I couldn't sleep last night because I was thinking hard of a word. A word very commonly tested in long forgotten gp papers. The word stuck somewhere in the recesses of my mind though. And it was not the first time I had to lose sleep because of it. This was probably the third or fourth time I had to knock things around in my brain to search for the word.
And it always starts when I start thinking of ex- words. Well actually, it could be from ANY word that starts with an E. For last night, it happened to be extrapolation. And then I thought of exacerbate. And then exsanguinate. And then moving on to eviscerate.
And then I'd be thinking... what is that word that means rapid increase that we were always tested on?And always, I would think the word starts with an E.
But well hell, it's further than you might think.
pro⋅lif⋅er⋅a⋅tion
[pruh-lif-uh-rey-shuh
n] 
Show IPA–noun
| 1. | the growth or production of cells by multiplication of parts. |
| 2. | a rapid and often excessive spread or increase: nuclear proliferation. I finally decided that I will not lose anymore sleep over this word. So there you go, I've saved it on my handphone wallpaper as well. |
>12:32 PM
I'm fighting over my laptop.
He makes wailing noises and attempts to hurl his chubby self in the direction of the aforementioned laptop.
So I relent and put him in my lap with the laptop in front of me.
BANG!
And he slams his tiny palms into my keypad.
He closes his palms and pulls my keyboard protector off.
His drool dripping onto my touchpad.
Ohh god.
I get worried and start putting my finger on the touchpad trying to close programs.
The tiny palm latches its fingers into my wrist and wrenches my hand away.
I pull my hand away only to start typing my passwords into the keypad.
Slam! Slap! Pinch!
That's what he does to my moving fingers.
He gets annoyed with my intruding fingers and lets it out on my laptop.
BANG BANG BANG!
As he slams both palms onto the keypad repeatedly.
By which time I'd get frustrated and pull him away to much kicking and screaming.
Only to repeat the same procedure the next day.
Oh. I did mention he's 6 months old?
He can't even sit up by himself.
Can barely crawl, unless you call launching headfirst into a mound of pillows crawling.
But yes, he wants my laptop. More so than anyone else's.
And handphones, and ipods, and remote controls of various shapes and sizes.
Oh and newspapers.
God, I'm so tired.
But looking at that tiny mischievous face, I cannot help but squeeze him.
Yes, while he slobers all over my arms.
>9:10 PM
I finally changed my background picture.
Although, I'm definitely not happy with this. It's too big, I think.
>4:25 PM
Wellhell.
It's five-freaking-am in the morning, my eyes are fried, I probably got a bad case of indigestion, back is aching from godknows many hours I've spent on my butt with the computer on my lap and all I can think of is going out to my table to pick up my markers to draw.
Screwed much?
Yeah, don't I know it.
I tried sleeping, didn't work much seeing that I didn't do anything tiring enough to burn off a large cuppa caramelatte on top of a large cuppa mocha. But that's not it, either. Hell, I could sleep through ten cups on other days.
I keep thinking that I desperately want to get my grimy short fingernails on the new issue of idn. As if I'm ever out of reading material. Right.
I still have 3 books waiting for me. But that's not the point is it?
Anyway, I caught Schumann and Mahler with Belle just now and hopefully, if I didn't make any gross assumptions, I think she liked it. Eh, Belle?
And yeah, the double bass dude was totally checking you out. Hahah!
I've been having thoughts on my twentyfirst.
I was thinking I should sleep it off like I did my eighteenth. But that was such a depressing day and when you're strapped to a big black metal excuse of a right leg, and the weather out's stormy, it's hard not to feel slightly suicidal.
My nineteenth was. Oh god, I can't remember it much. But chances are huge that I spent it with the class.
My twentieth was marked with a leggo set, thanks, ain! (:
In all honesty, I want to spend it alone.
Contemplating life. Because that's what it is, isn't it?
Every single day brings you closer to death. And I don't want to mark it with a big bang and a party like some of my other friends have.
Seriously.
But I won't lie.
If you asked me what I would love most for a birthday gift?
