Le Trompettiste.

Even if there was a God, why did he make me atheist?

2010-02-05T18:00:00.003+08:00

If there was a kind of divine power up there, (or maybe down there; I don't know, he never showed himself) why did he have to make me atheist? I hate to think that God determines my life. No matter how far I run, how far I hide myself, he'd always be there making sure that I'm doing everything that he plans for me. I hate this.

Why, if there is a real God, did he have to make me agnostic and a skeptic of my own religion? I have so many doubts and I can't ask anybody what the real answer is. I ask myself and I just can't bring myself to believe there is even an afterlife. Hell, heaven. For all we know, this might just be myths of yesteryears made up by some dumb stone age homo sapien. Fuck you for making my life such a fucked up religious one, and brainwashing my parents as well, if you did make up God.

If there was a God, why did he have to make the world be so happy for some and just bloody terrible for others? Does he like to see people die? Die so that they could keep God company? He makes mothers see their unborn child die, make people terrorists who uphold his religion, make murderers out of children and yet, so many people still regard God as fair and just.

Why did God make my parents raise and educate me about religion, prayer, and then leave me to agnostic atheism? I have to face certain stereotypes, being a Muslim; I have to act according to certain rules, or laws that have no logical meaning at all at times, and I cannot be seen outside wearing certain things on myself. Worst of all, I have to fucking ACT in front of my ex-religious teachers every time I bump into them somewhere.

God is one big damned joke. From today onwards, I'm an agnostic atheist.

Run far far away.

2010-01-15T20:39:00.003+08:00

No I'm not running away from home to live on the streets.

I'm running because I hate myself. Because I'm fat. Too fat to even feel alive. I look in the mirror and I feel so disgusted.

I need to run to save my own life. To feel fucking pain after a long while of not exerting myself. I want to feel the fucking pain! I want to be exhausted to run back home and just lie down on my bed, and close my eyes knowing I'm a bit thinner. Fat is never pretty. It never was. :(

Thin thin thin. I want to be thin and wear whatever I want. Be whoever I want to be. Make my mother proud of me, get straight As for the next major A level exam or wherever I'm going to.

I feel fucking fat. So I'm going to get my running shoes and have a night run around the neighbourhood just to feel a bit skinnier. A bit more decent. And a bit more secure of myself.

Pukity puke.

2010-01-15T08:10:00.002+08:00

I have been waking up for the past 2 days betwixt 12 midnight and 1am to a sudden gag in my throat. The gag reflex then prompts me to run to the toilet and puke. I don't understand why. It seems like there is a certain virus in my body thats making me vomit out my food. You really don't wanna know the details of the waste product expelled from my mouth.

Yesterday it was bile. Yes! I studied Food and Nutrition for my O levels so I do know a bit of info on bile. Its a yellowish-green liquid substance that's present in the pancreas(? I think so.) It is secreted into the duodenum to emulsify fats so that they can be acted on by the enzyme lipase more rapidly and effectively. I am quite sure it was bile that I puked out.

A few seconds before the nausea reaches its peak of vomiting, I would be coughing violently(imagine typical smoker's cough plus a bit of gagging in the throat) before trying to hold it in and run to the toilet.

I think the best option now is to wait and see if the next few days are gonna bring more episodes of nausea and vomiting. If the symptoms still persist after about 5-7 days or so, I'm going to the doctor to have my throat checked again. Last time was lacerated oesophagus, so what now? :(

I don't even want to think about it.

Guten tag, und viel Gluck!

2010-01-11T10:05:00.002+08:00

Faen!

Herr Grottenschwoller fil trupp. Fur heine dur manten gutschken.
Lorev dit goppensteine. Farsejunden hitre dem kinder. Wersch! Fahrtsche gunter hunsterchen.
Upp der fuhr gettein dir uhfper weschkinden. Lisch fend rehr und, guten tag und viel Gluck!

2010-01-07T08:53:00.002+08:00

You know that feeling when you see someone else your age going to a club and you're envious because you didn't get invited to underage parties as well?

