience" breathed the hot, red heart.

She continued "I should've known my place. I should've abandoned the unwritten lines, only see what can be seen. I'm but an invisible existence in that vast universe".

The girl smiled a painful smile, and nodded, "it's okay...we know that all along when we decided to enter that world, we know of the bitter consequences at the back of our heads. But still we did it. It was fun while it last."

"Indeed it was, indeed it was." the cracked heart agreed.

"It was but a good memory", and the girl weeped silently.

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The cat with the hookah - but the girl is not Alice.

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The cat with the hookah - but the girl is not Alice.

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Once, the girl asked the wise cat, "is love worth pursuing?"

The cat stretched his aqualine body, yawned and asked in reply, "what type of love? There are many, you know, and knowing the reality of which is which, determines the answer as it is already besetted according to its nature."

The girl frowned, twirled three times, and when she was just about to open her mouth in reply, the cat added, "one need not ask, when one's heart can truly know. But fear not, for confusion is intrinsically embedded in man. So if you ask me - a pragmatist I am - pursue it with gentlemanly endeavor, so you won't lean neither to recess nor excess."

"How?" the girl pleaded.

" Seek the Master of Love, thummastaqim". The cat rolled on his back and smiled.

Still the girl frowned, twirled three times, and sighed.

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Hadith has always been my first love; riwayah being the mysterious lips that smiles at me in its enchanting way, luring me closer. The giants of ilm al-rijal were my first heroes; their names brought goosebumps to my skin, their stories were like flames, lighting up the passion within me - they were indeed like Sufyan Al-Thauri said; "hurras al-ardh", the guardians of the earth.

The labyrinthian chains of isnad that demonstrate a novel system unlike any other, devoted solely to preserving the authenticity of this deen, were like drugs that seep into the bloodstreams of its lovers, giving them maniacal-like eyes when searching for the culprit in a ma'lul report. The logical, formulaic system that organically formed in their genius minds is to me, one of the wonders of the world. The keen precision that they searched for gave birth to a mass "rihla", forever making me gape in disbelief upon reading about their mythical-like travels.

But throughout the years, I was slowly getting detached from my first love, because I've met newer, more interesting things - things that dug my long-buried questions, things that scream my deepest thoughts in my face. I ventured into new territories, I discovered new worlds that are chaotically beautiful, and I was astounded by the infiniteness of the world. I became interested in things that I think are more 'grounded' to this day and age, that address the 'real' issues that befall 'real' people.

It is not that I have mastered everything about my first love, on the contrary, it is the realization that I lack patience and ability to reach the needed level that I began to wander away (excuses, shmacuses). Nevertheless, hadith and riwayah always had a special place in my heart; they are like a mother's cuddle where we return after a long tiring day. Their names stil strike a longing smile in my face - a soothing hug curing a dry heart.

But recently, I have been revisiting my first love more and more; fate has me running back to its arms. I have met teachers (a teacher, particularly) that has shown me the vast possibility of riwayah; a door that connects the past to the present and future. It was, if observed with a sincere heart, a manifestation of both the intellect and the rationale, an arena that demonstrates the way of a true searcher; the tariqah of a muhaddith, with dhikr of "haddathana", "anba'ana" and "akhbarana", an elevated experience further than other maqamat.

And I have been thinking.
-tbc-

And I have been thinking.

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Aaaaaaargh! and other guttural scream humanely possible.

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Aaaaaaargh! and other guttural scream humanely possible.

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It is frusturating, when you convince yourself that you're doing okay, move at your own pace, be at peace with yourself and then BAM! reality hits you and you were confronted with one undeniable truth - YOU SUCK. At whatever you do. When you die, no one will benefit from your previous living, because you were too comfortable moving at you own pace. whsdkfhnlsdjf;olomdsfjh,kdsf/o

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1. The Brothers Karamazov
2. Middlemarch
3. Dune

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Ha! A fool you are for believing that statement. But indeed, the romance in me lives like dragoons of old; quiet and unassuming, but once awaken, may ravage the cities with blazing fire that shouts hot passion and screams ravenous longing. Ew I did not write that.

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I once wrote a story about a talking cockatoo who steers hot air balloons, but - I'll be damned - the story was gone with the wind, gone without a trace to God knows where, and stupid me I didn't back it up. Sho shad.

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(c. 2021. Emo gal arguing with conspirationists)

Talking about epistemology and it's importance in knowledge legitimacy to people who doesn't have the slightest interest in understanding the fundamental basis of knowledge, is useless. Every idea has its own basic principles of which the idea is built upon. The usul. If the usul itself is unstructured, or you can't even pinpoint what are the usuls, then on what ground are you standing on? I'm not over-glorifying scientific methods but if the ideas that you're forcing onto others are based on qiila waqaal, don't have a cross-reference (which is the method of the muhaddithun), and are based on 'research' quoted from movies, shady websites that has pop-up ads, and 'testimonies' that can be claimed by any Tom, Dick and Harry, how can you make that as an argument of which you think has more weight than others'? Enlighten me please, conspirationist.

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(c. 2021; surat hari ibu)

Semasa kecil, saya sempurna ternaung dibawah ibu. Dunia saya seluas pelukan ibu. Saya tahu, ibulah tempat yang menjanjikan rasa selamat jika saya menghadap masalah-masalah yang membuatkan hati saya berat dan sedih. Ibu, tempat saya belajar mengenal nilai-nilai kemanusiaan dan melihat ia termanifestasi pada sesosok tubuh.

Kemudian, saya meningkat remaja. Ketika itu, saya sedikit demi sedikit mula belajar mengenal dunia luar. Dengan buku-buku dan sifat ingin tahu yang sentiasa dipupuk ibu sewaktu kecil, saya mula membina soalan-soalan, yang kemudian saya temukan jawapan-jawapannya di tempat yang pelbagai. Saya semakin teruja dengan kesedaran bahawa dunia ini terlalu luas, dan saya mempunyai kemampuan untuk menerokanya! Perlahan-lahan, saya bersiaga untuk terbang dari sarang pelukan ibu.

Sewaktu remaja inilah, saya perlahan-lahan mula mengenal abah dengan erti yang lain. Saya mula melihat abah sebagai sosok yang membawa erti ilmu, dan nilai-nilai pengetahuan. Dengan diri saya yang semakin dahagakan jawapan bagi persoalan-persoalan yang kian beracakan, abah memimpin tangan saya untuk mendepani sebuah perjalanan intelektual yang menakjubkan. Saya mengenal logika dan rasionaliti, ketenangan bersama keyakinan, serta sifat percaya diri. Saya semakin sering berkongsi kisah dengan abah, dan melontarkan persoalan-persoalan yang membuahkan perbincangan. Tanpa saya sedar, saya tidak lagi menuju ibu untuk cerita-cerita yang menyentuh hidup. Saya sepertinya  merasakan bahawa saya sudah terbang tinggi, tidak mahu pulang ke tanah lagi. Saya fikir, buku-bukulah dunia saya yang mengandung bahagia.

Tetapi, mahu tidak mahu, saya secara natural seiring dengan perkembangan pengetahuan, mula menginjak kealam dewasa. Dan di waktu inilah, saya terpaksa kembali merombak beberapa fahaman-fahaman yang telah terbina sewaktu remaja. Hal ini bukanlah akibat paksaan berbentuk dogmatik, akan tetapi kerana saya baru terjumpa lapisan yang dulu tidak terlihat oleh saya, yang menutup satu sisi pandang saya terhadap dunia dan sekelilingnya. Ia merubah sebahagian besar cara pandang saya terhadap hal-hal yang menyentuh hidupan.

Pada tingkat inilah, yang mana saya berada padanya sekarang, saya kembali melihat ibu. Saya kemudian terpekur dengan warna-warna cemerlang yang saya lihat ibu bawa, bahkan tanpa saya sedari, warna-warna itu sudah lama dikendong ibu namun saya yang buta tidak melihat dengan mata hati.

Pada ibu, saya baru mengerti makna sebenar ikhlas dalam mencari ilmu.
Pada ibu, saya baru melihat bagaimana ertinya kecintaan pada kebaikan tanpa syarat.
Pada ibu, saya melihat kekuatan seorang wanita yang tak perlu dicanang-canang di perarakan jalanan.
Pada ibu, saya memahami bagaimana bentuknya kesabaran yang mencarik-carik jiwa namun membuah hormat pada hati-hati yang tersentuh.
Pada ibu, saya benar memaknai tulus hati yang sering diwara-wara di laman-laman diskusi.

Saya kembali sedar akan nilai-nilai yang telah benyak kering dari saya, rupanya dapat saya temui pada ibu. Bahkan, bagaimana peri manusia bernama perempuan itu harus di tata, saya makin nampak di tingkah ibu - kita tidak sempurna tetapi itulah yang memanusiakan kita. Pada impian masa depan, saya - dengan sedar - mula membentuk ia dalam landasan yang telah dilalui ibu; kerana saya mahu mereka yang terlahir dari rahim saya juga merasa bahagia sepertimana saya.

