24 December 2012

Karya

Jujur, atas sebab jumlah buku yang siap aku khatam boleh dibilang dengan hanya tangan kiri, aku terima kenyataan pahit bahawa aku bukanlah penulis walaupun kalau diberi peluang untuk pulang ke zaman selepas SPM, aku akan memilih untuk mengambil degree bahasa.

Senang lagi dari medik, dengan frasa-frasa latin yang entah apa-apa.

Dengan penguasaan bahasa yang terbatas, aku gagahkan diri untuk cuba berkarya, ketawa kecil. Merah pipi hitam menyebutnya. Terembes-rembes hormon menderas darah, mengepam jantung. Tapi aku ucap arigatou pada Abang besar POSED, sebab usaha abang besar mendekatkan semula aku pada minatku. Walaupun aku mediocre, minatku pada menulis. Bagi manusia yang merendahkan kepentingan bahasa dalam kehidupan seharian, mereka memandang rendah tentang kepentingan peradaban manusia yang berusia ribuan tahun.

Kita di sini hari ini, kerana bahasa.

Dunia penulisan ibarat pintu sukahati agar aku dapat menghilang ke dunia fantasi, aku lupa sejenak dunia yang haru, kata orang.

Haha, karut. Konon di bawah ni cubaan sulung. Mungkin kerana temanya yang aku rasa dekat, mudah untuk aku menguis keyboard.

Regrets,
I have a few.


But hey! I am just a man
Whose words have pierced through the hearts of countless friends
Whose actions have hurt my loved ones more than once
Whose decisions have given me sleepless nights
As the memories of stupid choices I have ever made came in like synchronized waves
Inching towards land bit by bit
Just as I close my eyes, resting my head on my pillow.

Regrets,
I have a few.

But hey! I am just a man
You, or you might be mine
And likewise, I am yours
Should if time can be reversed, those regrets be corrected?
A question that is full of bull, I might say
Because You today are a perfect chemistry of the past
Of taught lessons, of wisdom gained
And You shall suffer more in the future
To make a man as perfect
As the Prophet once be.

"Setiap yang berlaku kepada seorang mukmin itu adalah baik untuk dirinya; jika musibah dia bersabar, jika baik dia bersyukur."

20 December 2012

Sour joke

Today I learned a very important lesson.

Cultural differences don't stop only on matters involving spesific cultural rituals and practices, cultural differences also include daily social interactions. Apparently, my seemingly innocent way to joke with an Arab of my class was seen as rude, I think because I used the word 'slap', although I clearly stated the intended gesture for it to be read funnily (is this a word? haha)

As an example, in Egypt, it is rude to cross your legs in front of an older person, which is a kind of taboo around here. I was scolded once for innocently listening to my MP3 with my leg being on top of the other. In Malaysia, although frowned upon, it was never considered such a big deal.

In Malaysia, it is rude to even raise your voice to someone older, although you are arguing for the truth. An older man should be respected in every way possible, even if they are wrong. That's why we bow when we walk in front of them, we kissed their hands when we shake hands, and we show respect. In Egypt, they argue about every little damn thing with anyone.

Another classic example was here the men often seen together holding hands, in Malaysia people whisper and question your sexuality if you do so. 

So, before doing anything, we should always consider the social consequences that would follow. Meh.

11 December 2012

A smile

Heba was in her mid-twenties. She grew up like every other little girl in the world, playing and imagining herself to sleep in the arms of her future loving husband. Heba was married and as time went, she was pregnant and she was honored with a beautiful child. 

But life was not as smooth as she once imagined it to be. She was married to an abusing partner, often scolded and bruised by the one she trusted the most. And as she gave birth, post-partum depression finally hit her. She became a person nobody recognized anymore.

She stopped talking. The times they heard her voice were the times where Heba talked to herself, and exclusively to herself. She began to put on her niqab, and she never took it off ever since. She refused to eat and sleep, she stared out of the window for hours every day, and nobody was able to help her.

She was a classic case of schizophrenia.

She was brought to the psychiatric department by her family, and accompanied by her sister she began her treatment. As Dr Salwa brought her into the lecture room, her mood was infectious. I felt silence began to creep across the room. We tried to engage her with a simple conversation, but she was not answering. She slumped in her chair, her head bowed, her eyes were expressionless.

Trying to understand her became a drive for myself to continue focusing on the case at hand. 

But two days ago, Dr Salwa brought her back to the lecture room after less than a week of treatment. She was different this time. The room wasn't as sulky as it was the last time she was here. She was answering questions, her sister didn't have to answer for her this time around. We asked her why was she sad, she didn't remember, but it didn't matter as hearing her voice was a miracle itself.

Dr Salwa asked her to lift her niqab. She refused at first because of her religious belief. Dr Salwa insisted, and she obliged. She lifted her niqab for a mere second, and I saw the most beautiful smile I have ever seen in years. 

I saw God in her smile, masha Allah.
 
 
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