I hate being superficial, but whatever. The human nature has cravings for social life that needs to be satiated as well, though the needs don't serve any immediate function nor purpose other than to get worked up at a club with the noise and seeing drunk people around trying to party but can't really dance proper.

I have to admit I miss ZoukOut.. It was definitely fun, though many would presume I'm channeling my immaturity as fun because I got admitted to a dance party organised by Zouk for the first time. Well. Yeah. I was quite worked up before the whole party started because it was the first ZoukOut I've ever been to. Then again, my more mature side asks me "But isn't it a waste of time and energy going to a stupid dance party?". I didn't want to listen to my mature bullshit that night(I was not in the mood to), so I just didn't give a crap about contemplating whether or not to enter ZoukOut.

With 3 glucose pills in one hand, and no drink to salvage my dry throat with, I downed the pills at one go. I did feel abit off on the dancefloor, what more with the strobe lights flashing every 2 seconds or so. It was all in the name of teenage curiosity and perhaps, some rebellion towards my usually composed and utterly boring self.

I really miss the whole experience. Pushing with other crazy mad people dancing to Lady Gaga's Just Dance... Finding my other mates in the midst of a crazy dancing crowd... Getting feet stomped on and my own Chuck Taylors stamping other feet... It was one hell of a night.

Next time I'm there, probably I'd wear Doc Martens. Stomp stomp stomp. :)

Details In The Fabric-Jason Mraz

2010-01-06T00:10:00.002+08:00

Calm down

Deep breaths

And get yourself dressed instead

Of running around

And pulling all your threads and

Breaking yourself up

If it's a broken part, replace it

If its a broken arm then brace it

If it's a broken heart then face it

And hold your own

Know your name

And go your own way

Hold your own

Know your name

And go your own way

And everything will be fine

Hang on

Help is on the way

Stay strong

I'm doing everything

Hold your own

Know your name

And go your own way

Hold your own

Know your name

And go your own way

And everything

Everything will be fine

Everything

Are the details in the fabric

Are the things that make you panic

Are your thoughts results of static cling?

Are the things that make you blow

Hell, no reason, go on and scream

If you're shocked it's just the fault

Of faulty manufacturing.

Everything will be fine

Everything in no time at all

Everything

Hold your own

And know your name

Go your own way

Are the details in the fabric (Hold your own)

Are the things that make you panic (Know your name)

Are your thoughts results of static cling? (Go your own way)

Hold your own

Know your name

Go your own way.

Are the details in the fabric (Hold your own)

Are the things that make you panic (Know your name)

Is it Mother Nature's sewing machine? (Go your own way)

Are the things that make you blow (Hold your own)

Hell no reason go on and scream (Know your name)

If youre shocked it's just the fault (Go your own way)

Of faulty manufacturing

Everything will be fine

Everything in no time at all

Hearts will hold

2010-01-05T23:21:00.003+08:00

Someday, somehow. I know I can do this.

I'll just have to keep persevering.

2010-01-04T22:25:00.003+08:00

I haven't been very productive in the content of my recent blog spamming, I notice. Partly due to the fact that I have nothing much to note down because most of my days are spent at home caring for my bro who's turning five soon (yay! when he turns seven, hopefully he can go to school on his own, goddammit. I have social needs too), and also because I'm too lazy to update.

The previous Saturday, when I was at Art Friend to make some necessary and unnecessary purchases, there was this 20-something year-old woman(I can't possibly call her a 'girl'!) who went to ask somewhat, from my point of view, very ignorant questions to the poor Malay dude from the awesome Art Friend staff. The poor guy was trying to sort out new paints and shelf them when she 'demanded' an explanation from the dude.

Here's the conversation between them:

20-something: Excuse me, whats the difference between these paints?

Malay dude: Oh. This is fabric paint and this is dye.

He probably thought that explanation was sufficient. Yes, its very much a no-brainer answer, but for the lady... I guess she just didn't get it.