I'd say, buy me a trip to France, I'd be eternally grateful.
More than I want that software, or the new imac, or an exam grade piano, or whatever the hell it is that's been on my wishlist.
More than I want an unlimited supply of artfriend vouchers.
More than I want to meet obama.
More than I want to be rich.
More than whatever the hell it is, I want that trip to France.
And I've promised myself: baby or no baby screaming in my ear, I'm going to Newton on Monday.
Even if it comes in the form of moral debt to uncle B, I'm prepared to do whatever it takes.
How's that for a twentyfirst?
Hahah, and THAT right there, is my new years' resolution.
>5:06 AM
Something's been brewing in my head.
Spurred into motion by an insensitive comment someone had said to me.
But anyway, I got sidetracked by an interesting conversation with B about his faith.
By that I really mean religious belief and not faith in any other sense of the word.
What makes a person of faith?
Okay, put it this way,
What makes a Muslim?
What makes a Christian?
On a superficial level, I guess, a Muslim is just someone who believes in Islam.
And likewise, Christian, Christianity.
If a person believes in Jesus Christ, prays to him occasionally, but never goes to church, nor attend mass... is that person still a Christian?
If a person refuses to wear a cross or carry rosaries or wear a black shirt with white collar, but believes strongly in Jesus Christ, is he still a Christian?
Well, obviously, what matters is the faith in his heart.
So the answer would be a resounding yes, no?
But why do we treat religions physically when it's really a matter of spirit?
Can you, with your naked eye, see the faith in a person's heart?
Can you in all honesty judge the purity of his soul?
Can you, by looking at his thick flowy robes, big silver cross, conclude that he is a man of strong faith?
So how can you judge, from what a person wears, that he is of stronger faith than someone else?
Can you in all honesty say with complete conviction that the man you see walking past with a long white beard growing on his chin, and hair hidden underneath his songkok and white jubah flowing down to his ankles and clutching a qur'an is an ulama?
And the youth with dyed hair walking past in skinny jeans is a munafiq?
How do you know what's in their hearts?
For all you know, the white-robed man may be thinking evil thoughts as he walks past. And the youth may be reciting holy verses in his head.
The point is, we do not know what is best.
We can only try to be the best WE can be.
But who are we to dictate what is best for others?
When you put on your songkok, can you honestly say you're a better man than someone who doesn't wear one?
Likewise, please, try to understand where I'm coming from.
At the risk of being negatively branded as a liberal muslim, I must say this, because it is what I sincerely feel.
When I put on the tudung, never have I felt any better than those who don't wear one.
Why?
Because ultimately, that which you wear on the outside, has no effect on what is inside.
My faith is in my heart. In my soul.
And it shames me, because the cloth on my head may fool other people, but it sure as hell can't fool God.
I am not better, and I am not perfect.
And the cloth on my head is not an accurate reflection of what or who I am, nor what I believe in.
It does not represent my religion as a whole, it is only a small part of it.
Wearing a tudung does not make you a Muslim.
So what makes a Muslim?
If you're one, then you should be familiar with the 5 basic pillars of Islam and Imaan.
That, and the faith in your heart, I believe, is what makes a Muslim.
I've been discussing way too much about religion in this blog, somehow.
And it's well, I think it's getting a little un-secular, and narrow.
Time to broaden horizons.
>12:19 AM
F said to me once, during one of our many discussions about anything and everything,
"Salvation is ... something that everyone will get."
That is what they believe, is it not?
That God is their salvation. They are not worthy but yet they will get salvation.
It is not my purpose today to debate religious issues. I am merely tickling my brain cells.
I saw a quote at a bookstore that day, "Ask not what God will give you for all you have done, but ask what you will give Him for all he has given you."
When put that way, do you not feel humbled ? It's difficult to not feel like a wretched loser when faced with something like that.
What do you give someone to whom you owe your life to?
Gratitude is the least we can do, perhaps.
And when we don't appreciate the life that's been bestowed upon us, it's much like an insult to your saviour, no?
He who makes your heart beat every beat, who makes your lungs fill with air.
