He Smiles, Stubborn.

Just once I’d like to go absolutely crazy.

You know, chair-throwing-table-flipping-murder-screaming batshit crazy. We live every day programmed to live seemingly ‘normal’ lives, resulting to taking the piss out of our bosses or our colleagues as a form of release. We’re expected to remain calm in the face of adversity – even when time permits, we should never lose our temper.

“When angry, we lose nothing but ourselves. So get fucking angry” says the writing on the bathroom stall of Merdekarya. What does that feel like? To lose absolute control of ourselves and break away from an otherwise completely mundane lives that never transcend into anything more.

Where is the emotion? We romanticise love, sadness, even the journey to seek tranquility but where is the raw passion? The understated violent currents that run deep within our veins, burning hot and waiting to overflow?

Even then, we seek to find faults in trivial things. We furrow our eyebrows reading the morning paper, then return to our jaded routines.

But being 24, what do I know about being jaded? I can wallow in pensive sadness but rage is never in the picture. People say ‘chill’, as if anger is a discounted feeling only petty, childish people engage in.

Fuck that.

Get fucking angry. Place it atop the values of happiness and peace and whatever other sought out emotions. The world is a multitude of complexity, driven by the power-hungry and greedy hands scrabbling to commandeer our very beings. Take control, leave the notion of helplessness for the sheep waiting to be herded.

Speak your mind, we are the generation of belligerence so act like it.





People inherently exist around you to realise your own sense of self.

I’m back in college.

Initially, I came in strong, almost too strong. In the first few weeks my desperate desire to establish my superiority has somehow backfired – emotionally – and I suddenly developed an ego complex. Everything was easy, except for the socialising part. People were young, new, impressionable – and I wanted to make an impression. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a small part of me that wished I was revered by my peers because I’m a person who naturally fucking loves attention, but doesn’t necessarily goes out to seek it. It’s a thrill I’ve learned over the past few years; attention is frighteningly entertaining.

But as quickly the desire came, it managed to singe a hole into my brain. My desperation isn’t apparent through the eyes of everyone else (or I hoped to God it wasn’t) but to me, I felt shitty that this was something I was fussing about. I didn’t want something like that to be my goal because it was completely unrelated to the primary reason of me being back in college. My purpose was to get an education, a proper one, and understand what I wanted to do later on in life – or at least have an inkling as to what I wanted to major in and make a career out of, yknow? Everything else is secondary.

I got sidetracked for the first month, driven by the desire to be accepted by these children, to have this huge gang I could hang out with every day – and you know what, a part of me really fucking did wish I could have that because I never had that in school. SAE was a little bit different, considering we were all too small to have cliques and by default, had to hang out with each other. But that was a dream that 16 year-old me wanted, and me 8 years later, can finally be mature enough to tell her it’s alright if you don’t have that. It’s completely alright. You’re not missing out on anything.

But I caught on to the fact that I still, until now, remain mesmerised by the glitter so much so my eyes are blinded by the possibility that I might become ‘popular’ instead of focusing on the matter at hand.

My perspectives quickly changed after that, and it’s continuing to change over time. I think coming into college with much more experience has helped me tremendously in realising my goals, my aim and determination to do the best I can, and be the best version of myself.

I’m at a weird, weird part of my life right now where some of my unresolved issues are slowly coming to light and it feels like I’m heading towards these battles with a fucktonne of ammo after swallowing 13000 books and, like, the least care in the world about what everyone else’s strategies are. Ultimately, that’s my aim, right there. To do things I’ve wanted to do. Seize opportunities I could never have dared to do a few years back. This is my retribution, and finally, God, finally, it feels good to be able to know I’m achieving things. Not that I haven’t before, but I’m accepting everything I do with open arms and the pressure of making a mistake seems like such a dumb thing now. Achievements mean a little bit more to me now because I’ve actually put effort and passion in them.

Some people are late bloomers, I guess. I’m fine with that. Maybe people are running already by the time I learn to walk but that’s really, completely okay. I’m out here enjoying the process either way.


If the multiverse theory is true, I would want one of me in a parallel universe to be born a Cynic.

A Cynic’s principle is simple; to achieve happiness through the barest means. Free from the shackles of worldly desires, and remain unfazed by the vicissitudes of life.

They live life in accordance to nature – from where you come, you live.

Introspectively, that would be the most ideal.

My friend once said if you had 24 hours to pack and leave, the most you would need is one suitcase… and a half; because that is all you need to survive while still retaining some sense of self. Perhaps a favourite book, or photos of you and your loved ones.

Lately I’ve been picking at myself a bit more. What are my habits?

Excessive spending. That beautiful basic black top, I must have. Even though mummy complains I have too many already. At least two a month. Socks. Socks?! I could wear socks if they were fluffy and soft enough – and look, it’s in powder pink, and on sale. I could wear pink if they were… powdery in colour.

There is always a reason to every purchase. Reasons soon turn to excuses. Excuses then abandoned as my futile attempts are replaced with defeated acceptance.