20-something: I see... So, whats the difference?

Me: *quietly sighs and pretends to be pre-occupied with choosing my selection of acrylic paint to purchase*

Malay dude: *looks up and sees her still standing in front of him* Miss, the dye is for soaking fabric into so that the fabric changes colour completely. The fabric paint is for painting specific decorations or words, etc on a cloth or piece of fabric.

20-something: Oh, thanks and sorry. *walks off*

Malay dude: Nah, its fine.

So I walk away before the urge to *palmface* overrides my conscious decision-making mechanism in my head thats preventing me from being expressing my astonishment.

After getting canvas and the necessary paints, I head back to the aisle where they shelf all the paintbrushes, which is just the opposite side of the paints section. I saw the guy again, still, working with another new boxful of acrylic paint to sort out onto the partially empty shelf.

Again the 20-something reappeared out of nowhere. She walked to the same Malay dude again.

20-something: Excuse me, sorry to bother you again, but whats the difference between these two?

dude: *looks up* Oh, no, its really fine. This is acrylic paint and this is oil paint. The acrylic paint is commonly used for canvas painting, its water based. The oil paint can also be used for painting on a canvas, but its oil-based.

20-something: So which one is good for fabric painting?

Me: (OH MY GOD) *small gesture of palmface* (I couldn't help it!)

dude: No, no. M'am, if you want to paint on fabrics, you should use fabric paint.

20-something: Oh... okay. So which one is fabric paint?

Me: *I was suspecting some kind of joke at this point of time made by the 20-something to frustrate the dude*

dude: Its over there, by the corner of the aisle.

20-something: Thank you! This is exactly what I need to dye my shirt!

Me: *roll eyes...* (think Shin-Chan comic character expression, the one with the -.-''' kind of look)

dude: *carries on working, maybe with a bit more anger and gusto now* <--- increased rate of productivity! Good.

I can't believe what I heard. I just walked off from there and proceeded to make payments at the counter. Walking away from the shop, I saw the sign 'vacancy for staff' on the glass panel of Art Friend. Sigh. If only they knew how hard it is working in a shop like that. Imagine getting customers who don't know a crap about art. Not saying that they are a nuisance, but it just goes to show how ignorant they are of the kind of purchases they are making. If you don't know what you're looking for, then how would you ever know what to buy? Its just that... you people can sometimes be a huge public nuisance.

:)
teehee.

2010-01-03T23:31:00.003+08:00

The dream ends.. How I wish it would've lasted a bit longer. I awaken to the streak of sunshine pouring through the window; this light I've come to acknowledge for so many years has never been so eager to pull me out of my sweet slumber. The dream... I try to savour the last few precious fragments of the dream that I could still recall, but I know, I shouldn't. It cuts me on the inside to think about it any further. Just another foolish thought that would never come true in reality. I have to get over it already. Sigh...

I often seek much needed solace in my thoughts but sometimes even trying to engage in thought is difficult. I don't think I am ready for the real world. I want to stray as far away from reality because its too painful to bear... Every single moment feels like a nightmare, and I just want to float away in a dream to a distant peaceful place where love doesn't cheat on you and life is not as cold and harsh. The way I see things, I wish I could share it with someone; be reassured, be told that everything would be fine in the end.

In a dream there wouldn't be depression or depressed people. Life would be free. Everyone would be liberated from their gloom, they'd be free, like birds released from their cages. There'd be no painful secrets to keep nor tell. And there would be someone to tell me everything is fine.

dull

2010-01-01T22:31:00.003+08:00

All the sensitive people are dead.

Too much hurt in the wound to be healed again.

On libraries and dusty encyclopaedias

2009-12-31T22:43:00.003+08:00

I have decided to write at least 1000 words a day, six times a week to hone my writing skills and to help myself get over writer's block that I have been getting these past weeks (this being partly the reason as to why I have nothing much to say in my other posts).

