A Quarter for a Change

Maybe it just wasn’t easy as I thought,
And it’s alright. At least I didn’t stop
Calling people for random purposes,
Or celebrating others’ happiness,
Just to get a feel,

A sense of wonder, thank you God
For looking beyond the embarrassment
Of those silly antics and desperations,
I do wish I’d live and not lie,
Or simply cry than smile,

After all, I was born with a word,
Not a stone, not an automaton,
Yet I choose to forget,
That art flows freely
And is also eerily wild –

A beauty without a comparison,
A diligent thought beneath the line,
A crumbled piece somewhere,
A living memory in the middle,
An unspoken word from time to time.

Oh, so much conflict behind the ears!
Dear self, please take a look
At things besides your faults,
What isn’t there is still up
For a change, maybe from here or a mile?

Reading Malcolm X: A Life of Reinvention by Manning Marable

I’m currently reading Malcolm X: A Life of Reinvention by Manning Marable and I’m already thinking:

  1. This is definitely a critical work & research on Malcolm X’s life, at least more than what I’ve read. Marable isn’t afraid to point out things that are not aligned to the popular notions of Malcolm X and for that, I appreciate his immense effort and hard work of creating another insight on the amazing black nationalist leader/human rights activist.
  2. I’m also feeling reminiscent of one of my favourite books, The Autobiography of Malcolm X As Told to Alex Haley. A lot of quotes are taken from the former and I just miss reading Malcolm’s story from his own mouth (and imagining his charismatic tenor voice in my head)
  3. I’m feeling a bit conflicted with the way Marable describes the possibilities of other truths, the ones that Malcolm X ‘exaggerated’ or didn’t mention. E.g. ‘almost certainly’ or ‘probably’. Do I wish for him to keep some of his thoughts and assumptions of the late Malcolm X to himself? Probably.
  4. It’s pretty difficult for me to take some of this stuff since I’ve long admired Malcolm X. I’m starting to question, is there some kind of validation that Marable wanted to find? Or am I just being defensive about this? Maybe. I’m still reading. (I have to keep reminding myself that Marable was a historian and these are not mere assumptions)
  5. Reading at the part where Malcolm finally got out of prison. Things seem to be more interesting as the last paragraph ends with ‘He would see more, would travel, and he would seize the time.’

Well, I can’t wait to read more.

Flood Lines

Territory for years is granted,
Leeway for crashes is sorted,
Temperature is made adaptable,
Assumptions are daily exercises,
What on earth is going through their minds, I wonder?
 
Dangerous exhibitions are stamped,
Any possible extinguishment of the circle is forgotten,
The rides are fairly wounded and confined,
Would they be able to find out the shows are a hoax
Or would they be offended by the lights

that have always been there, like the sky?
Riddles are ensured to be manipulative,
As writers are claimed to be creatively insane,
Never mind how famous they are,
Their words are always mingled

with wooden crates and unnamed sacks,
Confusions occur mildly in the centre,
No one thinks they’re right or wrong,
But blames anyone who opposes them,
A grand hobby for the rising successors,

Temporary whistles scald the streets,
Where furrows are born and being painted over,
Scars are seen as wise for their sacrifices
Of facing the unexpected unknown,
They become the privileged and warriors.
 
Though there will be an upside down,
By the experienced or inexperienced tellers,
Synthesizing their own garments and fortunes,
Marking and disapproving fallacies at the same time,
I don’t know whether it’s a conscious decision or not.
 
The rooms are just created in a blink,
Completed with furniture and others in seconds,
Designed bountifully with cheap prices,
But what about the addresses of the tenants
That are hardly known or cared?

Living becomes an excuse, not a reason,
For tides would always arrive,
No matter where you are,
And we think to protect ourselves
by having them shunned away
 
as we form our confined circles,
With tentative views of rivers,
We thwart the torrent,
But still we are
Restless.