Ibu mungkin sering merasakan kurang dari siapa-siapa yang seangkatan dengannya, namun saya yang berada di bawah ibu sejak saya mula melihat dunia, ingin sekali ibu tahu bahawa saya manusia paling beruntung kerana terlahir sebagai anak perempuannya.
Dengan izin Tuhan, saya tidak akan sekali-kali menyalahkan ibu atas apa-apa kurangnya diri saya, kerana saya tahu manusia itu bertanggungjawab keatas dirinya sendiri. Sayalah yang harus tahu diri.

Bahkan saya mulai sedar kalau nilai-nilai baik yang jika ada pada diri saya sekarang, yang jika dipuji oleh orang-orang itu, adalah terbina atas kesusahan-kesusahan ibu yang pantas meninggalkan cita-cita demi cinta tak bersyarat. Saya tidak tahu jika saya mampu seyakin itu.

Saya sesungguhnya tidak akan mampu membalas pengorbanan ibu - yang selalu berdiri kukuh walau tetap ada hari-hari yang mahu meruntuh. Ibu masih manusia biasa yang tidak sempurna, tapi Tuhan Maha Tahu saat Dia letakkan saya di bawah lindungan rahim ibu - perempuan terbaik untuk membina setiap hal seorang anak kecil ini, bukan sekadar tulis-baca.

Saya mungkin tak berakhir menjadi anak yang mampu membawa ibu kemana-mana tempat gah, namun saya punya cita-cita untuk ada bersama ibu waktu-waktu ibu perlu nanti; jika ada izin Tuhan dan daya.

Saya juga sering meminta pada Tuhan, untuk mempertemukan saya dengan ibu pada hari yang tiada lindungan, selain lindungan-Nya, serta dipimpin ibu ke syurga yang penuh gembira.

Terima kasih tidak terhingga, ibu.

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(old writing, c 2021. Don't remember the context)

I found the beauty of humans, in their ability to be confounded by the unknown, by their aptness to be anxious to the mere fact that they do not know, by their nihilistic tendencies when the undiscovered remain undiscovered.

They constantly search for what is There, and they obsessively look for the Truth, so much so that the inability to grasp the Truth can make them frustrated. Ah frustration. Another beautiful human trait.

Some has tried to deny their primordial need of wanting the Truth, which leads to them undermining Meaning, but their actions prove otherwise. God, Higher Power, the Divine, whatever they call Him, shows the inherent need of humans for something out-of-this-world.

Some believe in Science and the Empiricals; only what is seen, is there, some ironically believe that there is no need to believe at all, but obviously, the sole need to 'believe' in anything has said it all. The constant discourse about belief, whether for or against, has drawn a picture that depicts what the human minds are built upon - innately.

But again, this depends on the seer, I guess. The probability of leniency and bias is always there, floating around the subconscious - invisible . Probably, I see things this way because I have shaped my weltanschaaung - worldview - in a certain, God-centered way. Probably. But there is also the probability that it is the Truth. After all, being recompensed after leaving this unfair world seem to be the most logical solution rather than dying and that's it.

Humans are beautiful in their uncertainties and confusions, their ignorance and intelligence.

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(old writing, c. 2021 - intro stage of inquiry, many questions, nothing much have changed sadly)

Where the West went wrong in their depiction of things is when they put their own experience as the grand narrative, hence the enforcement of their methodology in every branch of 'knowledge' in order for it to be 'established' and 'accepted'.

We differ from the current Western thinking on the ontological level: on how we view reality itself. As cliche as it sounds, the difference of the centrality of the worldview - which to us, is the Divine Revelation-makes all the difference. With it comes the inner core of Islam; the Tauhid.

As a Muslim, I believe that the plethora of ideologies and thoughts that has emerged and will be emerging, is the result of the innate human nature that is constantly searching for the 'second light' that will complete the illumination of one's soul. (nuurun ala nur). see: Darraz's Morality in the Qur'an.

Ah, soul. That, is also a 'debatable' matter.

However, one thing that I'm afraid and constantly aware of, is oversimplifying and generalizing things; putting different issues and thoughts in one box just because it has few interceptions with one another. This results to having wrong conclusions and wrong perceptions. This also applies with issues within the Islamic sphere. I often find myself eager to label things just to make me seem like having a stand, or having an 'opinion', but sometimes it's just because I'm genuinely confused thus I want quick answers. Yet I have learned along the way, that quick, is never the approach of a searcher.

On the other hand, the dichotomy of us-them when discussing people of other faiths and beliefs bothers me sometimes, because it brings about a certain notion of surety that has often led to dogmatic learnings and blind following. This blind 'surety' may render one helpless under the postmodern attacks of thoughts.

Another issue that has come to my attention is the lack of a detailed knowledge of anything - even of the 'correct Islamic narrative'- among the students (uh, me). We parrot the statement 'Islam is not like the West' but when asked for a detailed instances of the 'unlikeliness', many of us fail to do so (uh, me again).

What I'm doing now is merely collecting the data (um, Western-ish much? 😆) and analyzing them, but with the aim of wanting to reach the Truth (ok, un-Western-ish).

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(tulisan lama, c. 2020. Masih terpakai hingga kini)

Saya, secara personal, sudah lama meninggalkan pengisbatan diri kepada gelaran 'talib al-ilm' kerana saya tak layak. Saya mengaku yang saya hanyalah 'bahith' yang cuba bersifat dengan sifat talib al-ilm, cuba mengambil istifadah dari mereka. Jangan salah faham, bukan kerana mahu melepaskan diri dari tanggungjawab, tapi sebab malu. Kalau mendengar kata-kata "antum tullabul ilm sekalian...", saya sedar diri yang saya tak termasuk. Tapi saya mahu tiru mereka sebaik boleh. Jadi apa yang saya buat selama belajar ni? Entahlah. Saya nak jawab soalan-soalan diri saya, sebenarnya.

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(old writing, c. 2020: in a frustrated mood)

I have come to the realization that I am a worthless, incompetent wop, intellectually. In no way can I contribute to the expeditiously-growing world of intellect because the mere task of understanding the underlying principles of the various discourses - has rendered me crippled; mind wise. I'm still stuck with my personal uncertainties and confusions, so much so that I, in many instances, feel like shrinking into nothingness so that the universe will be rid of me, and me it as I am nothing but a mere addition to the complexity of existence. But then, at times, I also feel that the world with all its bewilderments and chaos is like a beautiful, perfectly-glazed chocolate cake that is too good to be missed. All the differences and ideas and contradictions - to me - shows the sophistication and delicatenes of God's creation (I, of course, believe in God). Therefore, here I am, stuck in a limbo between dread and desire, with all the useless clutter that I have allowed into my brain (or mind, whatever you prefer). Ugh, a need an extra-large pizza right now.

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It is oddly satisfying to observe the development of a person’s thought process and ideas; how it changes, contradicts itself, mutates – a beautiful representation of the intricacy of human beings. In the journey of a conscious search for Truth (sayr), it is imperative for one to change their stand, because a ‘search’ by definition implies ‘a mobile act’, thus transient. In experiencing change, especially a major one, one also has to experience pain that necessitates its bearer to have a great amount of patience (sabr). With great sabr, as was told by a dear teacher once, one will then gain basirah (the inner sight – notice the slight play of words; صبر, بصر). Additionally, along the sayr, one will accumulate knowledge, in which, as Sahl Al-Tustari (d.283H) the great Sufi said “Knowledge (ilm) is one of the worldly pleasures; but if you act upon it, it will then be beneficial in the hereafter”. As such, confusions are not necessarily negative, it is on the contrary, indicates ‘something is in work up there’. Often times, these ‘confusions’ or ‘bewilderment’ will render one helpless and scared of oneself, but fear not – it is, if properly cared for, “a sign of clear iman” (“dzaka sorihul iman”: Al-Baihaqiy in Syu'abul Iman) Nevertheless, it is to be reminded that this state of confusion is only but a state along the journey, and not the state where one stops; be it from the ‘ecstasy’ of being bewildered, or from giving up.

23/7/2022

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Feelings are curious things, and I often wonder if one day humans will get hold of its mechanics, then, will we cease to have feelings or will we try to feel the unfelt? I'm bedazzlled by people who are able to experience deep feelings easily, because in some sense, having heightened feelings is like having a psychedelic experience. The very possibility of having 'otherworldly' experiences itself shows the intricacy of feelings, as it can never be put onto premises and logical reasonings, (or can it?) but is understood. As feelings do not stand on the planes of rationale, it explains the absurdity of human actions, because man, or his essence, is in a composite form; the ratio and the intellect. It is the excess of the latter that brings about the absurdity, I think. I, therefore, am trying to understand the many facades of man (and woman, *cough equal representation cough*) when it comes to feelings and emotions. Stripped of formulas and equations, it has often rendered me confused but nevertheless intrigued. But come to think of it, it is probably possible to 'rationalize' these cacophonic conceptions and 'predict' the actions of man by having a heightened sensitivity for recurring patterns, a wholistic Sherlock Holmes I would say. It is, as I have understood it, a form of 'unveiling' (kasyf) given by God to the scholars (ulama), not to the saints (aulia). This form of unveiling thus, is explainable in a logical, structured way, and therefore has the weight of responsibility anchoring it down to reality.

