transformering

The title, may just be a little bit confusing to you since it's similar to a movie screening at the cinemas in your neighbourhood. But this is not a story of giant robots transformering into vehicles, nor is it a story about transformering myself into an angelic version of a human being.

Yesterday, my mama sms-ed me telling me that we could get a transformers figure, an optimus prime perhaps for a cheaper price at a petronas petrol station if we fill the car with RM30 worth of oil or above.

And so, i remembered a tale of a boy, a plump boy who thought the world was all about toys. A pampered boy that he was, he had a multitude of toys in his possession, a true obsession on his part.

One day, a chocolate drink made an offer he wasn't able to refuse. A gift of a robot for the purchase of the largest tin can of chocolate powder. A staunch fan of Milo, he was crossing over to the rival brand Vico just this once time, for the sake of some infamous robots. Oh how poisoned he was by the commercials in between those cartoon shows!

And so, the family bought a large tin, and as promised, he got himself a robot toy as a gift. After some time spent on assembling the purple-white robot, and liking the plastic figure in front of him, he wanted more. Possessed by the spirit of that toy, an idea of collecting all 3 robot models that were at stake appeared. And all of them were gifts, so there was no way he could have asked his mummy to buy them.

He pondered. He thought. He spent hours for ideas to conjure up. He needed to think fast since the offer was going to expire soon enough. He can't possibly finish them all too quick. Besides, Vico tasted less tasty than Milo. That's a fact. He can't throw the tin away, for there might me an odour of foul play ringing in the air. To bribe his grandmother to keep a secret would not only be a sin, but the plan itself would come to ruins if his grandma decided to tell his mother.

He needed help. He needed a companion in crime who couldn't talk. A silent partner. And after looking around the house, he finally found out that the sink and the drainage PVC pipes were not able to produce even a whisper of voice.

"Hey you Mr. Sinky. Could you help me keep a secret." A silent answer meant 'yes'.

The boy, with punkish traits of his, decided to feed the sink with spoons of chocolate powder and ran the water down in order for the tin to be emptied at a quicker rate. He acted as cool as ice, and whenever her grandma smelled something mischievious going on, he would greet his grandma to quell off the thoughts of foul play in her mind.

"Yo granny, wassup? I'm 'cleaning' the kitchen for you."

While there he was, greedily feeding the sink without any feeling of wrongdoings! After some time, the large tin was almost empty.

Without any hesitation, he asked his mum to buy Vico, a large one too. His plan, was almost close to perfection and his brain was smiling from ear to ear, thinking that he was a genius. But his face remained calm, his hidden agendas were protected by his chubby and innocent appearance.

But her mum knew too much. The pipes were somehow clogged up due to some unknown reasons. Baffled by the situation, her mum called for a plumber and after some diagnostics, the plumber concured that the pipes were clogged at the proximal part, the ones that were close to the sink.

And after some intriguing FBI like investigations, the boy finally gave in and admitted his crime to his mother.

"No more vico for you."

Her mum managed to save some RM from buying a large tin of Vico, while the boy sat quietly in his room, pondering what could have been a second robot gift from Vico. He thought that powder would be dissolved by water, but he was wrong. Maybe he was right, but maybe he fed the sink too fast, thus not allowing the powder to dissolve. But after the incident, he had grown all matured and decided to abandon his life with toys.

And the rest, as they say, is history. And he lived happily ever after.

PS : And now, i need to transform myself into a book reading form.

Facebooked part 2

It's amazing what technology could do these days.

It's been quite awhile since i last met my friends from primary and lower secondary schools. I do wonder would people still remember me since i've morphed from a cute looking child into a princely handsome young guy.

So yesterday i spent hours and hours adding people, friends, pals, old acquaintances, colleagues of long gone years. It was a stroll down memory lane.

One of my best Chinese friends is still a Liverpool fan that he was when i last met him. He's still as smart as i used to know him. We share the same birth date and he was guessing the time i was born!