Good food. Oh, gluttony is always my favourite deadly sin. Today I spent RM12 on rice and chicken. Tomorrow I think I’ll eat noodles with dumplings. Perhaps later in the week, a plate of beautiful crispy chicken rice. I love chicken. Can’t live without it, really.

There is always a reason. An excuse. The thought of buying something with my own money excites me. I earned this, I should be able to do whatever I want with it. Who’s to tell me I can’t? This is mine. I earned this, I should be able to do whatever I want…

Pity my excitement lasts for a fraction of a second before I slip back into familiarity. My laptop to write, my kaftan, sketch book and a pencil, a good book. Where are those socks, again?

The Swedes are doing it right. Lagom, meaning ‘adequate’ or ‘just the right amount’ is a lifestyle promoting sustainability and discards excessive consumerism.

Diogenes – the founding father of Cynicism – took it to a more extreme level when he lived in a tub on the streets of Athens his whole life after being exiled from his birthplace. He criticised everyone’s social conventions and makes poverty a virtue. He tells them that it is the privilege of gods to want nothing, and godlike men to want little.

Granted, the man lived in a tub and ate on the streets.

It’s funny how we were all born with nothing once upon a time, and suddenly underwent a paradigm shift. Now everyone’s looking for more money, more things to make ourselves feel better, even for just a fraction of a second.

And… perhaps this is the part where I criticise myself, but I know that we’d all prefer the distraction. Perhaps to dull ourselves, numb our senses, keep us passive and obedient. Spruce the fluff, they say. Keep us warm and toasty.

I think to myself; Girl. You’re still so young, but not young enough to excuse yourself from this. Live within your means. Achieve wholesomeness not through materialistic crap that only serves as a brief mood lifter, but through things that serve a purpose to you. Stop getting distracted by the glitter and gold; they are worth next to nothing.

He has the most who is the most content with the least.

Tonight’s musing: Time to declutter.




Happy March!

It’s been a while. I am procrastinating as usual. I was supposed to come up with two campaign ideas for a client tomorrow and so far I’m one-and-a-half away from completion. To be fair, I spent the whole of yesterday in bed because I had the flu so that was one day…. burnt….


This was what I ended up doing today:

  • Bought breakfast
  • Watched 6 episodes of Jane the Virgin
  • Went to get my glasses done
  • Binged on a bunch of YouTube videos (I can vouch that this was to crank up ideas)
  • Read my old (and I mean really old) blog posts while eating tacos.


It’s fine. After this post I’m going straight to planning my week. A habit I’m training myself to do so as to decrease the anxiety leering around the corner. Not today, nerve satans.

But anyway, here is a recap of what has happened so far:

  • To’ Bah’s wedding was a success (yikes)
  • Adele gave birth to four adorable kittens
  • I’ve submitted my resignation letter last Wednesday
  • Had a few job offers come in soon after


Yesterday was Mummy’s 53rd and she is still as young as ever. Ummi surprised her during breakfast with Shakoli and a brownie cake*. Speaking of, Shakoli is growing up so beautifully. She has approximately 6 teeth (4 on top and 2 at the bottom) and has developed a habit of biting people now. I’ve suffered the wrath of her bite once, and I’m making a mental note to tread carefully around her face for the time being. She has also reached a whopping 12.3kg in just 11 months; Assikin refers to her as my ‘Chub Squister’ and I can’t argue with that, it’s pretty apt.

On the 7th will be arwah To’ Mi’s birthday. My plans to take off and visit her grave has to be put on hold for now, because of how messy everything is at work what with the resignation, and the extension…. I’m just having a difficult time grasping things and sorting them out properly. But I digress.

Oh – wait, I guess that’s it.

Tonight’s musing: sleep is for the weak.

*Brownie Cake (.n): A towering stack of brownies generously layered with Kinder bites and strawberries, drizzled lavishly with chocolate syrup and caramel sauce.


Light Jog

Vague analogies of Mokele in the wee hours of the morning.

Freezing cold, breaths come in heaves of desperation. I keep at it.

Sweat, sweat, sweat. Tendons scream in agony, heart palpitating. I want this to be over.

I stop, so close to vomiting nothing. Thinking about the future, what I’m living for, new prospects. Dizzy. Frightened. Anxious.

What I’d give to be a cryptid.

A minute feels like a lifetime of experiences when you’re running.

Paradigm Shift

Incubus is set to perform tonight at KL Live and this will mark the third time I miss their concert. My 10 year-old self is crying on the inside, and I really wanted to take Imran with me since we both grew up listening to Incubus but alas, tak tercapai impianku kali ini.

My relationship with my brother has alway been… turbulent ever since we were born. We had our ups and downs, and now it’s a weird…. tolerance, I guess? Between us. It never used to be like this.

He was a totally different person when he was a child; someone that I’ve grown to miss over the last few years.