June 2022

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of bamboozlement and clarity of the mind

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of bamboozlement and clarity of the mind

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If I were to be given a superpower, I would love to be granted the ability to correctly understand everything that can be understood by mortals. Concrete, abstract - everything. What will the repercussions be eh? No, I don't think I'll be mad or gila isim because that, is the result of an incomplete - or false - understanding. Will I be happy, melancholy, content, anxious, what?

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Hari ini saya belajar sesuatu yang penting.

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Hari ini saya belajar sesuatu yang penting.

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Manusia atau insan itu, tatkala diajar Tuhan semua asma’ yang ada, ia telah pun berada sedekap lebih tinggi daripada para malaikat. Insan itu manifestasi asma’ Tuhan yang tak terhingga, kerana itu kita punyai potensi untuk melakukan segala. Syariat yang turun itulah mengingatkan kita tentang bila sepatutnya kita menarik nafas dan berhenti dari larian kencang yang mengghairahkan. Insan itu ciptaan yang intim, yang jinak, yang merupakan penglihatan Tuhan di alam malakut. Kita tidak sesekali satu entiti dengan Tuhan, namun kita punya pengetahuan dan daya untuk mencapai tahapan tertinggi.

Insan itu, terdiri daripada tiga kecerdikan akal; akal jismani, akal nafsani dan akal ruhani. Pada akal jismani, sains dan segala hal tampak bermain peranan, hatta jika terlebih kan memandang akal jismani sahaja, kelibat Tuhan akan mula sirna dari pandangan. Akal nafsani dan akal ruhani kadangkala kelihatan serupa, namun apabila qalb sudah mengenal, akan jelaslah kelihatan tanpa syabah lagi. Jangan memarginalkan salah satu, kelak mizan akan hilang dan hancur lah potensi. Para nabi itu, mereka yang punya hubungan dengan Tuhan melangkaui tiga intelek atau aqal yang kita sebutkan tadi.

Dari: Dr Benjamil Itrissa

April 2022

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Not a full professional review; just some thoughts about the book.

Have you ever wondered what life was like for a young, ordinary German girl, a non-Jew, during the World War 2?

Have you ever wondered how was life viewed, by the “Grim Reaper”, or in this book; Death?

This story has both.

With the setting of a war-plagued, Jew-hating, Mein Kampf-reading Germany, this book managed to make me shed tears -which is very rare nowadays- on many parts.

I actually bought this years ago, when I was 15 or 16, and when I was still in a frenzy of reading fast-pacing fantasy\sci-fi\thriller stories, and not this deep, melancholy, forcing-you-to-contemplate story. I don’t know why I bought it, but I’m sure glad I did.

To cut it short, I’ve just finished reading it *properly* during this MCO, and my, my, was it beautiful. *shed tears*

The story was narrated by Death, and in this book, he told us how he associated deaths with certain colours, depending on the way people die and what the circumstances were. He also said that there were some souls who longed for him, especially when things get tough, and there were those who were afraid of him.

But this story was actually centered around a young girl named Liesel Meminger, who lived with her foster parents at Himmel Street (Himmel means heaven, by the way). And this girl stole books, hence The Book Thief.

As the story goes, we were introduced to other characters who played essential parts in the book thief’s life; her (foster)dad, her best friend Rudy Steiner, Max Vandenburg, a Jew whom they helped and the mayor’s wife Ilsa whose books Liesel stole and eventually became her friend.

What makes this book appealing (to me), mainly was they the way it was written, true to the review from Guardian at the front page: “…masterfully told.”

Kudos to Markus Zusak.

He managed to make me grasp the atmosphere, the scenery, the feeling, the thrill Liesel felt when she was about to steal a book, the mischievousness Rudy felt when he painted his whole body black, the honesty of Liesel’s heart when she loved, the anger of Liesel’s dad towards himself when he helped a Jew openly on the streets, the heart-wrenching sadness when people died.

He also made me understood the weight of the survivor’s guilt, when those who came back from war were faced with mentions of their dead peers making them feel like their ‘living’ was a crime. It taught me about the hideousness of war; the innocent people being dragged into it because of the greed of the ‘higher-ups’ or in this case, a one deluded man.

This story made me see that among the main important characters that played big roles throughout history, there were countless other characters living under the shade of the main role, but they were still their own individuals. Characters that doesn’t care about being the superior race, characters that doesn’t care about conquering the world, characters that just wanted to live and be kind to others.

It was all woven together in a splendid way, creating an extraordinary story about ordinary people.

If you’re looking for a beautiful novel to read, then this is for you.

p/s: I’ve also learned a few German curses lol.

2020

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I am perfectly aware that I am a selfish, self-centered girl, thank you very much. What my inner thoughts really are, no one will dare to know and after that still accept me as their friend. As bullshit as it sounds, I am actually happy to live a life like this. That is why isolation and no outdoor activities did not bother me. Little human contact will lessen the possibilities of me scheming things to serve my benefit. My mind naturally works to meet my satisfaction - but that is only natural as humans' primal urge is to survive, right?

People who know me might vary in their views about me. Some will say I'm a friendly person, easy-going, some will say I'm a quiet, introverted girl. Some will say I'm a caring, observant friend, some will say I'm a disinterested, nonchalant lady. And I am perfectly happy that people see me exactly as what I want them to see. Obviously, to survive, I can sense what are the values that appeal the most, to a person. Most of the time, my mind naturally work that out without me having to consciously think about it - the sixth sense. That is why I can't stand naives. Clueless people who think the world is like what it appears to be. They trust easily, and got heartbroken at the slightest 'betrayal' from the people that they have 'trusted' wholeheartedly. That is just life showing its true form. Loyalty? You're only loyal to yourself. That is how humans have survived throughout millions of years.

2021

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Life may be wonderful to me, but not to others, and I greatly acknowledge that.

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Life may be wonderful to me, but not to others, and I greatly acknowledge that.

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Having the privilege to read books on my whim, is a blessing that is sacred to me. I know that in these hard times, reading is a luxury. That is why I feel quite uncomfortable pestering people to read when they have many other things plaguing their minds, things crucial for their survival. Reading is not for survival. Reading is for pleasure, and knowledge is pleasure. Having the opportunity to collect all the knowledge in the world is a pleasure because the survival of humanity doesn’t depend on how much knowledge you have, but how apt you are in manipulating the knowledge to ensure your survival, no matter how little knowledge you have.

Knowledge gained from reading books will come to use when a society is formed, and you are on the top of it. Only the top society can use books to benefit them, because money is not their obstacle. In knowledge searching, money is a big obstacle and if you don’t have enough money, the knowledge that you gain will be restricted. Only practical knowledge that revolves around you will be available and perhaps, you will become the most expert in living in your element. That is actually what matters the most, if your sole concern is to live and survive.

Knowledge from books doesn’t really teach one to survive on a day-to-day basis, but it addresses a larger scope. Often, societal changes are prompted by those who gain knowledge from books, so that’s what book-knowledge is for: societal reforms and change. But many times, book readers are not interested in making any societal changes, they just want to read solely for the pleasure of it. Some do that to escape the harsh realities that they are facing; not money problems but maybe problems regarding the emotions. There are people with money problems that read to escape their life, but those people are rare because reading itself must come form an awareness, and awareness are seldom present in a life that is focused on survival. Many reformers of the society have the awareness, and that realisation usually doesn’t present itself just like that: something/someone must have sparked it. Either reading, education, association with intellectuals, and some academic activities.

Blessed be those who have the privilege to read, and share their knowledge to others.

Blessed be those who realises the beauty of reading, and strive for it.

2021

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There are times when I feel that there is so much hope for the world. The world is going to end, but not in these few days. I see many good people striving for the betterment of the society, working hard to make sure people can sleep with their bellies full, planning the education of the underprivileged. They care so much that their lives are devoted solely for helping people.

Honest men creating solid friendships in the darkest of times, there are plenty of spaces for good people in this world. I wish I'm one of them. I wish I'm a part of the nice particles that made up the fabric of this world.

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I'm a tiny breadcrumb in the universe's pocket.

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I'm a tiny breadcrumb in the universe's pocket.

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I'm just a tiny breadcrumb in the universe's pocket.

No, not a breadcrumb - that's visible. I'm invisible.

I'm a lone thing, stuck in the universe's pocket. Growing apart, far, far, dark, alone,

from the hands of others.

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How I can never write something crazily good.

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How I can never write something crazily good.

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I've just finished reading The Master and Margarita, and I am confused. I have the feeling of wanting to vomit, to gasp, to gaze silently at nothing, to search for explanations, to nod; it's quite a HELLish feeling (wink). Damn those Russians, why did they have to write such splendid literature? why did they have such splendid ideas? How did they think about life in such a deep philosophical manner? Why were they such good writers? Why are their writings legendary, and rightly so?

Well, even tho I prefer Dostoyevski over Bulgakov, and that my feelings after reading The Master and Margarita is not the same as the aftermath of Crime and Punishment, still, it's a damn good writing, and I can never write something like that.

My mind, you see, is made up of daily chores and boring repetitions, nothing novel. Those people, they lived through hard times, so that might be the reason why they had such deep insights about life. They went through revolutions, wars, change of ideologies, heck none of them had cheerful lives (had they?)

I wish I can share my life with someone that can appreciate Dostoyevski as much as I do, but well, that's just an aesthetic innit? Not something imperative. Right, moving on to the next book hoppity hop.

