Simplicity

If only life was simple.

Simple as sitting by the beach.
In silence, just the sound of the calm waves.
Maybe the sound of children playing, in the distance.
With the view of the sun setting.
That calm and carefree feeling.
Doesn't it give you the chill,
just thinking about it?

Can't this moment and feeling just be constant
throughout life?
Just mellow.
Just a good music.

It can't, though.

Because life is not simple.
It's beautiful, beauty.

That comes in the form
Of the time when your heart broke.
Of the time when you made your parents smiled.
Of the time when you lost and found yourself.

I wish, life was simple.

Simple as this cigarette, I'm smoking.
Listening to Afternoon Acoustic
Writing down my thoughts.
With a hot coffee to be sip, by my side.

or sitting by the beach...  

Harry Caffey Cage

There I was. Sitting in the dark room, filled with my colleagues. The chief was showing pictures of victims of a serial killer. Some people were sleeping or yawning. It’s been a long presentation of different serial killers. But I wasn’t sleeping or yawning. My eyes were wide open and focus as an arrow. This was the moment I was waiting for since the first day I entered the force. The serial killer on the slide was Harry Caffey Cage, my father’s murderer. Infamously known as HCC.

HCC is a member of an organization, called Kanker. Kanker is a contracted serial killer group when the mafia or gangster doesn’t want to get their hands dirty. HCC was nicknamed the silent killer, due to his preference of executing his victim through the attack of the liver. His victims are usually vulnerable to him due to their lifestyle and diet. He would infiltrate his victim, slowly and silently. However, as the old Malay saying goes: “Air tenang jangan disangka tiada buaya”. In English, it means:  “Don’t assume still waters hold no crocodile”.   

This presentation was showing the different ways HCC would torture his victims. One slide was showing his favorite method called Achit. First, he would torture his victim till his victim has no appetite. Due to this, his victim would be too weak to fight him of; therefore his job will be easier. As this continues, the victim would lose a tremendous amount of weight. Then, the main part of Achit: he would fill fluid in the abdomen until the victim is bloated.

 Another slide came up.  Another favorite of HCC: The John. In The John, HCC would give a huge strong blow on his victim’s right upper quadrant abdomen and it would block the flow of bile out of the liver. This result to excess of bile and bilirubin (one of its by-product), a pigment derived from dead red blood cells. Since bilirubin is yellow, the victim shows the appearance of yellow on the skin and eyes.

Can you imagine a skinny, bloated, yellow person? I don’t need to. I remembered. I remembered my father being like that and being weak and being in pain, oh my god, the pain. He would usually feel it on the right upper quadrant abdomen. I remembered I would wake up in the middle of the night, my mom would call for me and I would go straight to the kitchen, filled a bowl with hot-warm water, and soaked a small towel in it. Then I went straight to my dad, who was lying on the bed and moaning in pain. I placed the cloth on the area of the pain and gave two pills of strong painkiller. And I would quietly pray. Pray. Pray while he went through the pain. Pray so the pain went away quickly. Pray that this phase would end. Pray that he would live.

Before another slide came up, I walked out of the room, while holding my breath, in order to not show any emotion on my face, as if I just needed to go to the toilet. As I closed the door behind me, I let out a huge gasp, letting the air rush into my lungs while tears ran down my face. It’s been a while since my dad passed away, but I remembered him every day. I remembered the pain, the suffering, and tears he went through. I remembered an attempt we tried to fight HCC called The Himo. It’s currently one of method that shows success when fighting with any member of Kanker. The idea of The Himo is that: you have to be killed to live. It’s basically taking in poison. There’s many type of The Himo, for HCC, its call TACE. The night after the TACE, I sat the entire night next to my dad’s hospital bed. He was in so much pain. The worst I've seen. I don’t know if he slept that night because he was moaning in pain the entire night or throwing up blood. This might sound fucked up, but I’m glad I was there to hold a tray when he threw up. I wasn't there most of the part when this happened to him, but I’m glad I was there during that time, I was there to go through a bit with him. Something I’ll never forget.  

 I vowed to be the one who will kill, no, to erase HCC from the world. Currently, the force can’t take him down. He is too strong. He is still out there, torturing someone’s father or mother. One day will come when I will directly stare at his face, and when that moment comes, I would be holding the perfect gun, fingers on the trigger that will end his life. I will have my revenge. I swear on that.       