Another is an Indian guy who is probably the biggest Michael Jackson fan i will ever know. He kept doing all those crotch grabbing, moon walking moves, impersonating the King of Pop to entertain us at school and he wasn't bad at all.

And there are close friends from Alor Star who still remain as wacky as ever before.

I was very glad to see friends who are holding posts in various clubs and societies. Some continue their traditions of becoming student leaders, some gaining new experiences of taking this kind of responsibility for the first time in their lives. While i've probably taken a detour from that kinda of life.

To reconcile friendships and to strengthen them, that's what i am there for.

It's great what technology could do these days.

facebooked

I am facebooking. I facebook everyday. I facebooked last night. I've been facebooked.

He/She is facebooking. He/She facebooks everyday. He/She facebooked last night. He/She has been facebooked

They/You are facebooking. They facebook everyday. They facebooked last night. They/You have been facebooked.

Some collected quotes from Afiq Fikri Azmi.

"Aku taknak la bukak facebook, takut addicted."

"Facebook? I'm not going to jump on the bandwagon."

"Is that a friendster wannabe?"

Yeah yeah. You've got all the right to call me a sell out for surrendering my soul to the opium of the people, facebook.

I just need to connect to long lost friends. Some who i haven't met for years and years.

I've been warned by Kamal (single according to his facebook status..bwahaha) of the times i might waste on facebook. Thanks for the advice.

But i don't think i will be answering quizzes or playing games. For once, i don't like computer games. I think i will be busy replying comments. That's all.

And i plan to switch off all the email notifications so that i won't be too busy checking this and that. Except for birthday notifications.

But this blog is my abode. My sanctuary. There's no way i'm going to abandon this blog. Here's a big hug and kiss to this blog XOXOXOXOX. Whatever that is.

There are many things i plan to write about. Particularly about Malaysia. About spots in KL. About Central Market. Of Lorong Haji Taib. Kampung Baru. These cult images of KL. Right after my practicals i'll be staying in KL for some time. Maybe i'll write poetry of those places if my muses arrive. You know, something like Paris je'taime in written form. Maybe i'll pick up a decent camera to enhance the experience of reading with a visual accompaniment. Or maybe i'll hag my sister's camera and learn to edit pictures. So if you see me wandering off in KL, say hi and give me a treat at a mamak restaurant.

But before that, I need to read. I'm going to read lotsa stuff after my exams. I've been surprisingly lucky with my exams. Alhamdulillah.

I would like to thank my sponsors, Sayani-the energy booster and Sport Kanal-official live football provider for room 92.

Death and its glorification

And so the King of Pop is dead.

He was about to kick start his world tour, touted to gross about $50 million bucks for Jacko. When fate intervenes, you have no answer. When death arrives, there is no more asking for another day.

And Utusan Malaysia's terkini section is filled with the latest news of his death. One by one. Quotes, latest developments, mourning of fans and peers alike.

Probably they're gonna make a special edition newspaper or a 16 page spread about MJ.

Of course, the death of Syd Barrett, Joey and Johnny Ramone won't be that sensational because they were peripherals playing in some lesser known bands. And their deaths were of natural causes-cancer.

When Kurt Cobain decided to kick the bucket, that was sensational since he suicided himself.

And thus, he was glorified like a prophet in the media. Like a matyr. He was placed in the top 10 amongst the most skilled guitarists of all time although he had moderate guitar skills.

But did they highlight some other heroes of our time? The real ones.

Fathi Yakan, author of some great books passed away on the 13th of June. I just found that out. Did Utusan put it up? I missed it maybe.

"It's death whether by killing or by cancer; it's the same thing. Nothing will change if it's an Apache (helicopter) or cardiac arrest. But I prefer to be killed by Apache."

In the end, Dr. Abdel Aziz al-Rantissi got what he wished for. He was killed by an apache.

They don't ask or wish to be glorified. But these men have done more than meets the eye. But have their contributions been justified? Are there articles on mainstream media?