2021

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Just kidding, I don't feel shit-ish. In fact I don't really feel anything in particular. I'm just hella grateful that I'm alive and kicking especially in this pandemic (damn that sounds epic)but you see, that's the problem. This good feeling doesn't really propel me forward and makes me dormant and still like an abandoned old pond. What's worse is that I don't really feel bad about it. Well actually I do, a little, hence this writing. It's always the conflict between wanting to challenge myself and just being okay with what I have. Both are equally nice options to me, really, and I guess I'm actually in the 'being okay' spectrum. That's what I get being the daughter of man like my dad for 23 years smh (let's put the blame on others shall we).

On the bright side, it's a stress free life, but on the not-so-bright side, there's little flourishment. I would've been eliminated from nature according to the evolutional paradigm because I kind of like, merely exist. I feel like I'm old and is already resistant to change like all those old people that wouldn't change their thought with anything bcuz they've lived long enough, but I didn't. I've only lived for 23 years but I feel I'm already satisfied with everything. No not everything, actually, books and food are never enough. You get what I mean. Whatever ugh. Its just the hormones I guess, because tomorrow I guess I'll be livid with dreams of being a PhD holder and opening a goat farm or something.

September 2021

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So long and thanks for the biryani: a fever dream.

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So long and thanks for the biryani: a fever dream.

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It was a hot and sunny afternoon. There were some continuous breeze but they too, were hot and dry. This is the kind of afternoons that make you feel sleepy, and will give you a nice long sleep with weird dreams in it, then when you wake up, your hair is all plastered against your neck and forehead, mixed with sweat and drool, and you’ll want to just stare into space and let the heat envelop your entire existence.

Such is the afternoon that I was existing in, except that I wasn’t asleep, nor was I in bed. Instead, I was walking down the stream towards a restaurant, under the hot sun, with few clouds in the sky. Nobody was out and about except for a few cars that went whoosh, which made sense because they should be dozing off in their houses, unlike me.

I wore a red bucket hat and a pair of my mom’s shades, because my sister said it looks good on me, but I thought I looked like a suspicious wanna be k-pop star, because only k-pop stars look good in a bucket hat. I also wore a big Hawaiian shirt, a red scarf wrapped around my head, with a flowery cardigan paired with a pair of checkered pants. Don’t ask me why was I  so weirdly dressed, it was the restaurant’s code of dressing. And I’m meeting someone important there.

A few tumbleweeds rolled pass me, which was peculiar because we don’t have tumbleweeds here, but it didn’t really bother me because I like them. So I just let them tumble along.

“Pssstt, bozo, how many times do you want me to roll?” Sounded a raspy voice behind me.

I halted, and took away my shades. Slowly, I turned around towards the voice, and with an exasperated sigh I said, “Simurgh damnit, I thought I’ve told you, no book deals today, I’m going to The Restaurant!”

Simurgh rolled his eyes and wiggled his way out from the tumbleweed that he was trying hard to fit himself in.

Simurgh was a bird that looked like a peacock, except that his tail is not as feathery as a peacock’s, and not as beautiful. He’s just a normal looking bird that deals with oId and rare books: an antiques book dealer. He sold them with good prices, so good sometimes it’s shady, but what’s shadier than a bird selling books? I was one of his suppliers and buyers, so Simurgh and I were business acquaintances.

Oh, he also likes to disguise himself when meeting his customers, “to avoid suspicion” he said, and usually appear unannounced. He smelled like agarwood sometimes, and on some occasions smelled like caramels.

“Eh, I thought you’re going tomorrow?” He replied, cocking his head to the left while rummaging his old leather bag.

I shook my head and turned back. “Sorry man, not today! You know The Restaurant won’t be there if I’m late” I half shouted to him while continuing my walk. The sun was shining ever more brightly, but no sweat was forming. Weird.

The big bird flew himself to my side, some of his feathers fell of and stuck to my hat, and said in a hushed voice “I got the book by Thomas Kuhn, with commentaries and explanations. Using simple English!”

I stopped walking.

“The Structure of Scientific Revolutions?” I asked.

“Yep”

“With syarh?”

“Yep”

“Using layman’s term?”

“You can even read it in the loo” he replied with a knowing look.

Suddenly a carriage came into a halt beside us. It was moderately large, with two pairs of doors, having oriental geometrical designs decorating them and the body. There were two horses, both having a curious shade of maroon. Or was it brown? I wasn’t sure because the sun was shining unbelievably bright. But the breeze - the breeze was no longer hot. And something smelled good, like Biryani.

BANG! The doors of the carriage was opened without any notice, and out came a stout old man wearing a thobe. The smell of biryani was more prominent now, and I realised it originated from the inside of the carriage. My stomach grumbled lightly.

“You’re Haani?” The man asked in a loud voice that sounded oddly familiar, with a thick emphasis on the ‘r’ while wearing a huge smile on his face. The sun didn’t seem to bother him the slightest.

“Yep”, answered Simurgh in a disinterested tone while pecking at his wings and flapping them a few times. I glared at him slightly but the bird continued to groom himself without showing any concern towards the occurring situation. He now smelled like burnt caramel. The combination of smells made me feel a little bit tipsy, and I longed for a cup of mint chai for a complimentary.

“Ahh good good!” The man replied.  “Your mom ordered biryani, but she cancelled it in the last minute and told me to give it to you. We haven’t had lunch yet, so why don’t  you join us eh?” His eyes twinkled, then he turned his back to me and shouted to the inside of the carriage “Habibti, do we have any extra apple pie?”

“I uhh-I actually-“

“Yep, she’d be glad habibi sir! Can we hop in then?” cut Simurgh followed by a yawn.

“Can you stop that?” I whispered to him through gritted teeth, but the big bird just walked past me and peeped into the carriage.

“I hope there’s still some apple pie left” Simurgh said to the person inside. The old man’s wife, I presume.

Then the other door opened, and an equally old lady with a much friendlier face peeked out and waved to us.

“Aha! There you are girl! Come, come, take this” and handed me a lunch box and a goblet filled with a red drink. It smelled like rose - elegant and sweet.

Without me realising it, a tent had appeared at the front of the carriage. It was like a mix between a teepee and a Bedouin tent, but for sure it looked cosy enough that I started to feel sleepy. And all the nice smell that was swirling around my head made me a little bit euphoric.

I felt a soft nudge on my back. "C'mon", Simurgh wishpered while munching on something that smelled deliciously buttery. Probably the apple pie.

I fidgeted, but somehow I found myself going inside the tent with three big lunch boxes and a drink that smelled elegantly sweet. The Restaurant seemed distant and unimportant, but it was still there playing at the back of my thoughts.

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Bulan bersinar kelam, terselindung disebalik kepulan-kepulan awan, bercampur asap jerebu yang menyesakkan. Bintang-bintang tidak lagi kelihatan bergemerlapan di dada langit, bahkan sejak Rekahan Besar 100 tahun lepas, bintang hanyalah dongengan orang-orang terdahulu yang diceritakan pada anak-anak kecil sebagai peneman tidur. Langit malam kini kelihatan seperti dinding hitam usang berhabuk; samar-samar, sedikit keperangan dan terpalit sawang-sawang yang tak terhilangkan. Tidak indah.

Angin masih berhembus, tetapi sudah tidak sedamai dahulu; sedamai apa yang dikisahkan pada puisi-puisi yang tertulis pada lembaran-lembaran usang simpanan orang-orang Ilmu, yang sudah tidak diendah oleh zaman, dan yang sedang dibaca sekarang oleh seorang gadis berambut separas bahu yang diikat ekor kuda.

Dia menarik nafas yang tertahan-tahan. Panjang. Anak matanya tidak putus bergerak kekiri dan kekanan, menuruti setiap baris yang tertulis di kertas separa reput ditangannya itu. Bahagian dalam mulutnya digigit-gigit tanpa sedar, dan tanpa dia ketahui, dia sudah begitu sejak 1 jam lalu. Dahinya yang ditutupi rambut hitam pekat kadang kala berkerut-kerut, sepertinya menampung arus fikiran yang menderu sedari tadi.

“Krak!” bunyi kayu dipatahkan.

Gadis itu tersentak, lantas mengerdipkan matanya beberapa kali bagai baru tersedar dari tidur. Dia menggeliat dan melihat jam tangan kesayangannya, yang menunjukkan jam 11 malam. Matanya membulat.  “Pukul 11!” detik hati gadis itu. Sudah lewat! Segera dia bangun dan menyelinap keluar dari bangunan tua hampir roboh itu, bangunan yang tak terpeduli oleh manusia-manusia lain, lalu dengan gerak yang lincah seperti harimau salji di pergunungan, dia menghala ke rumah. Rumah; atau apa yang meneduhnya dari malam, panas dan hujan, yang menawarkannya keselamatan.

Namun dalam senyap geraknya itu, dia tidak menyedari bahawa sepasang mata sedang memerhati sedari dia keluar dari bangunan lama; mata yang hitamnya lebih dari malam, mata yang tajamnya lebih melukakan dari tusukan pedang.

'  '  '  '  '

Pintu rumah ditolak perlahan, khuatir mengelurkan bunyi-bunyian yang menyedarkan seisi penghuni akan kehadirannya. Dia mengintai kedalam. Gelap. Mungkin semua sudah masuk ke kamar masing-masing, fikirnya. Lantas dia menarik nafas lega. Tidak ada musibah malam ini.

