Why this blog is not for me anymore

Simple:

I am not my former self.

The reflections in these blogs no longer portray the girl that I have shed, the woman I have become, and the person I long to be.

I have survived grief, death, loneliness, moments doubting my own sanity, and also a close attempt at suicide. (Alhamdulillah I'm still alive)

Stylistically, my writings have changed too, for I am no longer the same ingenue poetess that I was growing up.  In my younger adolescent years, I was much more influenced by 'Classic' White-middle-class-heterocentric poets of English and French Romanticism. (not that I don't read them anymore, and I am not in anyway criticizing their writing styles)

In the last couple of years, in my attempt at navigating through spaces which I am barred from due to my race and gender, I am increasingly drawn to narratives by People of Colour who bleed ink to resist the Eurocentric - White Supremacist status quo. I find myself reading more and more of Suheir Hammad, Saul Williams, Warsan Shire, Nizar Qabbani, Mahmoud Darwish and Sonia Sanchez. Audre Lorde's poems and journals have pretty much become my bible these days.

I am more violent, visceral and I am not afraid to flaunt my passions now.

And I don't shy away from sexuality or eroticism anymore, another side of me that I have always ignored - I embrace it.  I am a Woman of Colour, I am Brown and proud, I have learned how to slowly hone the dirt hurled upon my skin into gold armour.  I have never shied away from talking about sex, and discussing the power of female sexuality is central to my stylistic maturation, and also my personal growth as a cisgendered hetereosexual Woman of Colour, who identifies as Muslim.

There is no 'dichotomy' here. Muslim women are not sexless, nor should we ever be hypersexualized. We have bodies and desires, we have our own ways of connecting with our Creator. We don't need 'guidance' from hypocritical misogynists in our own community. We are capable of finding spiritual meaning in our lives should we choose to do so.   To foreigners, back off your pretentious neocolonial White saviour mentality of giving 'voice' to us. Do not effing steal our agency.

Two years ago I wouldn't know half of these terms I've used above.

So yeah, Blogger is not the right platform for me anymore to discuss the multifaceted intersectionality between politics, oppression, gender, spirituality and art.

Light and love, yours truly.

Renungan dalam kegelapan

Langit dapat dilukis, sudut kambut diserayakan.

Mengapa perlu persetankan mereka yang berlainan bangsa atau agama, sedangkan buta terhadap aib sendiri? Sama-sama renungkan dan muhasabah diri. Cukup sudah telinga ini mendengar kata-kata dusta.

Usaha dan teruskan berjuang memperbaiki diri dahulu untuk-Nya sebelum membina masyarakat dan negara.

Kerana hanya Dia Maha Mengetahui dan Maha Adil.

(Maaflah, diri ini jarang sekali naik memberang dalam bahasa ibunda. Tetapi sebagai anak bangsa yang kini berada di perantauan, dan sedang menyaksikan kejahilan sesetengah pihak di tanah air tercinta yang masih enggan insaf, penulis sememangnya tidak mampu berdiam diri.) 

sepi

sepi. sepi sekali.

ku sangka ku kenali

dan telah puas meratapi

wajah yang terukir

dari rimbun-rimbun lara

namun kini

ku sedar bahawa

suraya yang ku sangkakan

teman dalam kesepian

hanyalah pembayang

buat khilaf yang

belum termaktub dalam

kitab-kitab duka






(helll naww have i just written something in malay which is not under kategori 'surat untuk jpa'?) *malumalumalumalu tatabahasa cacamarba*

i trample the first fallen snow

Я по первому снегу бреду.
В сердце ландыши вспыхнувших сил.
Вечер синею свечкой звезду
Над дорогой моей засветил.

Я не знаю — то свет или мрак?
В чаще ветер поет иль петух?
Может, вместо зимы на полях,
Это лебеди сели на луг.

Хороша ты, о белая гладь!
Греет кровь мою легкий мороз.
Так и хочется к телу прижать
Обнаженные груди берез.

О лесная, дремучая муть!
О веселье оснеженных нив!
Так и хочется руки сомкнуть
Над древесными бедрами ив.

С. Есенин, 1917

It's the fate of geniuses, I think, to die so young, as if nature regretted squandering
an unreasonable amount of wisdom upon a single mind.

Ah, the perfect season of the year for a cuppa Russianness.  Кто не любит зиму?

Finally experienced my first snowfall of the year today. So light, almost invisible.

The heavens cracked open a little
shedding miniscule, pristine tears 
as the sun releases its last breath from the horizon.

And there I stood
By the dim light of the lamposts
At the curve of the road
Wondering,
If this was a latent surge of prudence
Instead of my youth trickling by
With every languid fall
Of those infinitesimal tears.