In loving memory of Nasaruddin Bin Md Razali.

An amazing father, husband, friend, and human.

1961-2013

The Cries of Life

Tick, tock, tick, tock...
A cry of curiosity,
Tick, tock, tick, tock...
A cry of misunderstanding,
Tick, tock, tick, tock...
A cry of euphoria,
Tick, tock, tick, tock...
A cry of sadness,
Tick, tock, tick, tock...
A cry of joy,
Tick, tock, tick, tock...
A cry of frustration,
Tick, tock, tick, tock...
A cry of blessed,
Tick, tock, tick, tock...
A cry of curiousity,
Tick....

About Time (8/10)

If you’re not into slow movies, then you’ll probably not like About Time. I have to give it to you, it’s quite a slow movie. But it builds up really well. Richard Curtis, the writer and director, was a genius on how he made this movie well and round with humor, wit and drama at the same time. But you can’t be surprise with a man who wrote Notting Hill and Mr. Bean. I’m quite a fan of slow movie. It gives me the opportunity to see the development of characters and story, and it usually gives me the ‘oh what a good movie’ feeling at the end of the movie. Because you know, it's not just another baseless romcom movie, but it's a movie with an important life lesson. Hey, it doesn't hurt when a nice, fastbeat cover of How Long Will I Love You (Ellie Goulding) is played in the movie, right?

About Time is a story about Tim, a typical, awkward, 21 year old ginger, looking for love. Tim has a pretty normal British family: the typical strong mom, the laidback cool dad, the quirky uncle, and the carefree but lovely sister. It seems like a normal and boring story, but it has a little twist in it: Tim and his dad are time travelers. But this not a sci-fi time travelling story, more on, having the ability to do things differently. So, Tim uses it on finding and getting the love of his life, Mary. Eventually, he got her but the way he got her was pretty complicated and confusing, at time. But I liked it, it was a fresh attempt of chasing love than the normal predictable romcom movies. The wedding was a fun scene too. But it wasn’t the romance of the movie that gave me ‘oh what a good movie’ feeling, it was more of the family part.

However, first, I want to talk about the 3 main characters (Tim, Mary, and Dad) of this movie. I think the casting of these 3 main characters were really excellent picked. Domhnall Gleeson was spot on with the protagonist, Tim. He made Tim so relatable to the audience, sometimes you sympathized him, sometimes you loved him, and sometimes you’re just annoyed by him. Domhnall Gleeson made you feel, everyone has a Tim in them.  Rachael McAdams portrayed the dream girl part very well. She was insecure, but perfect and loveable at the same time. But the best character was played by Bill Nighy, the dad. He played it cool, composed, and witty but when the sadness part of the movie came, he made sure it was profound. Round of applause for Bill Nighy, he made the story moved. He made the movie more than just another boring and pointless romcom, but made sure an important lesson is delivered in this movie. He was also the reason that made the movie touched me.

 The last scene when Tim and his dad spend their last time with each other was a really devastating scene. For those who knows me, dad is a pretty sensitive and touching issue for me. In a way, this movie is one of those ‘art mocks reality’ for me: close father and son relationship, cancer, inevitable death. About Time is not really about time traveling, but literally about time. The most expensive thing we can give someone in this world is time, because we won’t get it back. That’s the important lesson that I got from this movie. This movie unveiled that lesson gracefully and beautiful, at the same time. The hard truth is the time we are given in this world is short compared to the time we want to spend with our loved ones, so we just have to make the best out of it without the need to “travel back at all, not even for the day, I just try to live every day as if I’ve deliberately come back to this one day, to enjoy it, as if it was the full final day of my extraordinary, ordinary life.”

Well put, Tim.

Is peace a myth?

 “the civilization endure a long golden era with peace and prosperity” there were million lines like this in the books that I read when I was younger. I loved it. It gave me a goal, a purpose, a dream. But now, I’m older, I know there’s no such thing as peace. As far as I know, I’ve never known peace.

Peace- “a state or period in which there is no war or a war has ended.” Wars have ended, but there’s never a period in which there is no war. Because when one war ends, another begins.