Sejurus, dia menanggalkan kasutnya yang berwarna merah darah, disimpan kemas didalam beg kulit yang digantung dibahu. Dia masih ingat pesanan ibu; barangan yang disayang jangan ditinggalkan diluar rumah begitu sahaja, kerana nanti akan diambil orang. Hatta kereta ayah yang pintunya tidak boleh dibuka itupun disimpan didalam, diruang belakang dapur yang sekarang sudah menjadi garaj kononnya. Tiada barangan yang selamat diluar rumah.

Baru beberapa langkah dia menapak ke dalam, tiba-tiba ada satu tangan sejuk yang menekup mulut. Basah, kejap, dan berbau gasolin. Lantas jantungnya serta-merta berdegup kencang, lalu gadis itu meronta dengan suara yang tertahan-tahan.

“Syyy!” bisik satu sura. Lelaki.

“Jangan menjerit. Jangan takut” Sambungnya lagi perlahan. Gadis itu tidak mengendahkan, bahkan menguatkan rontaan seperti biri-biri yang ingin melepaskan diri dari cengkaman serigala.

“Sinai! Sinai!”

Mendengarkan dua kalimat itu, gadis itu terpaku. Tangannya tidak lagi menumbuk-numbuk, suaranya yang cuba dilontarkan senyaring-nyaringnya tadi tersekat di kerongkong. Melihatkan tindak balas itu, lelaki yang menekup mulut gadis tadi perlahan-lahan melonggarkan tekapan.

“Y-Yusuf?” perlahan gadis itu menuturkan satu nama. Berbisik, sepertinya cuba meyakinkan diri sendiri.

“Yusuf?” kali ini dengan lebih yakin, dia menyebutkan nama itu, dan dengan perlahan-lahan dia berpaling kebelakang.

Dalam gelap malam, lelaki itu berdiri membelakangi lampu diding yang memancarkan cahaya perang kelam, menzahirkan wajahnya yang tersenyum, dan matanya yang terlihat kepenatan.

“Rahil” kata lelaki itu, perlahan. Senyumnya masih bergantung di wajah, bahkan terlihat melebar.

Gadis itu, Rahil, mengetap bibirnya dan tanpa dia sedari, air matanya mula bertakung. Dadanya sesak dengan suatu rasa yang sudah lama tersimpan dalam, yang kini mulai membuak keluar tak tertahan bagai air empangan yang pecah.

“Abang!” suaranya terdengar bergetar, lalu tanpa lengah, lelaki itu dipeluk erat, kejap; pelukan yang sepertinya tidak mahu dilepaskan lagi. Air matanya berderu turun, bersama rindu yang turut mengalir.

Lelaki itu, abangnya yang sudah sepuluh tahun menghilang.

Lelaki yang saban hari Rahil rindui, lelaki yang dahulunya rajin melayan kerenahnya, yang menjawab soalan-soalannya, yang menjadi tempat dia melepaskan manja selepas ibu tiada.

Rahil masih yakin yang abangnya itu akan pulang, walau orang lain mengatakan bahawa Yusuf mungkin sudah mati, ataupun sudah menjumpai pulau emas, lantas melupakan mereka disini.

Rahil tahu abangnya mahu benar mengembara. Mahu mencari pulau emas katanya. Mahu mencari Taman-Taman Hijau Abadi, seperti yang sering diceritakan oleh ibu sewaktu mereka masih kecil. Kata Yusuf, dia yakin bahawa di luar sana tentu ada sesuatu yang lebih baik daripada kota kecil penuh runtuhan-runtuhan bangunan ini, kota yang dipenuhi orang-orang kelaparan, yang hanya memikirkan apa yang bakal disuap untuk terus hidup. Bahkan, sudah ramai yang menarik nyawa sendiri kerana merasakan dunia tidak mempunyai apa-apa yang hendak ditwarkan. Hanya kesusahan, kelaparan, dan kekeliruan yang tidak berjawapan. Kata Pak Ahmadi, lelaki aneh yang  Rahil temui sepekan lepas; dunia sudah tinggal senafas lagi untuk menghampiri kehidupan abadi.

Rahil teringat kembali bagaimana pertemuannya yang pertama dengan lelaki asing berperwatakan aneh itu.

Imbas kembali.

“Kamu suka apa yang kamu baca?” tiba-tiba satu suara garau muncul dari sebelah kiri Rahil ketika dia sedang asyik cuba membaca tulisan yang tercatat di satu kepingan kertas panjang, yang dijumpai semalam di celah sampah-sampah dan barang terbuang.

Rahil tersentak, lantas gopoh-gapah dia melipat kertas tersebut dan cuba menyembunyikannya didalam kocek seluar, cuba berlagak seperti sedang menyapu-nyapu debu kotoran pada baju dengan harapan perbuatannya tadi tidak dikesan. Heh. Dia berbisik sendiri. Sudah terlambat mahu berlakon.

“Uhhh...um,” Rahil hanya mampu menggaru kepalanya yang tidak gatal, lalu tersenyum hormat tanpa mampu mengeluarkan kata-kata balas bagi pertanyaan tadi.

Diamat-amati lelaki yang bertanya itu. Seorang lelaki tua dalam lingkungan 60an, berbaju panjang berwarna coklat lusuh hingga ke separuh betis, dengan seluar putih didalam yang juga hingga ke bahagian atas buku lali. Berambut pendek, lebat dan putih serta berjanggut kemas. Mata hitamnya bersinar ccemerlang, menzahirkan wajah yang membuahkan hormat pada yang melihat, dan dia memasang raut yang ingin bersahabat.

“Aneh”. Bisik Rahil didalam hati. “Tak pernah nampak pak cik ni. Siapa dia?”

Seperti mendengar monolog hati Rahil, lelaki tua itu lantas berkata, “Nama pakcik, Ahmadi. Kamu boleh panggil Pak Ahmadi .” Dia tersenyum seketika kemudian menyambung “Pakcik baru saja tiba di sini. Dalam seminggu lebih kurang.”

Entah kenapa, Rahil merasakan bahawa lelaki tua itu sudah lama dikenalinya. Sedikit pun dia tidak merasa janggal. Sepertinya ada satu memori lama yang tersimpan jauh didalam fikiran, yang kembali timbul dengan kehadiran lelaki itu. Memori yang menyenangkan.

“Oh, umm saya Rahil.” Ucap Rahil dengan hormat. Pak Ahmadi tersenyum sambil mengangguk-anggukkan kepalanya.

“Rahil. Itu nama ibunya Yusuf. Nabi Yusuf. Kamu tahu siapa Yusuf?”

Rahil mengerutkan dahi. Itu satu nama yang sudah lama dia tidak dengar. Satu nama yang dia rindu. Satu nama yang tidak pernah lagi dia mendengar sesiapa yang bernama seperti itu.

“Itu..itu nama abang saya.” Kata Rahil. Menyebut perkataan ‘abang’ pun sudah membuatkan dia terasa sesuatu yang berat jatuh didalam perutnya.

Tentang cerita:

Cerita ini berlatar-belakangkan zaman hadapan, sebuah distopia. Dunia terdiri daripada beberapa buah benua utama yang masih berfungsi dan tidak ditenggelami air selepas banjir besar dan perang, namun masih ada beberapa tempat terpencil yang tidak berkerajaan dan hidup dalam keadaan anarki, namun mereka hidup dalam kesusahan dan tidak teratur. Waktu ini, manusia sudah tidak percaya pada agama, dan menganggap agama adalah mitos-mitos orang dahulu kala. Di mana tuhan ketika banjir besar berlaku? Ketika perang yang mengorbankan manusia-manusia yang taat percaya? Diaman tuhan ketika wabak besar berlaku selepas banjir?

Watak utama ialah seorang remaja perempuan bernama Rahil, berumur 17 tahun. Lokasi: sebuah tempat di benua Asia. Bukan tempat tamadun maju pada wkatu itu. Ibunya sudah mennggal dunia. Dia mempunyai seorang adik perempuan dan seorang abang yang bernama Yusuf, namun yusuf pergi dari situ ketika dia berumur 15 tahun dan rahil 8. Yusuf ingin mengembara dan mencari sesuatu.

Ayah Rahil bekerja sebagai seorang penjual daging. Tidak percaya tuhan dan marah kalau Rahil tanya pasal perkara berkaitan Tuhan. Dia kata, Tuhanlah yang membuatkan ibunya mati.

Rahil suka membaca. Dia suka masuk ke dalam bangunan-bangunan lama yang runtuh dan ditinggalkan kerana dia mendapati kadang-kadang didalamnya ada buku-buku dan kertas-kertas yang tertulis kisah-kisah menarik. Tiada sesiapa yang pergi kesitu dan ayahnya pun melarang pergi, namun Rahil tetap pergi secara diam-diam. Ibu Rahil yang ajarkan Rahil membaca.