Finding the Heart of Passion – Part 2

One thing that gradually occurred to me during my uni years was that, being lost was a mandatory state in every semester.

Sometimes I wouldn’t even notice that I was feeling lost. There was no specific time or place when it happened, it just did. A reasonable explanation for this, is perhaps, the weariness that was caused by the exhaustion due to the assignments (no surprise) and keeping up with the lectures/tutorials. They seemed to be consuming my energy so much that all that was left was the need to rest, eat, nap and sleep.

That could be it, but I knew I shouldn’t blame uni all the time it was more than that. It was a cycle I’d become accustomed to and it was quite a destructing one.

Some people would say the condition is similar to having a writer’s block and I don’t disagree totally. It did feel like having a mental block and a few times, I’d just stop doing what I was doing since it wasn’t doing anything except building more doubts and negative thoughts. Thirty minutes later, I found myself continuing doing what I was doing before that i.e. facing the laptop and getting on with whatever assignment I had at that time.

Strange, how the mind and body work.

Despite the complaints that I had and still have with the uni life, the schedule or the assignments, I do feel appreciative towards those times where I was feeling lost and uncertain. I’d say I started questioning things when I was in high school but the sixth-form was when I dug deeper about things and then uni officially made me a ‘deep’ person, however unflattering it sounds (since I’m the one saying it, it’s a different story if somebody else says it. And uh, you know what, never mind).

The doubts might have tortured me, because no one really likes not knowing what to do or being uncertain about the existence of life, but they helped to steer some things to a better light and made them clearer. That is, if you treat doubts as challenges or ways to understand meanings beyond words and actions in order to make sense of your life. At least, that’s how I’ve come to see and accept.

I think it was during my first year that the doubt was becoming more intense. I’d find myself in this kind of situation (extracts from one of my journals):

13/10
I don’t really listen to what the lecturer is saying and most of the time just think about other stuff and also ‘what am I doing here for?’

25/10
Feeling unsure of what is it that we’re supposed to do, asking yourself the same question, walking on the same path all over again, pacing here and there, back and forth – constant doubt.

So, constant doubt – why is it happening? How did it happen?

I suppose this happens to everyone, at some point.

And it is happening to me now.

So you can see, the big questions that had appeared during my sixth form days were entering my life again and this time, with more emphasis on the choices that I would consciously make for myself. (Hey, guess what? It wasn’t uni, it was life! Okay, glad that’s settled now)

The things that I love, the things that I hope to be, the things that I don’t need, the things that undermine and motivate me – the growing independence eventually raises these issues that I’d have to confront at some point in my life.

And it’s really hard.

The fact that I haven’t gone into specific details about those experiences probably shows this.

I can tell you for certain though, that humanities/liberal arts are the core of my interests if you’re talking about academic interests. They’re the ideal subjects that I hope would and should receive more attention especially in my country.

Sociology, Literature, Philosophy and History – taking classes for these modules is one of the best things that happened to me. Modern education does have its demerits, which I would love to talk about next time, but I think what attracts me the most from them is the knowledge that has been seeded in each of them.

Sure, some scholars or professors might have written works for other reasons than spreading ideas/theories and elevating people’s minds into understanding the society and societal issues. But the energy, the effort and the sincerity – some things you can just feel and I was entranced by this phenomenon. I suppose I was having some kind of realisation, that I want to do what those individuals that I’ve learned, studied from and about, did. To me, it would be fulfilling to do something that benefits others and myself.

The passion for learning is basically the reason why I opt to study in a university. Even if I’m not a student anymore now, I don’t think I could stop doing research and reading from trivial to crucial topics.

To tell you the truth, I’m still clueless, afraid and anxious about life: what’s going to happen and what’s going to change. What have I actually changed from 4/5 years ago then? Maybe, I’m just more relaxed and not so caught up in things and one would argue that this could be a symptom of becoming mature, I don’t know.

I’m not sure if I’m going to do a part 3, maybe. It’s so hard to write stuff about yourself and honestly, I think I’ve been all over the place. Hope there’s something good somewhere here, though.