People of past fought for peace. People of the present fight without a reason. Maybe they do have a reason like greed, hate, and power. But not peace. I haven’t heard the word ‘peace’ for a while already. Has peace become something of a myth? 

Emptiness

A bottomeless pit.
A never-ending fall.
An inevitable doom awaits.

A hole in a chest.
Love and happiness
Can not fill this void.

The heart beats.
Beats without purpose.
Purpose to live.

Feel the beating,
Not from the chest,
Just in the mind.

Lost in the wood.
Searching for home.
A home that is lost.

Forever.

Moments

Life is not measured by numbers,

Not by specific time or date.

Just moments.

Positive moments.

There are setbacks. 

Positive moments in disguise.

Just get through it,

Survive it,

Own it.

The result of this practice,

Experience.

Accumulation of experiences,

Greatness. 

You are...

The sun in my cave,
The ray of light in my darkest days.

Goosebumps.
Smiles.
 Roller coasters.

Open a window, even though all doors are shut.
The last push, even though I'm gasping for air.

Undescrible.
Desirable.

You're my first.
You'll be my last.

You are love.

Happy 5 Months, Baby. =)

The Burning Forest

A burning forest in front of me,
Ground disappearing, catching up with me.
Death awaits in front of me, behind of me.
Right here is safe, but not for long.
I have to make a move.
Now.


Smoke has been invading me since 18.
I live by the craving of smokes in me,
I might as well die from it.
Cause I'm sure, that's where I'll end up.


I sprint toward the fire.
Hoping the fire within me will overcome
The fire outside of me.
Sweats, suffocating, sins.
I lived.


The burning forest has become me.
As I survived the burning forest
I'm welcomed by paradise.


From the ashes of the burning forest,
Lives begin.
Including mine.

A Certain Deadline

Looking down,
Cars moving,
People walking.
Every car has a destination, a location, a mission.
Every person has a thought, a goal, a dream.
To a certain deadline.

Life is a company.
For a company to function,
A certain deadline to all workers.
A certain deadline makes life function.
Different for each person, but same goal.
Division of labor.

Once the certain deadline is completed,
Another one comes in.
The paycheck? To live life.
Person without a certain deadline
Isn't really living.
The hobos, the beggers, the bums.
They are the unemployment of life.

A certain deadline.
What's your certain deadline?

Fight, Comrades.

Fight, comrades.

There's a time in life
Where we just got to fight.
This is the time.
This is why we are here.

Fight, comrades.

For our rights.
For our time.
For love.

Fight, comrades.

Let struggle drives us.
Every energy drain from your body.
Tears and sweats seem no different.
Headache and heartbreak are from one source.

Fight.

It's worth fighting for.
A light at the end of the tunnel.
A lesson to be learnt.

Fight.

With a spear in your hand
And hope in your mind.
That's what keep you going.
Tomorrow, that's where we are going.

Fight, comrades.

With a blunt spear,
And with no hope.
At least, we are fighting.
We are living.

Fight, comrades.

We gotten this far together.
Live or die, we are here.
Everything happens for a reason.
Don't give up.
God is not dead.

Fight, comrades.

This is our crossroad.
This is why we are here.

Win or loose,
We live.
We fight.

PCQE will remain immortal in us, so will him.

Do you realize sometimes you can't decide if you hate or like the person? It's a fucking hard decision because it's a roller-coaster ride of hate/like toward the person. The best part of it, it's mutual. Well, to me, that's love. It's like good people and Death Eaters. "Besides, the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters." (Sirius Black). Well, I believe that's what Mr. Mack and his students had. Mr. Mack was the most annoying, mean, tiny Scottish man my AIS friends and I had ever known. But without a doubt, he was the best teacher that we ever had.