Это всё

respite

Здравствуй, ребята

please forgive this temporary period of respite. work and school has distracted me ceaselessly without mercy, and Dostoevsky has pretty much taken over my life.

this is the first time that i have bothered to check my blog after my sojourn. and what a journey it was.

girl meets world. girl is happy. girl is alone on the road, but never lonely. girl is also confused. then reality happened.

she is a woman now.

what is it that makes one so morose when his or her birthday is approaching?

i vow, dear reader, that i will relay my impressions on the road once this stifling midterm period is over.

did i mention that i laid down with a skeleton, found some treasures, climbed an active volcano, swam in the big sea at a depth of 15m for the first time, went to a street where Lord Byron once lived, stood on the ground where Alexander the Great once passed by, watched an opera in the best opera house in the world, met a legit published poet in a chance encounter, and live out a Kafka book experience?

you wish you had my life.

and now i am back to conjugating verbs and 300 pages of reading every night.

Это всё

Countdown

4 more days.

And I'm off to see the world. All alone this time, across 7 countries in the span of a month.

This bleary life has grown tiresome. I need a respite.

Oh, my parents still have no clue about this, and what little hints that I have given them seem to have thrown them off-kilter. Then they'll start shooting a million questions in 30 seconds.

I am really doing this. Without my family's knowledge. God help me.

But I have absolutely no regrets.

So let the journey begin.

Vile, vile thing

"Unbelief is the subjective negation of a belief in Order, Beauty, Purpose, and Eternal Life. Unbelief is to Faith as Chaos is to Cosmos, as the Fire of Misery is to the Garden of Bliss."

Tsk tsk. Slacking, have we? One full bloody month without any new posts.  And no single entry in my journal as well. As evident through my vile, squiggly scribble at a joke of an attempt in flawless penmanship.

Blink blink. 13 more days until the Holy month ends.

I am feeling that waning motivation already. Oh Lord. What a pitiful sight. Has not my heart illuminated at all with introspection? Or have false inner demons lingered too long, pushing me off into that dark abyss, forcing me to claw my way up all over again, battered and bloodied?

Lesson most severely learnt today from سورة ص today:

[from the commentary]: "Turn to Him in Prayer and Praise, for that is more than any worldly power or wisdom."

Bam. So my compass malfunctioned. The dunya is too much, and I only have yours truly to blame.

So much for donning the cloak of a vicegerent. Completely helpless and insignificant before Him.

With that, I sincerely beg Your forgiveness from this vile, flawed mortal coil. Mercy.

On another note: The Olympics have completely taken over most of my life. You know you overindulge when you have the Chinese national anthem on loop in your head for a few days. A quadrennial event is no reason to abandon the pen though. My apologies.

And...Bulgaria in 10 days. Say WHAT?

Демоны в одиночестве

Когда восвышенные чувства,
Свобода, слава и любовь
И вдохновенные искусства
Так сильно волновали кровь, 
Часы надежд и наслаждений
Тоской внезапной осеня,
Тогда какой-то злобный гений
Стал тайно навещать меня.

Ах, Пушкин. Я не могу вас оставлять. Лето так суровое.

 Это всё

A very Gregor Samsa morning

Дорогие друзья,


"As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect." 


Have you ever had one of those mornings? I had one today, and was almost late for a meeting.


Where was my Grete when I needed her?


Это всё

Talk some sense into this head

Дорогие друзья,

I am as clueless as I've ever been.  Idk what time Blogger says this thing is posted, I won't bother fixing my clock/timezone, but it is 10pm here, and the sun has just fully set.  The air is dry, reeked in sweat and uncertainties.

Summer is in full swing.

And I am staring at this foolscap sheet plastered on my bulletin board for the past few days, about to do something rash and probably unwise for a young woman in my position, but I haven't a care of what others conceive of this crazy plan.

Goodbye mundane existence. Hello world! :)

Heads up, sojourners. Full-on Kerouacian mode has been activated. I also need my Liz Gilbert moment. Dolce far niente, mi amici!


Это всё

First night with Josef K.

Ditched plans with lovely company.  I have the most wonderful friends in the world, but sometimes people are less profound than papers with words.

The introvert has resurfaced, and she is unstoppable.

And thus begins my reading on a lovely summer night.  First to cross off from my list - Kafka's The Trial.

Let's hope Josef K. is as riveting as Gregor Samsa, and less confusing than Cincinnatus C..

I rest my case.

 Это всё

Stranger Than Fiction

Ты знаешь...

Who are you now?

Perception is reality.  How much of fiction is fact, and how much of fact is real?

This world is a void, and I am in exile.

I don't know myself anymore.

Abysmal

Exactly my feelings at this moment.

It has been a month since I've actually posted something here.  That alone should account for my
merciless schedule.

I felt like I had sealed a Faustian bargain with the academia as a Humanities student. Really, this past month has just driven me hysterical to the point where I considered lobotomy.