Sometimes you need to put more perspective with things that happen around you. I need to do it too. Because i'm too much attached to my rock and roll roots and i'd be more interested in the news of the death of some rock stars.

I'm sleepy. Need to go to mosque. Then off to my seniors' graduation.

So 90s : mIRC chatting

It became clear that the world was minimizing into the size of the thumb by the end of the 20^th century. Yes, the mundane life that we were accustomed to was about to change, although the arrival was a little late to the shores of Malaysia.

And RTM kept on playing that IT song over and over again. It was a good idea but it was oh-so-uninspiring to say the least.

The world of communications transformed itself into a borderless version of connectivity across the universe. Because I personally believe we are the only living beings and the whole idea of alien worshipping just doesn’t apply to me.

The advent of chatting, particularly, changed and challenged the whole concept of what socialization is all about.

Back in the 90’s and the early millennia, mIRC was the in thing back then. It still does exist but messengers are the in thing lately.

A/S/L was the intro to everything. Age. Sex. Location. With one simple inquiry it could spark off a conversation, start relationships, foster friendship, so on and so forth.

SgtWeener: Yo. Asl

Guest2435: 16/m/us.u?

SgtWeener: 15/m/Malaysia.

Guest2435: Malaysia? Wer izzit? Do u hav intrnet over der?

It was where I started to speak to people from the States and Australia to improve my English. We chatted particularly about music those days because I hanged out in chat music chat rooms.

It had quite a good peer to peer connection in which you could download songs or videos from other users.

And I just found out that you could even chat while facebooking. I think facebook has taken the formula of the inventions of handphones. It used to be simple, now cellphones are multifunctional. It’s like an amusement park. You’ve got a camera, internet connection, games and a lot more. Facebook has quizzes, you could leave comments, post videos and chatting. So basically, you only need to log on to facebook for anything.

Last night, I had a dream in which I had a facebook account. It was semi-scary in a way.

Me and a few genius friends even had a social study on the impact of chatting in my secondary school days. That was a bit funny. We took a 360 turn after our first project, (something about producing an alternative for petroleum from the remains of processed palm) backfired. But we had the coolest team name. Fungus amongus.

So chatting has deluded me of the fact that we actually need to talk in reality, not type.

I think there are pieces of bipolarity in me. In a face to face chat, I think I’m just a bit over concerned with my appearance (Why is this bloke so untidy? He needs to shave. His hairstyle is way off the mark!). And my perhaps my voice. (Too husky. Too sexy. Too angelic). So I tend to be a little bit silent compared to cyberspace chatting.

Chatting just strips the aesthetics of my over concerned appearance and I could just go on rambling about anything and I could just chat about everything. And I could just focus solely on chatting without anything else.

Maybe it’s time for me to really focus on talking since my future profession involves talking most of the time. Talk to patients. Explain this and that so that they would understand. Report to senior doctors and everything else.

Maybe I should go video blogging to practice my talking and story telling abilities. It would be good to doze people off.

Ok. Need to read my Sherlock Holmes collection on my iPhone.

PS : We have entered the month of Rejab. The most significant event in history of this month is the Israk and Mikraj, of which our Prophet ascended to the heavens and met Allah. Some say it was a spiritual journey, but most scholars would agree that it was a physical journey. Of course, we have to ponder what could have been. We could have been asked to pray 50 times per day but in the end we have been given a large discount by Allah and henceforth, we are only obliged to pray 5 times a day.

Clothes.

There are some people on the 6th floor collecting shirts and stuffs for the homeless and orphans. It was not a charitable act, but i was in the mood to clear off my wardrobe, especially since i've grown..ehem..a bit muscular for the past few years which in turn, disabled me from wearing some shirts.And it turned out there were many shirts which were worn sparingly or have been there as artifacts in my cupboard. So i proceeded to just give them away.