He was an English teacher in Ashgabat International School (AIS) when I was in grade 10. He taught us only one school year, but boy, what an impact he had on our lives. He came to the school with a mission to revolutionize our English toward a better future. We were offended, of course. Most of us grew up speaking English. He invented  introduced a system called "Point Context Quote Explanation" (PCQE) to write short answer or essay questions. A single grammar or structure mistake, he would brutally failed us in his annoying Scottish accent and told us to redo again. As time passed, our writing got better and we got close to him: exchanging DVDs, goofing around, playing basketball. He even suggested me literature because he knew I was a book-worm. I remembered at the end of the school year, I cracked my pelvis and I was out of school for a week. When I got back to school, it was finals. I received an A+ from him, I thought it was a pity mark. But during the end-of-the-year assembly, he presented me an award for my hard-work and my A+ essay. During the assembly, he said something like this: "Azim was one of my worst students, constantly failing essays, really bad grammar, and no content. But he never gave up to improve. Today, he's one of my best student with no mistakes in grammar and writes a really good essay." I  was deeply touched. That year, he left AIS. It was a sad moment. After a few months, my family had to go back to Malaysia. I was sure I will meet-up with him in the future, having drinks, talking about life and the good old days.

I received this yesterday, from a friend:

‎"Dear jeren, I am Ians' mother and Elaine sent on yor messages to me. We are as you may imagine devastated at the loss of Ian, it was so tragic and so sudden. He was working in Brunei and very happy. His contract had only a few more weeks to run and he had decided to come home to us after nearly 10 years of working away. We are still not certain, but he either got caught in a rip tide or his surf board hit him on the head, either way he was found on the beach and it was already too late. Your messages and those of your f riends have brought us great comfort. Please will you pass on my sincere thanks. We brought Ian home and laid him to rest on a little hillside not far from where we live. If you or anyone else would like to keep in touch with us we would be only too delighted to hear from you . Yours truly Anne Mack (Mrs.)"

I was devastated. How can a great and talented man just died? He was young and had so much give to the world. After moments of thinking, smoking, pondering in confusion and sadness, at the balcony, I fell into a nap and had the dream of having the drink that I never had with him. 

We were at a local Scottish bar, drinking and talking. I can't remember most part, but we were having a good time. I told him about my life, studying medicine and all. He said, he is in a better place, now. He told me to study hard and thrive in life. He guess he did his part in the world since God has decided to end it. I believe he did. I came to a realization about the honor of being a teacher. In life, every great man's dream is to achieve immortality- Achilles, John Keats, Gregor Mendel and others. They are all immortal through their achievements in war, literature and science. We achieve immortality by making a mark in the world and touching life of others. Mr. Mack did. As long as PCQE is used by his students and people who knew him remembers him, Ian Mack will live on. Before saying goodbye, I asked him if any of this is real, he answered:

I woke up from my nap, and it started to drizzle. I knew, it was real.

Just like Dumbledore to Harry, Mr. Mack was one of my mentors. He lived his life to the fullest and had no regrets.


I won't let you down.

RIP Mr. Mack.

We Wait

I'm fucking immortal,
My name shall be forever imprinted in the heavens,
Beauty got nothing on me.
I fucking created it.
Let the devils speak,
Judgement got nothing on me,
When immortality is destined for me.

Achilles had his heels,
I have my secrets.
Life is meant to be shared.
Truth is non existent.
Where does love comes in?

We are slowly decaying.
Death has waited for us.
Since we were born.
I'm not dead, not technically.
Not on a Friday night.
Not when I felt love.
Death is not the enemy.
its back to where we belong.

Bitter has stared at us for too long.
We are the sons of sorrow.
Let the silence speaks.
Let the birds sing.
Let the brothers stand under the orange sky.
Then, let us reap what we sow.
Let us live. 

A Slug is Still A Slug

Every work he has done means something.
Every drawing he has drew is carefully drawn.
Every piece he has created is a portion of his life.

He has made art from the skeptic's scratches.
He has made art from the ground's garbage.
He has made art from nature's nourishment.
He has made art from the heavenly haywire.

It was always his goal:
To change the ordinary to extraordinary.
Something in the world's eyes, it is simple and plain.
But in his eyes, it is not.
To him, how can anything at all be simple and plain?
Everything in the universe, earth, and life is extraordinary.

His art piece has never failed.
Every showing, the audience applaud is the stomps of giants.
Every showing, their eyes open up so wide and amazed
As if they saw beauty for the first time.
His art piece has never failed.

Until one day, it did.

He learned that
You can never change who you are.
He tried to created something
By changing it's core.