30 nights of endless tappings on the keyboard. 30 nights of insomnia. 30 nights of system overload.
30 days of being zombified.

Still, I survived academic purgatory.  Here's to the end of my sophomore year.  Waiting for my Russian finals to officially conclude the term.

Despite this [-----] close to Ophelia, I persevered.

God, you have my gratitude.  I am but Your humble servant.

Till next time,
До свидания

Мой первый капустник!

Здравствуйте!  A как дела сегодня?

Been a long time since I urged these lazy fingers to tap on the keyboard.  But today was so
fun-filled and amazing - my first participation in the капустник (kapustnik), also known as the annual
Talent Show organized by the Slavic Department!

Languages have always been my thing - and it was such a great experience listening to the different
branches of Slavic languages in prose, songs and poetry.

So, for my part, our class did a short skit called "Репка" (repka), which just means 'turnip'. I was the рассказчик (raskazchik), a.k.a the Narrator.  Turnips are a common imagery used throughout Slavic fairy tales - basically Repka is about an old couple who could not pull out a giant turnip from the ground, and so they enlisted help from their granddaughter and other animals.  Took them several tries and different arrangements on who pulls who until they finally got the ginormous turnip out.

тянут-потянут, вытянуть не могут!

And the best part - free Russian food.

Я тоже ела репы - борщ.  Tак вкусные! 

Good old borshch and bliny for lunch, how can I resist?

Till next time,
До свидания

Squeak squeak

A premonition. I sense an impending doom.

'Tis my squeaky eyeballs. 

I wonder what it means when your eyeballs squeak.  Mine do, and they are loud.  

MAI EYESSS

I sleep at an average of 4 hours per day.  Story of my life.  It is either that or total insomnia. 

Maybe it is time to consult a doctor.  

Or maybe I'll just get some catnips.

Till then,

до свидания

Illuminate

I am but a shadow in Your luminescence
So please,
Let not the last gleam perish
Lest the heart emerge void of essence

A guise in verse

And all the world is for fools and dreamers
But the masquerade shall endure
When the eye deceives, and the mind altered
The spirit shall rot in veritable spectre

Down down down to the ground

I can feel it.  A waft of scorching molten heat coursing through my veins.  It is coming, and helpless mortal that I am, I was brought to my knees.

Please Lord, I implore Thee, I cannot afford to get sick :( I have two essays due and a test to sit through.  As litanies escape my lips, it is to You that I turn to.

Till next time, hopefully with better constitution.

До свидания

Понедельник день тяжелый

Понедельник день тяжелый :(  Я хочу заниматься, но не могу.  так устал.  T_T  

А как вы думаете? 

Это всё  :(

t3-mry has my soul

Привет!

Я не свободна весь день :(  Ohohohohoho, I can see I am about to stumble into that loop of unfaithful blogging again :P

7 courses this term - and I'm feeling it.  This whole week alone I have done nothing - and I truly mean NOTHING else than translating Middle Egyptian texts (that means hieroglyphs). Yay! Or perhaps nay?

More of The Shipwrecked Sailor.  Hoch is definitely
trolling with us.

Ok ok I am not about to complain.  I have come this far and I finally got my single wish in life.  Getting here is only the beginning - it's keeping my two feet on the ground that is the real challenge .  I thank God every single day that I am blessed enough to pursue what I truly love.  I simply cannot fathom how people can separate passion from their work.

Weekend is finally here, and that means I.K.E.A!  I have been sans study table for half a term now, it's about time I get one so I can dump more junk on top of it.  I have complete confidence in my ineptitude in putting books on the shelf.

I am a little behind with Middle Egyptian, so that also means no real weekend for me.  My life is defined through statives, participles and prospective sdm.n.fs.

Homework. I kid you not.  That is as literal as it could get.
Jolly good time - like an Ancient Egyptian.

Of course, more readings and essays.  I would need to get a head start if I want that one week of adventure to myself on Reading Week.  I have one paper due right in the middle of that blissful holiday (putting myself in the shoes of a Soviet publisher, no less).  I am so not complaining about what is on top of my to-do-list.  Not when I get to rant about one of the most magnificent female rulers in history ever.

First thing due this term :)  Maatkare, you please me so.

How did Howard Carter survive all those years, endlessly working and uncovering layers after layers of history?  I can only imagine the fortitude and perseverance the man must have possessed.  I'd like to blame it all on the absence of internet (hence less distraction), but that would be the sloth in me talking.  And finally, after all this time, I made my first entrance into the Far Eastern Library in the ROM.  Then I stumbled upon a dissertation of one of my profs on Egyptology.  Needless to say, bricks have been shat.

Say goodbye to at least the next 10 years of my life.

No time for matrimony and procreation

To quote Sheldon Cooper: "Oh the humanities!"  

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=obTNwPJvOI8  

I totally feel you woman.

Till next time,

До свидания