This is one of my Nike t-shirts which is still in good condition but a bit too tight for me. I used to wear when i was super slim. PPIM/UMNO had a good programme in which they collected clothes and sold them at a carboot like sale and used the profits to manage their activities. I don't think anyone would want to buy my t-shirts so i decided not to sell them.

And this, i have to say is one of my all time favourite t-shirts bought at Pertama Complex. I like to go there just to find some good rocking t-shirts. Plus, there's a big Reject Shop there and the F.O.S. at Maju Junction right next to Pertama. I basically do my shopping at that F.O.S. outlet since it's not packed and i could just spend a lot of time looking for a decent shirt at a decent price. It's basically still in good condition, but i've got loads more shirts. Thanks for the service. You've tasted my sweat more than any other t-shirts for the past 5 years.

And i found this track suit, purple in colour while i was ransacking my wardrobe. It's my mum's track suit and she gave it to me because i forgot to buy one. Now it's torn somewhere in the middle and the ankle zip area. I can't believe i played the football tourney in this pair of tracksuit. Now it seems i would shy away from wearing a purple coloured track suit.

Minimalist you, minimalist me.

My roommates are having an exam right now. I had it yesterday. And so yesterday they asked me,

"Could you cook nasi ayam for us, we are having an exam tomorrow."

I said OK, I said fine. And I cooked. And I just finished the last piece of the leftover chicken for breakfast. With a bottle of sayani and a bowl of soup.

I'm not expecting anything from them in return, but they asked me anyway.

"So what do you want us to cook for you on Thursday." (Surgery is on Friday)

"Fried eggs. With any kind of gravy, as long as it's red."

And they choked on that idea.

I know i'm such a boring dude when it comes to food. I could go on eating the same stuff over and over again.

But is asking for telor goreng masak merah too much?

Russian treasures : Sayani

The army of molotov cocktails.

A bottle bearing a picture of father deer and daughter doe won't be harmful, would it?

Sayani : The thirst quencher.

And the boiling heat of summer continues, while we patiently wait for the first downpour of rain.

And we guzzle this fizzy drink down our throats to quench our thirst. This bottled drink is similar to any soft drinks out there, but it's local. It tastes something like mountain dew and it contains no alcohol. Now that we don't drink Coke that often, this is the alternative.

The bottles evoke the images of Molotov cocktails, named after the Foreign Affairs' Minister of the Soviet Union during the WWII, Vyacheslav Molotov.

During the attacks of Russia on Finland, they dropped bombs containing smaller clusters of explosives in them. However, the quirky Mr. Molotov made an announcement, claiming that they were dropping food instead of explosives from the air to the Finns.

Of course that was a big lie, and so they christened the bombing as the "Molotov Bread Breakfast", with an explosive menu.

The Finns responded by attacking the tanks that were invading Finland with these home-made explosives made out of bottles containing petrol or other inflammable liquids and a cloth jammed at the end to ignite it.

And they named it "Molotov Cocktails", as a drink to go with the food.

That, for you, is the linguistics of war.

Ok. I want to finish my bottle of Sayani for breakfast.

Father's Day

Growing up fatherless, there are only vague and hazy images of how me dad was. Not his appearance, as I have countless of pictures of him. He remains the only guy who looks much more handsome than what i could possibly be. But memories of him are practically non existent. He passed away when I was barely a year and a few months old and all I have are just verbal whispers about me dad.

One of the items left at home is a season pass to the Kedah football stadium, as he was the physio for the team. Hence, as if genetically inscribed in my DNA, I do harbour the intentions of one day becoming the physio of the team. At least I could get free entrance to watch football games at the legendary football stadium. And who knows I might end up coaching? Hey, Jose Mourinho started off as a translator for Bobby Robson. You've got to start somewhere.

It's funny how people would rub me head when I was younger. Later on, I discovered that it was sort of a custom to perform such gesture to orphans.