I’ll share a quote that I find comforting in going through stuff in life which may be a bit harsh (or even unrelated to the stuff that I’ve been talking about) to some:

“These are problems [murders, terrorist acts in the name of religion and secularism etc], they’re not going to go away. Welcome to the world, welcome to planet earth” – Hamza Yusuf

I mean, who wouldn’t feel comforted knowing that there are issues/problems all around the world, solvable and unsolvable. At least I know I’m not crazy and at least I have some things I’ve grown fond in life despite the struggle to keep up with the society’s standards.

On a more optimistic note:

“To find yourself, think for yourself” – Socrates

 

Cheers!

Those Artists

I’m drawn to people
who think a lot
and put salient effort
in describing their journey,
whether in words,
pictures, paintings, melodies
and thoughts.
 

Those people
who may not call themselves
as artists,
but they are
the ones
who create art,

 
I feel deeply
connected to them
as they share their stories
that some
may have glanced,
passed by,
and not noticed
their struggles,
pains,
uncertainties,
and
their restless hearts.

 
Those street artists,
they have it hard,
they’d rather crawl
than die
a millionaire forever,
unscathed.

Grant Acceptance

Often at night, I would sing a song,
Imagining myself before a great audience,
In the silent auditorium; just how I’d prefer,
Just how it has been all this while,
It’s the same here and everywhere,
Except, the audience now
is nowhere to be seen.

Often at dusk, I would sing a verse,
Picturing myself in a busy café,
Where people like me would gather,
Sharing their sorrows and lost identities,
And though they might not listen,
They’d appreciate my voice, all the same.

Often at dawn, I would hum a chorus,
Believing in better days and wistful woes,
To the new homes and kindred spirits,
Hoping one or two would cry, whether in tears or laughter,
We would watch the sunrise together,
And I would hug them and say, ‘it’s okay’.

Often in the dark, I would cry,
Dreaming of wondrous adventures at the peak,
Along with friendly strangers met by strange fate.
And I would improvise the learned tunes,
As a way to show my gratitude, debt and ties
To those who are listening and those who stay.

Often in somewhere bleak, I would pause,
Thinking about memories of the past,
How ancient solitude and chaos are,
How little we have always been,
And I wonder if our voices are scarce
Because we are afraid to die.

Often I would forget, that I was nothing
But a paper human, scribed and written
With a choice of heart.

Crying and Laughing Together

We were teenagers, there was nothing to worry about. We were just doing what we were supposed to do. The others would do their job, and we would do ours. We were teenagers, we didn’t mean any harm to anyone. We were simply goofing around, trying to feel and savour every moment in our lives like there was no tomorrow.

We were young, we only wanted to have fun. We were curious about a lot of things and sometimes got into trouble because of that. We laughed about how we managed to get away from those troubles every time we did. We were young, we absorbed things that we only wanted to take, hear and see, and we shunned everything else that we considered unimportant and boring. We were young, we thought we could create our own world, rule there and forget about the reality.

We were friends, we were singing and laughing together. We weren’t really doing anything wrong, we were just expressing what we felt about the world. We believed nothing could go wrong. We were friends, we thought we knew what we wanted. We fought from time to time and refused to talk to each other for a long time. We were proud, we didn’t expect things to go this way and eventually went to separate paths.

We were young, we’d forget that. We began to see and hear things we didn’t want to before. We were friends, yet we were so distant. Some challenges in life broke us so hard and made it difficult for us to swallow the bitterness. We were lonely, we screamed for help desperately and tried to shed the tears with our own hands.

We were afraid, we couldn’t sleep well. Nights became darker and days were even more obscure. We thought we couldn’t live again. We missed how we played in the rain and talked about dreams and wanting to change the world. We were afraid, we finally saw each other. We stood silently at first. There were no words to describe the emotions perfectly, and we forgot why we fought in the first place. We were just happy. As soon as one of us smiled and cried at the same time, we understood each other. To be honest, I hadn’t felt a warm hug for so long.