Suatu hari, Rahil berjumpa dengan seorang lelaki tua bernama Ahmadi di dalam salah sebuah bangunan bangunan tinggalan. Lelaki itu selalu ada selepas itu dan sentiasa menceritakan pada Rahil cerita-cerita yang tidak pernah Rahil dengar, tentang dunia sebelum banjir besar dan wabak. Juga tentang kisah Sang Penyelamat dan kisah-kisah ajaib lain. Walaupun Rahil baru kenal akan Ahmadi, namun Rahil merasa sangat dekat dengan lelaki itu. Ahmadi mempunyai suatu pesona yang membuatkan Rahil berasa hormat yang tinggi padanya.

Seminggu selepas itu, pada suatu malam tiba-tiba abang Rahil pulang. Rahil gembira tak terkata kerana dia menyangka abangnya takkan pulang lagi. Namun, abangnya sering nampak gelisah dan asyik bercakap tentang ‘suatu tempat yang selamat’, dan ingin mengajak Rahil kesana. Suatu malam, abangnya tiba-tiba bercerita tentang Sang Penyelamat. Rahil masih tidak memberitahu abangnya tentang Ahmadi kerana dia sebenarnya tidak pernah nampak kelibat Ahmadi di tempat lain. Orang setempat Rahil juga tidak pernah melihat dan kenal akan Ahmadi apabila Rahil cuba-cuba bertanya. Rahil mula risau kalau-kalau dia hanya berimaginasi, atau Ahamdi bukanlah orang yang boleh dipercayai.

Rahil mengambil keputusan untuk memberitahu Yusuf tentang Ahmadi. Yusuf terdiam dan kelihatan marah, dan kemudian terus meminta Rahil untuk membawanya berjumpa Ahmadi. Rahil bersetuju lalu membawa Yusuf ke tempat yang mereka selalu bertemu, namun pada malam itu, Ahmadi tidak muncul-muncul. Rahil meminta Yusuf untuk bersabar dan mencuba untuk malam yang seterusnya, namun hampa. Pak Ahmadi tak kunjung tiba. Rahil hairan.

Yusuf kelihatan terganggu, dan semakin bersungguh-sungguh untuk mengajak Rahil keluar dari situ. Dia semakin galak bercerita pada Rahil tentang ‘tempat selamat’ dan juga tentang ‘sang Penyelamat’.

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Langit yang tadi cerah dengan tidak semena-mena bertukar menjadi gelap. Awan dengan jelas cepat berarak membuatkan suasana menjadi semakin kelam. Angin menderu-deru dari segenap arah, menerbitkan bunyi seperti jeritan yang menakutkan, menerbangkan pasir dan segala apa yang ada sekaligus memaksa Rahil untuk memejamkan mata dan membongkok. Selendang pembalut lehernya ditarik dengan tergopoh-gapah untuk menutup mulut namun Rahil tetap terbatuk-batuk apabila ada pasir-pasir halus sempat masuk ke dalam sistem pernafasannya. Automatik dia meletakkan kedua-dua tangannya dia atas kepala untuk berlindung.

“Rahil!” kedengaran satu suara menjerit dalam deruan angin yang semakin menggila.

Yusuf! Jerit hati Rahil. Yusuf bagaimana?

Dari kejauhan, kelihatan cahaya putih biru memancar dari dada langit. Panjang. Menyilaukan. Menakutkan. Beberapa ketika selepas itu, kedengaran dentuman maha dahsyat menyusuli cahaya putih tadi. Titis-titis air mulai berjatuhan.

Rahil masih bersusah payah untuk menacri tempat berlindung. Dia teraba-raba dalam kesamaran dengan hati yang meletup-letup memikirkan abangnya Yusuf yang masih cedera. Bagaimana Yusuf? Sempatkah dia menyelamatkan diri?

“Krakoom!!” sekali lagi guruh menjerit, membuatkan hati Rahil semakin mengecut. Dia tidak pernah mendengar guruh sekuat ini, dan tidak pernah melihat petir seaneh ini. Dalam ribut yang masih mengganas dan pandangan yang tidak jelas, satu cahaya terang seperti meletup di hadapan Rahil, membuatkan dia terjerit. Hampir-hampir petir itu menyambarnya!

“Abang!!” teriak gadis itu. Dia semakin panik. Adakah petir tadi menyambar Yusuf? Yusuf cedera! Dia tidak boleh berjalan! Segala kemungkinan-kemungkinan buruk sudah bermain dikepalanya.

“Abang di mana? Abang!!” Rahil berpusing-pusing dalam samar; mencari tempat berlindung dan dalam masa yan sama mencari kelibat abangnya. Nafasnya mulai melaju. Dia melaung-laung nama abangnya berulang kali, namun tidak bersahut. Hanya dentuman guruh yang kedengaran, bersama angin yang seperti mentertawakannya. Hujan juga turun semakin lebat menjadikan tanah berlecah. Langkah Rahil semakin sukar. Yusuf! Hati Rahil mulai meretak. Tuhan, jika kamu ada, selamatkan abang! Selamatkan dia!

Beberapa objek kecil terasa melanggar tubuh Rahil. Mungkin serpihan-serpihan kayu atau dahan yang yang sudah mereput. Pasir-pasir halus juga terasa kasar melanggar bahagian wajahnya yang terdedah, meninggalkan rasa pedih kerana terluka. Setelah beberapa detik, angin kencang dengan tiba-tiba berhenti, namun hujan pula turun seperti air dari baldi penuh yang dicurahkan. Titis-titisnya besar dan menyakitkan. Terlalu lebat. Terlalu sejuk. Beberapa objek keras terasa menimpa kepala Rahil dan dari sekelilingnya, dia terdengar bunyi-bunyi sperti batu yang berjatuhan. Hujan ais!

Dalam kejauhan, Rahil ternampak samar-samar bayang sebuah bangunan kecil. Seperti sebuah rumah. Dengan kesejukan dan tubuh yang basah, dia berusaha menarik kakinya untuk kesitu, namun hatinya tetap menjerit nama Yusuf. Beberapa kali Rahil terjatuh akibat tersadung sesuatu, dan tanah yang semakin melembut tidak membantu. Kesejukan semakin mencengkam, semakin meributkan hatinya yang bergoncang hebat. Abangnya! Abangnya!

“Yusuf!” teriak Rahil dengan air mata yang mula terbit. Bercampur dengan air hujan yang semakin menyakitkan. Dia mula kehilangan semangat. Mustahil Yusuf selamat, kata satu suara dalam hatinya. Yusuf cedera. Yusuf sudah mati.

Kakinya dirasakan semakin berat. Suara hatinya berbisik lagi; kalau begitu, biar aku pergi bersama Yusuf! Apa gunanya aku bersendirian disini?

Rahil terduduk dalam hujan yang semakin galak. Dia memejamkan matanya, pasrah.

Tiba-tiba, sepasang tangan menarik Rahil bangun.

“Cepat! Sikit lagi!”

21/6/2021

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*Terinspirasi daripada pen mont blanc. Tapi cerita belum habis, inspirasi dah habis.

Dalam rembang senja, aku terbongkok-bongkok di celah pohon-pohon buluh mencari Blanc yang dari pagi tadi keluar tidak pulang-pulang. Hatiku membentak-bentak kerana sudahlah aku susah hati dengan hal lain, terpaksa pula susah-susah keluar rumah membongkok-bongkok di bawah pohon buluh pada waktu petang begini.

“Nyeong! Nyeong! Nyeong!” aku memanggil Blanc. Dasar kasanova yang menyusahkan. Kalau tak dicari, tengah-tengah malam nanti bising dia berbunyi di tepi tingkap bilik. Mencakar-cakar. Bila masuk, jadi manic serupa orang tak betul. Seperti mendengar suara-suara halus. Itulah, malam-malam masih di luar rumah.

Senja semakin gelap dan suasana menjadi semakin suram. Aku tahu, waktu maghrib memang tidak elok keluar rumah, tapi kerana aku sebagai orang berpelajaran yang tidak percaya cerita-cerita tahyul serupa hantu tetek yang menculik budak dan sebagainya, berani keluar rumah maghrib-maghrib begini. Dekat pokok buluh pula tu. Ada juga terdetik, kalau tiba-tiba aku pulang orang tak nampak aku, macamana?

Ah! Persetan tahyul-mahyul semua tu. Dongeng orang tak berpelajaran! Kataku dalam hati dengan bangga kerana sudah tak tertipu lagi dengan kisah candu orang-orang tua yang melembabkan otak.

Sekali-sekala aku menampar nyamuk-nyamuk yang dahagakan darah orang muda seperti aku. Aku melihat jam tangan; jam 7.15. masih ada 10 minit sebelum azan maghrib berkumandang.

Kelibat Blanc masih tak kelihatan. Manalah jantan tu?

“Pulanglah...!”

Tiba-tiba kedengaran satu suara dari arah kiri. Berbisik, tetapi dengan nada keras.

Aku tergamam.

Automatik aku tertelan liur. Jantungku dengan laju mengepam-ngepam darah akibat dari hormon adrenalina yang terembes pada situasi lawan-atau-lari begini. Tarbayang makhluk berambut panjang yang melayang-layang. Agh! Nampaknya kisah-kisah candu kapitalis yang mengutip wang masyarakat dengan kisah-kisah tidak membina masih ada melekat dalam kepala aku!