Before I came to Russia, a doctor who conducted one of the check ups happened to be his friend. And so he told me, that usually, he and some other friends would take the ride together with me dad to get back to Alor Star from Sik (a couple of hours' journey) on me dad's Honda Accord, but on that fateful day, they had some other things to do and me dad drove back alone. The news of the accident came out in the newspaper and some of my friends' parents at primary school knew about it when i mentioned it to them.

And as a result, I never had the chance to feel the warmth of a father's hug or the satisfaction of a daddy's praise. But it's not that I'm complaining too much. Content is a virtue.

There are unluckier children who are born bastards. Not in a derogatory sense. Some not even knowing or will never even find out who their parents are, which is far more extreme than what I experienced. While there are others who were brought up in broken homes, witnessing the progress of bitter divorces of their parents.

I've been been compensated with the greatest woman who brought me up, the bionic woman, me Mama. Such a lucky guy, I am.

Now that I am thickened with maturity (I think so), I understand that it's something called fate. The river of life has taken its due course. My life could have taken a different route if me dad was still here.

Butterfly effect, ya dig it?

I bet all dads out there give their best efforts for their families, to get some food on the plates although they might not be as cool as you want them to be, or they might not spend so much time with you. So treasure your dads, give your old man a big hug or share a joke.

Happy father's day.

PS : Headache o headache, please go away.

Random thoughts

1. Could we consider those who hate black cats as having traits of racism? Maybe partially racists, they are?

2. If we label a certain portion of people with certain tags, example 'Kedahans are kiasu' or 'Perakians and Penangites are perverts', is that too, considered as a mild form of racism?

3. If PAS ever unites with UMNO, what will Malaysia be like? Will the other races form their own racial political conglomerates? UMNO now is at a weakened state. So if one day UMNO reaches the same zenith of politics again, gaining maximal power along the way, will they kick PAS out of their supposed coalition?(if they were ever to unite that is)

4. On another note, i find myself not as creative as i want myself to be. While people would usually create their own pnemonics, i prefer to google for them.

5. I found out what twitter is all about few days ago. Maybe these are the type of stuff i would write if i have a twitter account.

6. At the age of 23, i found out that if baju melayu is soaked too long in water, the color will come off. As i was smart enough to soak my kepiah together with my red baju melayu, now the kepiah has become a bit pinkish tinged. Is this the shape of fashion to come?

Hot and humid

This is my first post from my iphone and the mega tiny touchscreen keypad doesn't help much.

At 2.29 in the morning, my skin wets of salty sweat. Drops running down my forehead, maybe el nino is hitting Russia too. My head is densed partly with medical knowledge, mostly with crap.

That tachycardic heartbeat after reading Cristiano's transfer to Real Madrid has long gone. 80 million pounds for a player is really breathtaking.

And insulting at the same time. It's a cruel world we are living in.

And i pondered for a moment what could i have done with that amount of money.

The disneyfication of Real Madrid continues.

Kaka is mickey mouse. Cristiano is minnie mouse. Soon David Villa will be daffy duck.

Where does that money come from?

Loyalty in football is the least of priorities these days. It's manifested with people prowling for money. No more Giggs or Del Piero. Extinction of the generation.

Money is in fact, the new God. Slaves to the material world, are we?

God save us all.

Dawud Wharnsby Ali sings good nasyeed

I'm very picky when it comes to music. To be dead honest with you, i don't listen to nasyeed except for Raihan's music because they are the pioneers to the nasyeed scene in Malaysia. They're like Helmet who kick started the nu-metal birth, like Black Sabbath to the metal world, Kraftwerk to techno music. Well, that's strictly from a musical perspective.

And so i discovered something good a few months back from Dawud Wharnsby Ali. The song above just makes me want to strum the acoustic guitar yet again. It's a nice song with meaningful lyrics which makes it much more meaningful although some might condone the usage of guitars or stringed instruments in nasyeed. Another song at the moment which makes me want to pick up the guitar is 'The times they are a'changin' by Bob Dylan, the anthem for the 60s hippie era.