We were teenagers, we told ourselves that. There were moments and memories that we wanted to forget. We’ve made so many mistakes and wrong decisions that we wanted to hide. We were young, we failed a lot of times. But we grew, and it was good that we had each other at that time.

We were young and we were just beginning.

Finding the Heart of Passion – Part 1

“What do you really want to do?”

A good lecturer of mine asked me this question when I was consulting to him about my desire to pursue my Masters and several other options (I’m still thinking of academic career, nonetheless). I couldn’t reply straightaway and I just thought, ‘whoa, I haven’t heard that question from a teacher/educator for a while.’ Or at least it feels like it.

Within probably seconds, I tried recalling back what was it exactly that I liked and wanted to do in the future. I almost went back as far as the early childhood but luckily I stopped at high school. Not that I was totally sure about my goals and future plans at that time, but I think it’s a good sign that some of my interests have remained since then. Fast-forwarding to the sixth form and then uni, I thanked my flashbacks for assuring me. However, my skeptical side suddenly whispered to me: Wait a minute, are you sure this is what you want to do? Are you even really good at it? Don’t you think you have to be realistic? Do you think you can survive by choosing this?

I didn’t imagine it would be this hard to answer a simple question.

But I couldn’t make my lecturer wait any longer or let my eyes wander to his bookshelf for a long time so I started stammering some typical nervous words.

“Um, well, I like History and I like Social Science in general too so I’m not really sure…yet what I really want to do but – but, I’m open to learning things – anything related to those things, so yeah…”

Oh God, I’m so going to criticize myself later on. Wasn’t there any way to express your uncertainty in a much more poised way? You’ve graduated and you’re still so clumsy with words? What about all those essays you’ve done, eh? Okay, stop now, you self-conscious human being.

Like the super supportive lecturer he was, he nodded to that and said:

“Good, that’s good”

After that, my lecturer went on talking about his past experience as a student and while I was still beating myself up internally, I did catch some useful things that he shared.

He stressed that:

1. If I decide to do Masters, it would be wise to do so if only I have the intention of doing PhD.

2. I should have some specific idea of what I want to do since it’d be easier for him to give me further tips and advice & for me to find a good uni.

3. Try to reach out to people e.g. who have gone through the state I’m in.

4. Just continue researching about the field I’m interested in, fellowships, opportunities etc.

He was such a nice fellow that I feel I don’t deserve his advice. (Mostly, because of the late essays I’ve submitted to him.) He gave a lot of suggestions as well – practical ones – which I really appreciate and need at the moment, especially with the current society (budget, budget and budget). Of all things though, the one thing that remains in my mind even up till now, is the no.2.

I thought I knew myself pretty well, I definitely know which food I like and dislike but four and a half years is quite a long time – and a lot of things happened in that period. Good stuff, CONFUSING stuff, weird and random stuff. There’s always the bad stuff, of course, but nothing that doesn’t teach me more about life. So, with all these stuff going on, I didn’t realize how much I’ve changed in terms of my mind and my perspective. I realized that I took the thought of my ‘present self’ for granted.

Interestingly, a friend has told me that I basically have a good sense of self and that I’m lucky because I seem to know where I’m going.

Wellllll.

I spent some time afterwards thinking about the question that triggered back to the memory of childhood (I couldn’t stop myself. Childhood is precious) and moments where I found myself enjoying doing the things that I loved, my passion. Eventually, I was grateful that I gave that reply to my lecturer. It was true that I was still searching for something more and it’s not necessarily a bad thing.

History was not even one my choices when I began my first year in the uni. (It was either Literature or Sociology initially) I’ve taken history before in the sixth form, and it was pretty torturing mainly because I had no idea what I was doing. I believe I managed to survive and pass because of a substitute teacher who turned out to be the best history teacher, past year papers and the less/no expectation that I was even going to pass the subject. Basically, it was like gambling back then and I was confident that I didn’t want to go through that anymore AGAIN.