Namun, kerana intuisi seorang ekstrovert, aku nekad untuk menyiasat. Aku mahu lihat sendiri! Aku memusing-musingkan kepala, mencari sumber suara tersebut dan aku tahu untuk tidak melakukan tindakan-tindakan bodoh seperti bertanya “siapa disana?” kerana itu obviously akan membahayakan diri sendiri.

“pulanglah...!” kedengaran lagi suara itu buat kali kedua. Kali ini lebih kuat, lebih mendesak. Namun masih berbisik. Nafasku pula semakin laju.

Tiba-tiba kedengaran suara lain “Nanti dulu! Belum masanya lagi!”.

Aku jadi kaget. Suara awal tadi bukan berbisik pada aku? Ada berapa orang disini? Atau lebih tepat, ada berapa makhluk disini? Agh! Mahluk apa kalau bukan orang yang boleh bercakap?

Oleh kerana suasana semakin gelap, aku tergopoh-gopoh mengeluarkan telefon bimbit dari dalam poket seluar untuk menyalakan lampu suluh. Lalu dalam gelap itu, aku menyuluh-nyuluh seperti seorang penyiasat dalam drama polis. Kalau apa-apa berlaku, aku jerit sajalah. Rumah aku pun bukannya jauh, hanya beberapa meter di belakang itu saja.

Tak semena-mena, satu kelibat yang laju berdesup lari (atau terbang aku tak tahu) di tepiku.

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DOSA DAN BALASAN: KARYA AGUNG SASTERAWAN RUSSIA DOSTOYEVSKI 

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DOSA DAN BALASAN: KARYA AGUNG SASTERAWAN RUSSIA DOSTOYEVSKI 

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Perasaan saya sewaktu membaca buku ini sama seperti perasaan saya sewaktu membaca Atheis karya Achdiat K. Mihardja; teruja, kagum, berdebar, susah untuk ‘letak’ dan meninggalkan 'kesan sampingan'. Pendek kata, ‘a page-turner’. Sesuatu yang saya tak jangka sebenarnya, daripada sebuah buku klasik.

Dosa dan Balasan (Crime and Punishment) merupakan sebuah novel yang saya boleh klasifikasikan sebagai novel thriller-psikologi-falsafah (tak tahu wujud atau tidak genre ini), yang ditulis pada tahun 1866 semasa Russia masih lagi dibawah pemerintahan beraja/tsar.

Novel ini berpaksikan kepada Raskolnikov,  pemuda yang digambarkan sebagai seorang yang tampan tetapi tidak mempunyai hubungan sosial yang baik. Dia merupakan mahasiswa jurusan undang-undang sebuah universiti di St. Petersburg namun terpaksa berhenti dari pengajiannya disebabkan kemiskinan yang mencengkam.

Russia pada waktu itu, sedang dalam fasa  ketegangan politik dan peralihan kepada zaman moden justeru, banyak idea-idea baru dan pemikiran segar - yang dapat dilihat dalam novel ini - dibincangkan serta dibualkan hatta di jalanan sekalipun. Masyarakat ketika itu -yang saya fahami- terbahagi kepada beberapa golongan:

1. Golongan bangsawan/elit yang berfahaman konservatif dan taat pada agama.

2. Golongan revolusioner muda/ mahasiswa yang membawa idea-idea baru dan giat menulis: sering digambarkan sebagai ateis.

3. Golongan miskin/bawahan yang taat pada agama.

Raskolnikov tergolong dalam kelompok kedua; mahasiswa yang 'progresif' dan mempunyai idea tersendiri, serta giat menulis artikel tentang ideanya di jurnal-jurnal terkenal.

Idea Raskolnikov ini bagi saya, agak ganjil namun jika diteliti, ia sebenarnya ada dalam kebanyakan kita tanpa kita sedari. Raskolnikov hanyalah memanifestasikan idea tersebut secara nyata dan saya kira, jujur dengan fikirannya.

Dia percaya bahawa manusia terbahagi kepada dua; orang-orang biasa dan 'luar biasa'. Orang-orang biasa ialah orang ramai yang kebanyakan. Mereka perlu patuh pada peraturan serta undang-undang manakala orang-orang 'luar biasa' pula ialah segolongan kecil manusia yang ‘berada diluar batasan undang-undang’ (above the law). Mereka ini boleh melakukan apa sahaja jenayah hatta membunuh namun, tidak akan dikenakan tindakan undang-undang. Menurut sesetengah komentar, ini merupakan manifestasi idea Ubermensh sang filsuf Nietzsche, yang memang terisnpirasi daripada Dostoyevski.

Saya sendiri tidak memahami dengan jelas, apakah kriteria golongan kedua ini namun apa yang pasti, Raskolnikov seakan-akan menganggap dirinya berada dalam golongan itu. Pemahaman inilah yang mendorong diri Raskolnikov untuk melakukan pembunuhan -yang berlaku pada awal cerita- dan kemudian pembaca dibawa mengikuti konflik perasaannya yang mendalam serta menyedihkan (mengelirukan, bahkan). Mungkin itulah ‘pembalasan’ buat Raskolnikov menurut Dostoyevski, apabila dia tidak dapat menahan rasa bersalah, sentiasa diperhatikan, dipermain-mainkan serta panas baran sehingga mengganggu kesihatan mentalnya, dan bagi saya, itu menunjukkan bahawa ideanya bercanggah dengan naluri manusiawinya. Beliau mengalami keresahan yang bersangatan dan selalu terdorong untuk memberitahu orang lain akan jenayahnya (confess), namun pada masa yang sama dia masih percaya apa yang dilakukannya itu tidak salah! Hal ini demikian kerana, dia telah membunuh seorang yang dianggap sebagai lintah darat yang banyak menyusahkan orang-orang miskin, dan itu baginya, merupakan satu tindakan yang perlu. Dia seakan-akan Robin Hood, mungkin.

Nama seorang tokoh yang selalu diulang-ulang oleh Raskolnikov ialah Napoleon Bonaparte yang baginya- banyak melakukan ‘pertumpahan darah’ namun hal itu perlu demi kebaikan yang lebih besar, malah disanjung-sanjung. Namun begitu, idea ‘golongan terpilih’ ini sebenarnya bukanlah terlalu ganjil kerana jika diteliti dalam banyak keadaan, kita sendiri dapat merasakan bahawa kita berada ‘sedikit tinggi’ dari orang lain yang ‘tidak mencapai kefahaman sama dengan kita’ cuma, tidaklah sampai menghalalkan pembunuhan.

Dostoyevski juga dilihat menjadikan agama sebagai tempat kembali, namun pada masa yang sama menunjukkan babak-babak ‘keagamaan’ yang wajar diberikan persoalan, seperti adakah agama itu kepercayaan buta dan ritual semata? Saya melihat perbezaan ketara apabila Raskolnikov bercakap soal idea dan agama; dia kelihatan tidak terlalu kritis dan tidak agresif apabila hal-hal keagamaan diperkatakan. Seolah-olah hanya ada dua; menerima sepenuhnya, atau menolak sepenuhnya.

Sejujurnya, masih terdapat banyak persoalan yang bermain-main di fikiran saya (kerana beberapa bahagian yang tidak saya fahami dengan jelas) setelah selesai membaca novel hebat ini, dan saya sangat ingin untuk berbincang mengenainya dengan sesiapa yang telahpun selesia membaca.

22/92020

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Have you ever felt detached from the society, bored with the irrational acts done by emotion-infested men, and overwhelmed by the constant naivety of people - that you felt life seems to cease having meaning at all? The realization that you get from knowing that you are just a tiny speck of dust in this inexplicably vast universe may render you helpless, especially if you are a person who see things in a very ‘materialistic’ way. Everything is just atoms and particles organizing themselves in certain ways to build various forms and organisms. Life is seen from only two perspectives: the ideal; where people are expected to sympathize, to love (with no bounds) and to deal with nostalgia - and the rational; where life is much more scientific, measurable, and simple.

Such was the feeling of the main character in this book, Yevgeny Bazarov, who was a medical doctor in his late 20’s, - a ‘scientific’ man who was very cynical towards the festering ‘irrational’ emotions of man. He was the epitome of the ‘indifferent younger generation’ who does not accept anything from the authority, and at the same time thought that submitting to any ideas at all are nonsensical. He was called a nihilist: a person who does not believe in anything and ‘regards everything from the critical point of view’.

“He’s a nihilist,” repeated Arkady.

“A nihilist,” said Nikolai Petrovich. “That’s from the Latin, nihil, nothing, as far as I can judge; the word must mean a man who… who accepts nothing?

Now, the story was centered mainly around Bazarov ‘the nihilist’, and his young ‘disciple’ Arkady whom he met at the university. Arkady has the air of a typical intelligent young man who was a fresh-graduate and excited to discover new things, in which I personally think was the reason why he adored Bazarov so much. Bazarov was a breath of fresh air, topped with the ‘cool’ mannerism in which he conducted himself; a stark difference from the ‘emotional’ behaviors of the older generations. He idolized ‘the nihilist’ whom he thought has a profound way of thinking, very scientific, calm, and very sensible.