He never believe anything was evil or bad.
Just misunderstood, by society.
Just like everything was plain and simple.

The element's past doesn't mind him
Because what is done can't be undone.
The artist focus on it's future.
His product.

This was his mistake.
Bad and evil do exist.
It's a characteristic.

A slug is still a slug.
He can't make it
A better, respected, and beautiful animal.
It is not who slug is.
And it can't change their natural core either.
How can a slug be attractive?
A slug can mate with two at the same time,
And it can also think it's attractive by doing that,
But it's just sad.
It's a self-proclaimed compliment.

He tried for months.
But no muse happened for this art.
He hasn't failed.
He just wished
He didn't spend more time than he should.

Mirrors

It's a hideous reflection.

He said:

This is why

He left us.

She said:

This is why

She doesn't love me.

They said:

This is why

I'm a failure.

It's a beautiful gift.

I say:

This is who

I am, today.

I say:

This is what

She is missing.

I say:

This is 

Godsend.

Fuck him, her, and them. 

Fuck them all.

I am who I am. 

God Within Us

Sometimes, I feel God is inside of us.
Like, a part of Him is embedded in us.
Since, we were born.
So, He's with us.
Every, single moment.

When you are
Hopeless.
Giving up.
Powerless.

Just
Concentrate,
Meditate,
Silence.

There's a small voice.
Part of us.

That pushes us
To keep going.
To believe.

Bad or good,
Sinners or saint,
Partyer or prayer.

The voice will be there.

That's Him.

His unconditional love. 

It's beautiful.

Thank you.

Insyaallah.

The Walker and The Bus

There was a boy. Somewhere in the Midwest. An empty desert, an empty road. He is a Walker. His job is to walk straight, non-stop to the inevitable end. He doesn't know when, where or how he'll meet this end, but he knows that he just need to keep walking.

He has walked a million miles, but he still has to walk another million miles. Most of the time, he walked. But there were some times, where Buses picked him up for a ride. The Bus Rides were wonderful. It taught him about things he never knew. The beauty of the bus is magnificent. The vast and long ride is just amazing. How can a simple thing makes you feel this way? "No wonder everyone is chasing to get on a bus." However, everything ends. When the Bus Rides ended, the Bus would drop him somewhere in the empty desert, an empty road. Back to square one. He would think the mistake he did or the action that he didn't do that caused the Bus to drop him here. The pain, guilt and regret were time and energy consuming. The time it took for him to start walking again would be the same time that would take him to walk to this same point. Back to square one. A waste of time and energy. He is a Walker. He didn't have time for any of this. So, he decided to never take the Bus again. So, he started walking.

He's back to walking. Hundred of beautiful Buses passed him, but he wouldn't take it. Maybe a few times, he thought of taking a Car. Small and quick. But he never did, because no transportation can triumph the beauty of the Bus.

One day, an old, ugly Bus stopped in front of him. He heard stories of this Bus from the Wind. She's trouble, careless and has bad intentions in everything she did. An unacceptable to the society. The Walker's first impression of her was that she has a bad past. But he couldn't get rid of the feeling that her bad past could open up to a bright future. The Bus has potential and she's not like the other Buses that he has seen. She's kind, honest and has beauty inside. She wanted to be in the society but she didn't know how to.

A Sandstorm was coming up ahead. It's nothing big, but it's harsh. The Walker knew that this Bus would not survive. The Walker decided to help her. What kind of person wouldn't help someone in need?

The Walker helped her. He shaped her up, fixed her and supported her. He defended her from the Wind, but at the same time, made her feel welcome to them. While fixing her, the Walker learned more about her: her dreams, her thinking, and her life. There were times when the Walker wanted to take the Bus Ride from her. Maybe they could ride to the inevitable together. Just maybe. That's all you could wish for in this empty desert. Someone to accompany you to the inevitable end, just riding into the sunset, happily. But she was still not stable. But she was getting there. It made him happy.

The process wasn't all smooth. No process is never that smooth. There were time when they were both annoyed at each other. The Sandstorm was near, time was ending, the Walker didn't think she would make it in time. However, the Bus disagreed. The Walker kept on pressuring her, but as he pressured her, a gap was created between them. The Walker couldn't stand the sight of the Bus breaking down when the Sandstorm hit them. Just like birds teaching their young to fly, one day, the young flies off without looking back. That's what happened to the Walker and the Bus. The gap got bigger and the Bus got better. Society is accepting her and she's ready for the Sandstorm.