Things, however, weren’t that predictable though.

What happened was that I…had what you call a change of heart. I gained my interest, or actually, renewed my interest in history somehow after taking Literature and Sociology classes. During my second year, I changed my major to History.

(There were a lot more happening before that but this is the simplest version I can tell, for now. It’s one of those memorable moments and to some extent, a life-changing decision story that I’m hoping to save for another day.)

Let’s just say I had a new understanding and a new perspective on the subject that I forgot about the horrifying experience during the sixth form because that memory became a new one. It wasn’t an excruciating memory anymore, it changed to a now-I-knew-why-I-didn’t-enjoy-history-memory-because-I-never-understood-it. Simple.

Despite that, I wouldn’t say I didn’t suffer anymore after changing my major. I was quite insecure in the beginning of my History major days, feeling that I was still a newbie history nerd and the books, ohmygod, the books. It really took a while to get used reading them. It was, however, more bearable because I actually found myself enjoying being a History major.

To start off, I like that the idea that the past shapes the present is being explained in so many ways. The more I read about the things that I wouldn’t have dared to before, the more I realize it makes so much sense to me. It filled some of the missing spots that I didn’t know were missing. History was a challenge that I didn’t know I would accept because of the misunderstanding/lack of understanding I had of what it was.

It’s ruthless, but it’s also profound. Like the realization I had when I took Sociology and Philosophy courses (‘Why did I just discover this stuff?’), it appeared like a riveting light bulb that glows pervasively in a good amount of space. The passion and the respect I have for this subject kept on increasing as I got to learn more about it.

Remembering all this is truthfully a bit difficult because it forces me to seriously consider my real passion which would and should help me to take another step in the world. The reluctance, I think, is because of the idea that I have to choose just one thing and forget about the others that I equally love.

Though it may be inaccurate to think so but there’s the dilemma, I suppose.

The Social Sciences/Humanities area is something that I hold close to my heart. My thirst and curiosity in knowledge is much largely owed to them. Unfortunately, the times that I had enjoyed misusing back in the younger days had made me miss the chance to learn their pre-requisites. So I guess I’m very much on the side of ‘I’m still learning’ than ‘I know what I want to do and I want to do it’.

[To be continued]

90°

 

Because sometimes I like to rant about injustice and such through poetry.


 
What a thought to be mended,
There was something else in the bin,
Yet it was unattended.
 
Limited coercion,
Unfair play,
Access denied.

Content was the shoemaker,
Seeing the fascinated looks of
Everyone but –
 
Others outside the window,
Still was borrowed,
Still was untreated,

Still was madness
Performed orderly,
Leaving no debts behind.
 
Yet, he believed in all his might
Those formal letters
That were never signed
 
Just like the front pane
That yells beloved
But sells taints.
 
Unfortunate were the metres,
Measured by lenient laws
And lost in the empty smiles.
 
What a pitiful premise,
Yet his eyes shine,
Seeing value for the first time.

Confessions of a self-proclaimed bookworm

“I’m quite illiterate, but I read quite a lot” – J. D. Salinger

One of the things that I learned to realize after studying in the university, is that, I am not as literate as I thought I was. It took me about a year or perhaps more (an F grade did help me to see that, ouch) to accept that fact, as painful as it might be.

Some of my concerns:

#Confession 1 – Help, I’m an illiterate bookworm

#Confession 2 – Goodbye fast reading days, I’m now a slow reader

#Confession 3 – How the heck did I ever get called a bookworm?

#Confession 4 – Dear dictionary, sorry for ignoring you for a long time

First of all, I love reading and I think it just started ever since I was taught how to read. The meaning of ‘read’ at that time simply refers to the way people can spell, pronounce and understand some words, meanings and sentences. According to the society, if you can do that, it’s enough to call you literate. The meaning of ‘read’ when I get to university, however, has a lot more weight and the gap is freaking huge. The academic level is no joke. It’s more than just a formal language, it’s critical!