Another good song by this guy is The Prophet and my other favourite is Zain Bikha's Heart of a Muslim. Not that i dislike Malay nasyid, just that most other nasyeed are rip off rhythms from Raihan with different lyrics. To quote from Rob Zombie about Black Sabbath's reign as metal pioneers, "Every cool riff has already been written by Black Sabbath, anything anyone else does is basically ripping it off, either playing it slightly backwards or forwards, faster or slower, they did everything already." I could say the same thing of Raihan but of course, i do fully comprehend and aware that nasyeed is all about the message and the music is a mere secondary in stature. But then again, like i said, i'm mega picky in music and i prefer reading religious articles or listening to lectures/sermons.

And i questioned the real purpose of the nasyid bands after Raihan. Their intentions. Well, maybe that's just me and my underground philosophy. But then again, the rapid births of nasyid bands were for me just a tool to get money. What's the difference of the pop punk bands that appeared after Offspring or Green Day, or the bands that immitate Eddie Vedder's voice or the nu-metal explosion after Korn and Limp Bizkit? They were all tools to get money. The same cycle of things. Music pioneers get famous. Recording companies try to find the next thing closest to the original band. Gets money. Becomes rich. It's the same viscious cycle for one thing. Money. Well, that's my view of things. Some bands really sold out.

And so i came about this article a few months back about the stance of some scholars regarding music. The article punches me directly to my face, a total KO. This is strictly personal through self experience. From the article, "His state of emotions becomes less passionate when he hears the Qur'aan........He dislikes listening to the Qur'aan and does not find beauty in it while reciting it..." And this really happened to me. Again, to be dead honest with you, I would be high listening to Bob Dylan or say, the Beatles. But listening to Quran won't evoke such responses from me. It might be partly due to the fact i can't grasp Arabic, but then again i would still be high listening to some instrumental songs by Explosions in the Sky.

For some people who could manage to control themselves without getting too much engaged into the songs either musically or lyrically, maybe it's ok to listen to some songs. But i'm a music geek and the way i listened and am listening to music is way too obsessive, too enticing to the point of controlling my conscious (believe me when i say this). It makes the songs stuck into my head for a very very long time. Which i think is not that good to say the least.

And so i'm having my serampang dua mata project. First i want to reduce my time listening to too much music. Secondly i want to try and understand bits of the Quran through the learning of basic Arabic. I found this good dictionary which i hope may help you and me to understand the Quran better. I found out that there are 569 words which are repeated over and over again in the Quran which makes up about 80 % of the revelation.

54 : 17 And certainly We have made the Quran easy for remembrance, but is there anyone who will mind?

Hopefully it won't turn out to be one of those failed projects of mine.LOL.

Temptations, temptations

I asked for an ampoule of Sol. Confidencium 100 % from Azizi but he declined my request. Now i need to try and search it myself. My exams are around the corner.

TV will be showing the Roland Garros final. Federer vs Soderling. Afiq, are you sure you're gonna switch me off?

I need 132 Newtons of force to push me to study. I need 5 kilograms of confidence. Where could i find them?

Football is on Wednesday. You would not want to miss it! It's Russia vs Finland.

Give me an ounce of hardwork and a pascal of persistence and i'll be as busy as a bee.

If that's not enough, there's the NBA finals. Lakers vs Magics. Howard against Kobe. You're not gonna miss watching your favourite player Pau Gasol playing, are you?

But i've poisoned myself with 25 litres of laziness.

Hey look at me! Jenson Button just won the race in Turkey. These are the moments you wanted all the while right? These great sporting moments.

I need to detoxify myself with decibels of discipline and pack myself with 70 volts of seriousness and start to study tonight!

You're still bidding for that Real Madrid jersey on eBay right?

Temptations, temptations.

Covering my eyes from the sinful sight of the surrounding of summer

Summer's back and the birds return from their long migration cum vacation. Chirping, maybe chatting between them in language inconceivable by human understanding.