Imagine giving somebody you love a gift. A gift which you had lovingly prepared, beautifully wrapped, only to see that person tear off the wrappers, snort in disgust at your gift and throw it down the drain.
And yet, despite it all, the door to repentance is open.
Forgiveness is always at hand. Only, do we choose to see it, or do we not?
Would we swallow our pride enough to pick up that gift from the drain and wipe of the grit and grime?
I'm not rallying for any religion. I'm campaigning for life.
Whoever and whatever you choose to believe in, the bottom line is, life should be appreciated, not thrown down the drain.
And ohgod, I had a nightmare of C pulling my hair.
Random, but I hope it has nothing to do with real life.
>6:02 PM
Ain says since this is my blog, i should be writing about what I want to write about.
So heck it all.
It's back again, you know.
I hate the feeling where you're happy on one moment, and then the next you feel totally utterly depressed. But honestly, I don't think I've been acting much like myself. It's like, I think, I've lost some part of it.
"Wow, such determination," he tells me when I told him that I sat for more than ten hours to do my work without any breaks. Not even to the toilet or to eat.
But no, I don't think it's a sign of determination. I think it's a sign of desperation. When you know you have, say, twenty hours to crunch time, what choice do you have but to work your ass off for that twenty hours, right?
Especially if, like me, you don't think you're good enough. Or prepared enough.
3 days before the thing, J exclaimed, "it's time to parrrrtayyy!" I gaped at him.
"Are you freaking crazy?! We only have 3 more days!"
To which he replied with a sly smile, "I've finished everything already."
I was stunned, speechless and felt like such a loser.
And haven't stopped feeling that way ever since.
There's just something missing.
There's something I'm lacking that I have to figure out before next sem.
Or before, god forbid, resubmission.. !
Some people would say I'm being a perfectionist. But this time, no, it is not the case at all. Between august and now, there's something in me that's lost, like, an extinguished flame, and I really have to use this time to look for it again.
I don't know what it is, but I just feel like my life is such a mess. My priorities are screwed and self-respect gone down the drain. But well, pride.. yes, pride still lives on though I really don't understand how. One thing I do know... I need to pray. No, I don't mean the obligatory ones. I mean, more. I need to find peace, if I may say so without it sounding so damned corny.
I think it's record breaking. I can still taste the bbq mushroom lingering in my mouth. But anyway, that's not the point. The point is, we finished about 5 bottles of mineral water, more than the number of sweet drinks we had. And watching people drink liquor became a sort of social experiment for some of us teetotalers.
At the end of the day, my head hurt, probably due to smoke inhalation and overdose of chicken wings or something.
I felt good about holding my friend's hand and sending her home after she felt sick from drinking. I mean, there you go, the evils of drink and all that.
Well, I don't pretend to know, because god knows I'm miles away from perfect.
Maybe it's my financial status that's making me feel both grumpy and frumpy.
But come monday, I believe I would feel suitably ameliorated.
And I guess it's no use performing the act of sacrifice for aidiladha without feeling the appropriate amount of repentance.
Maybe I'll have a bit more feeling when I see the video of my slaughtered sheep.
And may the people of Cambodia benefit from my sincerely sacrificed blood sweat and tears.
This is a stupid random entry, I sincerely apologise for having wasted your time if you're reading this.
I sometimes wish nobody reads but that's loser talk again and to a certain extent, I do wish people would know of my suffering because misery loves company. But you know, when you type things down, somehow, they usually sound more melodramatic than life really is.
And life is not all about house cheers and playing catch.
I mean, come on. Grow the f up.
Ah, i really should stop the loser talk.
My friend exclaimed that she really cannot stand jaysee people. And she said it right to my face.
In her defense, she never knew I was from one, and the kids at the pit next to us, really were acting like a bunch of underaged freaks.
I feel consoled by the fact that I was never like that.
And I don't think shouting house cheers would earn one any rating on the cool-o-meter.
and I should say kudos to my gramms cos everybody loved her mi goreng.
I should repay her with a bag of orville's popcorn one day. (: Extra salty, her favourite. lol.
>12:44 AM