I don't really know what I'm going to write about yet, be it fiction or non-fiction. Most probably non-fiction... But I won't say for sure yet. Life may get in the way of my consistency in writing at times and the lack of inspiration too, but I sincerely hope to start writing loads of stuff again like I used to in days of yore. Dictionary, here I come. (I think I need a new dictionary too.)

I remember telling Mdm Azizah about wanting to get the awesome encyclopaedia set thats been sitting pretty on the school library shelves, mostly due to the fact that I love them so much(they have a whole collection dedicated to philosophers' works!) and also due to the sad fact that nobody ever reads them. If the school doesn't give it to me, I just hope someone will at least read the books. They're really good. Such a steal if I could get them for free from the library though..

I hope the school library upgrades somehow and gets more good books in. I see too many storybooks meant for primary school kids than books meant for people my age in the library. Go figure. The head librarian hasn't been updating and buying good books. I do wish to recommend some classics like 'I know why the caged bird sings' because the library is so outdated in the fiction section. Whilst I was in Westwood I fondly recall being in the library most of my time because of the extensive encyclopaedia and reference section. The fiction section was a good place to hide away and read too. The library was overall good, but I think the atmosphere and ambience could be a little better. Maybe add in some comfy seats here and there near the shelves and VOILA!

I've been ranting too much on the topic of libraries. Should stop now, since I've pledged to write a 1000 words a day. I need to start working on my writing project.

Going to find some Shakespeare sonnets to read. I miss reading them aloud to myself..
Maybe Shakespeare can give some inspiration?

RIP, Rev.

2009-12-30T11:48:00.004+08:00

I heard about the news that The Rev has passed away just this morning.. Such a young lad, and so talented. I don't know how Avenged Sevenfold will find a replacement, or whether they CAN find a replacement for their sorrowful loss. Such an early death too...

I don't know for sure what The Rev died of, but I'm sure this is a terrible shock to all Avenged Sevenfold fans. I myself am a huge fan of A7X, since introduced by a cousin of mine about 2 years ago. Last year when they had the concert in Singapore, I believe The Rev was in good health, playing as awesome as ever. Why did he have to die?!

I do wish my sincerest condolences to his family and the rest of the band members of A7X. The world has indeed lost a great soul... A drummer never to be forgotten.

RIP, James Sullivan. The world definitely misses you.

Divine music.

2009-12-28T17:12:00.002+08:00

Just listen.

Really nice.

2009-12-26T23:14:00.003+08:00

Today I had a really good time. Today was the day when we had a Santa Claus mission, giving out gifts to total strangers. It beckons me to think of how some people are so used to being trapped/pretending to be trapped in their own world, that when another stranger gives them a gift, they feel reluctant to accept it. Probably there are other reasons to why they don't accept the gifts, but lets not talk about that shall we?

I really feel good talking to agents. Because we are all strangers, no one discriminates and isolates anyone else, because everybody is accepted as they are in the flash mob community. If only more people realised the benefits of flash mobbing and meeting random strangers to socialise, how happier their world would be. I already feel great, even without happy pills. Its awesome how big a difference something so random gives to your life.

All those long talks in Starbucks... :)

Impulsive yak.

2009-12-25T22:03:00.003+08:00

I hate reading posts from past years. When I read my posts again, it seems to me that I painted an image of myself being impulsive, fickle (of which I still am), insensitive and carefree. I was somewhat happier then, reading all those happy posts of which mostly babbles and pointless words reigned. I don't know why I felt and wrote so differently, perhaps its due to my own feelings now influencing the perspective I read my posts from.

In 2007, my blog posts were few. That was also the year when I picked up cutting.. I still cut. It has been so embedded in the flesh that I sometimes cut without consciousness. I'd use anything in reach. Scissors. Penknives. Rulers. Nails. Anything.