Imran was soft; easily moulded and shaped into whatever you wanted him to be. Easily bullied, to put it bluntly. But over time, he’d formed spikes from within for some reason and started mutating into someone we hardly recognised. It was getting increasingly difficult to see with him eye to eye, and at one point, none of us in the family wanted to have anything to do with him.

He shot up to be more than a handful for all of us. I shamelessly admit I was close to hating him and my father was inches away from delivering the ultimate blow of completely giving up on him. But my mother, bless her heart, always saw through the bullshit Imran had put and fought for him. Hard. Because none of us (including him) were making it easy for her.

You see, I grew up spoilt. Had everything I wanted, everything I needed, and was always given options. Imran had all that too, but the difference between us was I didn’t know what to do with them while he abused them. We were complete opposites living different lives.

Sometimes I wonder what compelled him to do the idiotic things he’d done. What was he rebelling about? What frustrated him so much to make horrible life choices when he was younger?

Or was he just a stupid little kid making stupid kid decisions?

Me, I was always the good one. I scored my exams, read books as a pastime, had little friends and kept to myself. I rarely went out on school nights because I hated the idea of socialising, and considered the things I had to be enough for me. I detested my brother for mixing around, doing time-wasting things when he could be home reading or studying.

When we moved to Damansara, I was in a phase where I hated everything in sight. I wanted to go back to Banting, wanted to retreat back into my safe bubble. But he was excelling. Made new friends, did new things, broadened his horizons… and I was jealous of that. I didn’t know how he was doing it. But instead of approaching him with curiosity, I shunned him from my life (didn’t help that he was an annoying little fuck back then) and refused to be a part of his formative years.

Sometimes I look back and regret that. Could I have made a difference if I was closer to him when we were younger? Would we have formed a much closer bond? Could we have done cooler brother-sister things growing up? Would he have let me into his life, and would I have helped keep him out of trouble?

But the thing is, maybe none of those things could’ve happened even if we were close. Maybe things were always supposed to be how they were in order for both of us to grow as individuals. I learned from his mistakes, and I hope he learned from mine.

Our relationship was close to nonexistent for some time until he left for Lumut. The less I saw him, the closer we got. I suppose it was the distance; absence really does make the heart grow fonder. And funnily enough, we reached the pinnacle of brotherhood when we started smoking up together. We used to talk a lot. He would invite me to his room and we would chill, smoke, talk about life goals… or rather he would talk and I would listen. I liked listening to him verbally plan out his life. I was proud. Here was this boy who 4 years ago looked like he would amount to nothing, now making proper plans for his life. I was envious, sure, but never have I been prouder as a sister.

Back when I was working at The Wknd, I was at a good place. And he was too, and I remember thinking to myself; if this is how both our lives are going to be like from now on, we’d make Mummy and Baba so proud.

But Baba still had a lot of issues to work on with Imran. He was going through his own dumb ass shit (that he put himself in) and was taking it out on his son. This was common back then. I suppose that was where one part of Imran’s rebellion stemmed from. Daddy issues, who doesn’t have them am I right? This time around however, I was on Imran’s side. I didn’t understand the unrealistic expectations, the weird obsession these men have with their egos. I couldn’t understand their thought process. Two very similar heads butting against each other when they could be working together.

Both wanted different things for one person, I guess.

Eventually, both grew out of it and currently they’re in a good place now.

Also eventually, I stopped smoking up and we drifted apart again. No, I know better. Weed wasn’t the crutch to our sibling relationship. It was a pedestal for us to gain better understanding of each other, but it couldn’t have lasted forever because we never really solved the deep rooted issues within.

I think he still bears grudges against me. Perhaps it was because of how I (mis)treated him when we were little. Really, I was a mean bully. And he was soft, like I said. Perhaps it was because I was always given higher regard, asked to be made a model out of, compared to by our parents and grandparents. Obviously it was damaging as an individual. Looking back, I probably shouldn’t have milked it in so much but I was young, and revelled in the fact that I was the golden child.

But we’ve both grown up since then. He definitely has, and is much more mature than I am in some ways. I am happy for him. Proud. There is no way to go for him but up at this point. Hopefully.

I learn a lot from just observing his antics and the way he plans his life out. Everything is cut and dry, black and white, yes or no. There is no think, there is just do. I admire and respect him for it, wishing my life can be as straightforward as that.

But here’s the tricky part. He needs to understand that with what he has now, as an individual – minus the hustle and life goals – is not enough for him to be wholly… mature. He lacks compassion and empathy, which frustrates me to this day because sometimes I wish he could see it from someone else’s point of view instead of his own.

Someday I will confront him about this. Someday I will dig all the frustration, dissatisfaction and whatever issues he has out. But the difference now is I will not come from a hostile place. I will sit, and wait patiently for him to talk or lash out, or say whatever he wants to say to me, and I’ll take it all in.

Then I’ll tell him what I think. Patiently, in his language if possible, and reason with his feelings. No more quips, no more belittling. Just… talking.

Whatever it takes for us to move past this dip in the ride.

Tonight’s musing; friends come and go, but siblings are forever.