One day, the Bus drove off and stop at the next attractive walker she saw. The Walker could still see the Bus up ahead, with another walker. She's thinking of giving the walker a lift. And it pains him. "Am I really not that worth it?" The Walker thought. However, the Bus seemed happy and that's what the Walker ever wished for her.

Back to square one. Although there was no Bus Ride, he did feel the pain. But this time, the Walker did not feel guilt or regret. He helped her, and he tried his best. Although the Bus droved off, he still wouldn't believe the story of the Wind about her because he knew her. She is beautiful, no matter what they say. So, he started walking again. He didn't feel guilt or regret. But he did feel the pain. The pain got bigger as the Walker got closer to the point to the Bus and the other walker is at. He knows the other walker would eventually take the Bus Ride. How can he not? So, now the Walker is still walking, but slowly. He couldn't imagine the pain he would receive when he gets to that point. When they asked him, he'll put on an act, a mask to show the world that he is peachy. But, look at him closely, it's killing him inside, as if someone is scratching his bare heart.

On the other hand, the Sandstorm is getting nearer and the Walker is feeling vulnerable, he just might not survive. But the boy knows that whatever happens, he'll need to keep on walking because he is not a boy, anymore. He is a Walker. That's his virtue.

Smokes

*Breathe out,
Smokes in my eyes,
In a room of people,
Called 'Friends.'
Doing their own things.
Thinking of their own self.
How can you expect they be forever,
when 'ends' is in the word?
I see no future.

*Breathe out,

Smokes in my eyes,

At the balcony, with a favorite 'friend',

She's there, but she's not there.

In the realm of cyberspace,
What's the use of being here, when you're not here,

Be here, or be there.

I see no future.

*Breathe out,

Smokes in my eyes,

Outside, a break from knowledge,

Trying to wake me up,

50 other people, just like me,

Looking around and thinking about the future,

I see no future.

*Breathe out,

Smokes in my eyes,

Four walls surrounds me,

It stinks.

Place of the devil,

Thinking of an angelic future.

I see no future.

*Breathe out,

Smokes in my eyes,

At the balcony again,

Fresh air, beautiful day,

But the shade darken my vision.

Hoping these 10 puffs

Will entertained me, calmed me, revealed me.

Looking down,

Cars passing by, life in motion, time ticking.

Looking straight,

In blank space, hoping to see the future,

I see no future.

In a dark place,

Involuntary movements,

The fresh air comes in,

but few survived to be filtered.

It's getting darker and blacker,

Every time smokes come in the eyes,

It sees no future. 

Room of Emptiness and Voidness

Lost in the company of blind people.

Searching for a way out, while lingering in the dark.

Room of emptiness and voidness.

Is filled with laughters and friends.

How can it feel wrong and right at the same time?

Hands of time run as if the Past is haunting them,
While the Present is rocking out,
The Future stares in worriment and weariness.

Room of emptiness and voidness.
Is filled with silence and colleagues.
Stares left and right,
To the surrounding people, the time,
And the people looking down.
Wondering if this surgeon can pull it off?
With the life or death of this patient
in his hands, in his mind, and in his future.

It's ticking...
The mind should be on the mission,
But it wonders off to a question:
"Is any of this worth it?"

Candles give out light, while it melt to death.
Tree produce oxygen, while it falls one by one.
A bastard is born, without knowing what love is.

Darkness will bring him down,
Deaths will haunt him,
Despair will kill him.

"Is any of this worth it?"

But right now, he's in this room.
Room of emptiness and voidness
Filled with laughter and friends.

I, Then, Realized I Haven't Been...Me

I read a poem.
It was a beautiful poem.

I, then, realized how lost I was
Comparing to mine.

I read my poems and, then, realized
How blonde I am.

I've been writing poems, superficially.
Just the top layers of my life and feelings.

I haven't been communicating
The physical with the abstract.

I, then, realized it's because I haven't been feeling.
I haven't been living.

I haven't been writing,
Or even, trying.

I'm sorry.