The story opened with the two men going back to Arkady’s father’s house, in a rural village in Russia. Having freshly graduated from the university in St. Petersburg, Arkady was nervously excited to meet his father after many years of being apart. However, he brought with him his dear friend Bazarov, whom he was very excited to introduce, and maybe lowkey tried to expose some of his ‘exciting’ new ideas to the family. Now Arkady, he came from quite a noble family, so they were rich. His grandfather was a General in the military, so they were afflicted with the royals and nobilities, which made them have a ‘traditional’ upbringing, and have a high respect for the officials. This, however, was the exact antithesis of Bazarov’s thinking.

Staying at Arkady’s place together with his father, uncle, and a bunch of servants, Bazarov attracted the attention of the people around him with his ‘uninterested’ demeanor. The younger generations like the kids and the workers liked him, while on the other hand, he found himself always involved in heated debates with the elderlies, especially with Arkady’s uncle, Pavel Petrovich. To Bazarov, Pavel Petrovich was a typical old man who believed in a lost cause of ‘changing the society’, wasted his time with the ‘Renaissance nostalgia’ and was trapped in the guise of false intellectualism. Bazarov despised all sorts of ideas and ideologies that were proposed as he did not believe they will bring the world to a ‘better future’. “What is ‘better’?” he would have argued.

The plot then took a turn when ‘the nihilist’ found himself in a situation which he did not understand, which he couldn’t measure and operate on; love. This - the primordial nature of man -I believe, is the usual counter-argument towards nihilism. He met an extraordinary woman, Anna Odintsova, a rich young widow in her late 20’s, who resonated with many of his thoughts. Interestingly, it seemed to me that Madame Odintsova possessed more nihilistic values than Bazarov, but it was not with the air of cynicism as it was with him. It was, indeed, difficult to put the lady in a one specific box, which was maybe why Bazarov was inclined to her. She was caring, indifferent, intelligent, proud, humble, independent, and delicate at the same time; a beautiful, complicated mess akin to the solemn man. The writer has executed the character of Madame Odintsova so well that I find myself being able to vividly picture her, let alone fall for her.

Alas, the complicated event ended with Bazarov reluctantly confessing his feelings towards the madame but as he had foreshadowed – his feelings were not accepted. Being a firm believer of logic and rationality, Bazarov stripped away all of those ‘unnecessary’ feelings of frustration and sadness and continued to pursue his works in science. However, it was not only because it was not ‘scientific’ that he did not openly acknowledge his feelings, but it was also because of pride, as the man seem to see himself as above others, which was actually, understandable. That was the inherent nature of man after all, nihilist or not.

Too focused was I towards the curious philosophy of Bazarov and following his interesting arguments that I was in for quite a shock at the end of the book. To me, the writer has done a splendid job in diverting my attention towards the discussion of the main character’s premise, so much so that I did not foresee the direction that the plot was moving towards. It was as if a person had slapped me in the face and said “Wake up! This is real life!”. Maybe that was what Bazarov had felt too, in the end.

Looking at the theme that was put forth in this book, one might think that the time setting must be quite recent, as we often heard that the “younger generations nowadays do not take orders from the authorities anymore!”, that they “do not have respect towards the elderly!” and that they want to strip off all the ‘useless’ traditions from the society. On the contrary, the book was actually first published in 1862, way before the World Wars. It seems, that the ‘youngsters nowadays’ problem is not really ‘nowadays’, history just repeats itself. Perhaps we all need to be Bazarovs in order to calm down.

The problem of nihilism was also one of the ‘hot topics’ that was, and is still being discussed throughout generations, without it being outdated. The nature of this world is that it is constantly changing, only the speed of the change may differ. Thus, the nihilistic tendency is not something new, it is the side-effect that comes together with the constant change, while some like to relate it to postmodernity.

As classical as the book may sound, the themes brought up by the author in the story are -to me- evergreen. It was certainly refreshing for me to discover that over a century ago, the age-gap conflict has been addressed in novels and was not as dramatic as it was made to be now. The Russian ‘gold-age’ literary works are indeed a gem that needs to be widespread, and if possible – translated to the Malay language to increase its reach among the local readers.

If you are interested in a thought-provoking read, then give Fathers and Sons a chance!

Written by: Haniy Fuad

4/3/2021

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Adakah neraca kebenaran dan kebatilan semudah hitam dan putih?

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Adakah neraca kebenaran dan kebatilan semudah hitam dan putih?

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Saya dahulu, pernah berada di fasa yang merasakan bahawa dunia ini cukup mudah dan sederhana, semuanya berada di bawah spektrum warna hitam dan putih; hitam adalah kebatilan yang wajib dijauhi, dan putih adalah kebenaran yang wajib diikuti. Setiap perkara itu, tidak kira apapun ia; makanan, gaya pakai, cara bercakap, cara berfikir, buku yang dibaca,- adalah samada hitam atau putih.

Datanglah apa-apa masalah pun, tetap akan hanya dinilai dibawah dua warna ini. Mudah, jelas dan tidak akan ada apa-apa masalah remeh temeh yang melecehkan dan merimaskan. Ideal, bukan?

Tapi, setelah saya semakin keluar dari kepompong saya dan melihat-lihat dunia; mula mengenal bahawa kebenaran itu ada bermacam rupa, bahawa benci itu bukan hanya semudah ‘tidak suka’, bahawa mereka yang selama ini dianggap musuh durjana rupanya masih tetap manusia, bahawa apa yang kita ratib selama ini bukan benar belaka, bahawa ada warna-warna unik yang tidak pernah kita jumpa, dan saya semakin nampak, bahawa rupa-rupanya selama ini saya buta warna.

Didalam dunia moden yang serba kompleks ini, minda simplistik sudah semakin hilang kesesuaiannya. Masalah yang muncul semakin mengelirukan, semakin berlapis-lapis, semakin bercampur-campur. Oleh itu, untuk meleraikan simpulan dan campuran yang mengelirukan ini, suatu masalah haruslah dipamdang dari pelbagai sudut; termasuklah sudut-sudut yang langka dan jarang diteroka. Yang menjadi masalah, dalam perkembangan maklumat yang cukup pantas pada hari ini, kita menjadi semakin tidak sabar dalam berbagai hal. Semuanya harus pantas, pantas, pantas. Ada perkara baru yang tular, pantas memberi komentar. Ada masalah baru yang timbul, pantas manusia menjatuhkan hukum. Apa yang si fulan lakukan itu salah! Dia mencemarkan nama bangsa dan agama! Jatuhlah warna hitam keatasnya dan terlihat dia lebih buruk dari syaitan. Wah, mulianya si fulan itu! Apa yang dia lakukan wajar dicontohi! Jatuhlah warna putih keatasnya dan terlihat dia sebaris malaikat. Jangan dengar ajaran dia! Dia pemecah-belah umat! Maka berbondong-bondonglah manusia membencinya lebih pada membenci iblis!

Ya, saya tidak menafikan bahawa agama Islam sudah meletakkan apa yang benar dan apa yang salah dengan jelas, seperti arak, judi, zina, rasuah, riba, pembunuhan tanpa hak, dan yang paling tinggi ialah penyekutuan Tuhan; semua ini (dan lain-lain lagi) adalah larangan Tuhan. Tetapi itupun bukan sewenang-wenang bagi kita untuk menjatuhkan hukum pada manusia yang kelihatan terlibat dengan larangan-larangan tadi. Ini bagi hal yang sudah jelas, lalu bagaimana pula dengan hal-hal yang tidak jelas; seperti peperangan diantara orang-orang Islam dengan orang-orang Islam sendiri, malah satu pihak dibantu pula oleh yang kaafir, dan kemudian ada campur tangan dari orang-orang Islam lain yang “membantu” dengan menghantar letupan-letupan yang membunuh tidak kira kanak-kanak dan wanita. Bukankah itu sudah menjadi sesuatu yang kompleks dan bercampur-campur? Lalu dengan mudah kita yang berada di kerusi empuk mengatakan mereka yang lari dari peperangan itu telah lari dari jihad! Atau dengan penuh semangat membuat seruan pada anak-anak muda untuk meninggalkan ibu bapa bagi tujuan jihad di sana! Sedangkan peristiwa fitnah diantara sahabat dahulu juga dilarang untuk dibincangkan secara mendalam, kerana takut membaawa kepada menjatuhkan hukum pada yang tidak sepatutnya, apatah lagi masalah-masalah kita yang sudah jauh berabad-abad lamanya dari mereka?

Dunia ini Tuhan ciptakan dengan warna yang bermacam-macam untuk kita nikmati. Kita manusia yang ada nilai-nilai kemanusian, dan nilai-nilai itu membezakan kita dengan makhluk-makhluk lain. Bahkan haiwan yang mempunyai nilai-nilai yang agak kemanusiaan juga masih tidak sekompleks kita. Kita juga bukan mesin atau robot yang tidak tahu gelak ketawa, tidak tahu emosi dan perasaan, dan tidak mempunyai perangai-perangai istimewa yang membezakan kita sebagai individu yang mandiri. Jangan jaadikan agama sebagai alasan untuk kita menjadi individu keras tidak berperasaan, yang hanya melihat dunia dengan dingin dan tiada warna. Semoga Tuhan tunjukkan pada kita warna-warnaNya, dan melorongkan kita pada jalan yang Dia suka, dan semoga Tuhan mengampunkan kita semua yang inginkan kebenaran.

21/6/2021