Tweet. Tweeeeet. Twititit. Titititutu Kenya. Twaeeaet! Translates as, "I went to Africa! OMG! It's owh so fabulous. You have to go to Kenya. It's heaven!"

And the other bird replies. Twat! Tetetetoto. Titititutu USA. Twiiiituituo. Vultures tototo. Eagles tweiaot!

"What! That's cool! I went to USA. It's you know, very metropolitan. I met your cousin the Vulture. Almost got bitten by an eagle!"

And as i wonder what the birds chatter amongst themselves, in that funny language of theirs, there's a much more problematic situation going on. The preying eyes of men, with their radars swithced on are dangerous when the summer arrives.

It's hot, so people wear less. Oh! Cover my eyes! Cover my eyes!

24 : 30 Say to the believing men that they should lower their gaze and guard their modesty...

The eyes perform adultery by gazing.

"...the adultery of eyes is looking (at [that] which is not allowed)..." reported by al-Bukhari and Muslim.

So your eyes are basically the weapons of mass destruction in terms of wrecking and damaging your soul or your iman. The iman fluctuates and oscillates at intense speed, sometimes never managing to return to its normal state.

Owh. Such a sinful summer i'm having. Need. To. Cover. My. Japanese. Slit. Like. Eyes.

The Prophet once said to Ali, "Ali! Do not look once after another, for the first look is for you (since it happens accidentally) while the second is against you."

First look is not a 2 or a 3 second look. It's probably a milisecond look. It's accidental. Of course you can't prolong your gaze!

I need to try and and cover my eyes from the sinful sight of the surrounding of summer.

23. Masih muda.

(((((Sila pasang Piano Concerto No. 5 in E-Flat Major oleh Beethoven untuk memantapkan pengalaman membaca post ini)))))

Kata-kata Ustaz Ayob (atau kadang-kadang dikenali sebagai Ustaz Boya jika namanya dibaca dari belakang dan juga kerana kegarangan beliau) di tingkatan 3 masih terngiang-ngiang di setiap pusingan koklea ku.

Ayat keramat.

"Lepas 23 tahun, kena insaf dah. Sebelum tu nak enjoy boleh la." Ia diingiringi dengan senyuman sinis penus sangsi.

Mungkin di sebalik senyuman itu, ustaz ini punk rock dulu. Dengar the Ramones? Lepas tu insaf pada umur 23?

Harini aku dah ganjil 23 tahun. Kata orang, "Age is just a number."

Lonjatan dari nombor 22 ke 23 disulami dengan adegan-adegan pelbagai rupa bukan saja kepada diriku, tetapi juga di sekelilingku. Ada sulaman yang halus, semestinya wujud sulaman yang kasar. Jika digambarkan, mungkin hasilnya satu lukisan abstrak yang tidak difahami maksudnya. Jika dinovelkan, mungkin nukilannya merupakan epik tetralogi yang belum ada penghujungnya.

Tiada siapa yang nampak kesudahan hidup masing-masing. Kecuali Tuhan yang merancang. Yang aku boleh buat ialah menapis pengalaman, mengambil yang positif dari yang negatif, baru boleh progresif.

Pada umur 23, rambut ku menipis, cermin mata menebal, musculus rectus abdominis 6 ketul yang aku idamkan mungkin sudah tak kecapaian. Perut ni satu bungkusan pukal, berlipat-lipat macam tayar basikal.

Petang ini sejuk, bukan sejuk cuaca. Sejuk dngan kesyukuran kerana masih dikurniakan peluang.

Satu petang lebih untuk berdoa.
Satu petang lebih untuk bertaubat.
Satu petang lebih untuk merenung diriku dalam cermin dan berkata, "aku masih hidup rupanya, dan masih handsome rupanya."

The trick to keep alive is to keep breathing. Dan Alhamdulillah, aku masih bernafas walaupun tersekat-sekat akibat allergic rhinitis.