I do regret my past, I try to forget it and move over to a new life, but as I progress in maturity, it seems like I have a new battle to fight within myself. I find the source of my problems to be hidden. But I keep feeling ennui. I told a friend about this, she says its dangerous, but I don't know how to keep myself distracted enough to not think about it. I find myself thinking too deep into matters that don't need too much of my attention. Unnecessary clog in my mind. Maybe that is what's been keeping me floating away in my thoughts. I often find myself awaken from a reverie these days, but I don't recall what the thought was. Certainly something powerful enough to partially drag me out of consciousness.

Held by Natalie Grant

2009-12-23T22:18:00.003+08:00

Amazing song, her voice makes me want to cry. I know I should just let go and let the tears run, but I can't seem to let go. I feel restricted.

I can't sleep.

2009-12-22T23:34:00.002+08:00

I left you bound and tied with suicidal memories
Selfish beneath the skin
But deep inside
I'm not insane.

-Avenged Sevenfold, "Almost Easy"

I feel emptiness. The space between myself and the rest of the world is insane.
I know I'm okay, I'm still alive and in utmost sanity. But somehow, everything feels so distant and superficial. It kills me to know that probably my mentality is still not normal, yes I do get the blues sporadically, but how do I say this. Is it normal, to feel not normal almost everyday of your life?

The verses of Avenged Sevenfold's song expresses the exact way I've treated my own mind with. But I can't control myself at times. My mind is a thing of its own, I'm just a powerless host.

I hope this all ends soon. Its like one really bad nightmare. I can't sleep, and I can't even be properly awake. I'm a walking zombie. These past few days have meant no sleep, my body is tortured because of the unsolved problems in my head.

I just can't help it.

Terrible insomnia.

2009-12-04T07:57:00.003+08:00

22/10/2009, 12.41am

I'd like to write in a black pen because it signifies a calmness, somewhat neutrality if one be allowed to say so. Maybe due to the natural tendency to use a black pen, one may be influenced, possibly forcefully mindf***ed, to punctuate words of much emotional sentiment and lashings of suppressed anger. A psychoanalyst may term my writings as hypergraphia, but in all upheld truth, it is untrue. Though these future series of writings may seem pointless, much less worth one's time reading through, one finds a great sense of gratitude in emotional rendering on paper. One learns to be thankful of the warmth and distance of thoughts in writing; it may give rise to unlinked word now and then, but writing never intended to force its writers to write interlinked, fully logical and in a socially acceptable mannerism. I am never more myself than when I am writing. Whilst I ink these etches, squirming and squeezing itself delightfully on oxidised paper, I find being grounded is of no value. One revels in peace though, not anger nor animosity, hence, my hand shall refrain itself from bullshitting more. Again my thoughts fly to another part of my mind, arguing on whether the black ink is really having a terrible influence on my head. I don't seem to understand my train of thoughts, but it really seems to come as a logical sequence, though contents vary in such unlinked manner.

22/10/2009, 12.55am

Now my writings would be inked blue. Representing my refrained ideas on paper, one gets the hang of writing useless shit soon enough, but one also has to suppress and repress the squiggly etches one tends to liken to, it is at the moment 12.55am, a terrible moment to be writing. Support free arts and gay rights movements! LGBTs are like us, they have feelings too, just that God didn't want them to be with the 'normal' people. As my redbull and peppermint mocha kicks in, I feel terrible in my stomach. I feel hunger pangs as I sit in Starbucks cafe, talking about mutually inclusive issues, like how proficient one can 'bullshit' as they term it. The people talking have lost rein of my attention as I attempt to not derail from the current train of discussions. I see a certain sincerity in some opinions, whilst others were born to follow social rules, the play-it-safers. As I try to fight and overcome hunger, talk about bisexuals arises with the mention of Adam Lambert and I find myself 'bullshitting' to the listeners. One looks shocked as I express my views but I remain true to myself and let m words run smooth. Once in a while I do notice Syamil singing background jazz music in the cafe but I think that was all that stood out amongst the ambient noise. The chatter of the groups seem so much like white noise to me. I receive a call and retaliate. Being told that I would be grounded my first thought ran to parasuicide, but too much risk is involved, hence, the writing at this moment.