PS : Selamat hari lahir Chapo (6 June), Pidud (8 June), Abe (9 June). Aku tak ingat sangat birthday orang, tapi yang ini aku ingat gak.

A Jihad for Love?

“Are you gay?” quipped one of my friends a few years back at high school.

It was not actually out of context, since I did spend a lot of time (9 years yo!) studying in all boys’ school. I would answer his question with an expression of a serial killer gunning for the headshot of the president. I guess it was this schooling period that made me rather shy and unnatural towards girls. But hey, if I am not shy and unnatural, I won’t be the Afiq Fikri you know (or don’t know) right now. But I’m improving and evolving all the time. I guess.

And so, I was at the receiving end of gay jokes most of the time. Sometimes those jokes really hurt me that I would just retreat at some spot alone and start to cry. It was a really dark period of my life. As dark as night, as lonesome as a dove.

Ok. I was just joking. The last few sentences were there to amplify the experience of reading this article.

But as time passed by, I got used to those jokes. And I couldn’t help but laugh off at the fact that people think I’m gay.

Now, it seems there are really gay people out there, which I thought was just a myth. I stumbled across a documentary called ‘A Jihad for Love’ about gay Muslims when I was hunting down for quality documentaries during the winter break. I was a bit surprised and angered by it. I tried to look find the illegal copy of the show but it was to no avail.

Luckily, there was another TV program called simply ‘Gay Muslims’ in the UK. And it was available on YouTube. When asked what is the basis of such behavior on their part, since Islam doesn’t tolerate homosexuality, one of them had the explanation.

7 : 80-84 And (We sent) Lut when he said to his people: What! do you commit an indecency which any one in the world has not done before you? Most surely you come to males in lust besides females; nay you are an extravagant people. And the answer of his people was no other than that they said: Turn them out of your town, surely they are a people who seek to purify (themselves). So We delivered him and his followers, except his wife; she was of those who remained behind. And We rained upon them a rain; consider then what was the end of the guilty.

We all know of the story of the prophet Lut in the al-Quran. And so they argued that, in a verse above, the usage of the word ‘lust’ (shahwat in Arabic) referred to indecent sexual behaviors. It didn’t apply the word ‘love’ in the sentence.

And what he is experiencing with his partner, he says, is called love. So he deems his actions are right because probably he isn’t involved in any abnormal sexual doings.

From the stories of the prophet Lut in the al-Quran, the gist of the verses tells us that homosexuality is intolerable in Islam. Unacceptable. There are a lot of non Muslims who are already confused with the religion and the production of such documentaries won’t be of much help.

I have to admit my 2 favourite writers are gay. Douglas Coupland and Chuck Palahniuk are both gays. I hate this fact but in their environment it is considered acceptable.

But what I am surprised is that there is a freedom to interpret such verses according to their personal thinking. It’s true that al-Quran is a revelation meant for everyone and at times we are able to interpret some verses ourselves. But the way they have interpreted it is blatantly out of context for me.

This is due to the large chunks of ‘freedom movement’ and ‘human rights’ going on in the world. There is also the Al-Fatiha Foundation in American for gay rights. Freedom this freedom that. The thing is there is a fine line of demarcation of freedom, a border which can’t be crossed. This freedom movement puts desires and the human mind and emotions ahead of anything else to quench their demands for a just life, with full freedom of expression. The human mind is limited, and the divinity of religion seems to have lost its cause.

Freedom is just a state of mind. If freedom refers to 100% being able to do what you want to do, then the word itself should not have even existed. If freedom is limited, then it's not the freedom those philosophers and activists are preaching about.

As for the interpretation part, there are scholars us who have studied, understood and mastered the al-Quran. So if they are confused about anything, they should always refer to their commentaries on the al-Quran.

In the end, there are those who really want to change. I’ve read a letter sent by a husband of his troubles with the feelings of homosexuality. But he is trying hard to overcome such emotions and that deserves a salute.

I hope we are always led to the righteous path. Amin.