Especially when you’re in the Social Sciences Faculty, where you cannot run away from tons of reading tasks and assignments. And because I like to experiment and enjoy suffering, I took English Literature, Sociology, Philosophy and lastly, my major, History courses in my uni years and I’ve tasted similar pains that led me to question my grammar and how the heck did I manage to get in uni again and again.

Some of my friends and peers did have similar experiences (thank God for that) and it was a comfort to know that I wasn’t alone in that. We’d complain every chance we got about how crazy and heavy the language of the articles was. Fortunately, some of us were quite literate and some were talented in bluffing so the class discussions went alright. Then there were not so alright moments, when the awkward silence reigned over and most of us became suddenly interested in looking at anywhere but the lecturers. Those were some fond memories.

Yet, the discussion of the issue itself never really came to light. We would talk about it, yes, but hardly ever delve into it. Frankly, I don’t blame anyone. With the daily routine, it was hard to do so. Assignments were always piling up – usually approaching the mid-semester (but sometimes even earlier) and the only thing that people were mostly worrying about was surviving, not excelling! Well, excluding a small number of people maybe, super human beings…I think.

Anyway, by my second year, I would tell myself to learn how to read properly again. I had already taken the compulsory communication skills (teaching academic skills) and didn’t realize how utterly important it was, especially for someone who wants to continue studying after degree. I’m ashamed to say, that the memorable memories I had in that class, consisted of me enjoying the cool air-conditioner and meeting my childhood buddies. I was totally guilty of treating the class as another GP class. Sigh.

After a while though, I would soon forget the task I’d put myself to do. My poor time management swayed my momentum (if there was even one) and procrastination always came in the way whenever I wanted to perform well in every class. Sorry mum. Not to say there weren’t some achievements, I did manage to finish some assignments, but I’d often feel guilty for the inconsistency that was repairable. By my fourth year, I continued to suffer and tried my best compensating the skills that I thought I should have attained even pre-university. Thankfully, I graduated and my wish of going back to basics still hasn’t disappeared and in fact, is stronger than ever.

So where did it go wrong?

Primary and secondary education didn’t help?

Were the books I’d read in my childhood weren’t that great?

Am I really illiterate and not capable enough?

And some more questions roller-coasting in my mind~

My take?

1. The role of EDUCATION

This, I believe, is the most important thing and even more so after reading Dorothy Sayer’s The Lost Tools of Learning. However, since I’m planning to review her speech-essay, I won’t go into the details too much here. One thing that I’d like to mention is one of the questions she’d so wonderfully raised:

“Has it ever struck you as odd, or unfortunate, that today, when the proportion of literacy throughout Western Europe is higher than it has ever been, people should have become susceptible to the influence of advertisement and mass propaganda to an extent hitherto unheard of and unimagined?”

It’s amazing how this was in 1947 when she made that speech and can still be made so relevant today. The point she made here, as I understood it, is that we might trick ourselves into thinking that the literacy rate accurately shows how far we’ve progressed our minds, skills and abilities when in fact, many people have been easily influenced by the mainstream media. She’s suggesting that if we were better equipped e.g. with reasoning and critical thinking, we would’ve been less vulnerable and less persuaded by those ridiculous ads and implicitly negative messages in movies etc.

Brunei is one of the countries that experienced an increase in the literacy rate, it jumped from 1981 (77.83%) to 2015 (96.66%). Of course, statistics don’t always tell us anything but I do feel there’s a parallel to Sayers’ point there. A lot of us are exposed to the media, particularly social media and tech stuff. I’m one of them and I’m realizing more and more how dangerous it is that everything seems so convenient and easy these days. It’s not challenging and it’s not healthy that our source of entertainment and leisure activities do not depend much on our brain.

This is why, education is important in nourishing the kids from the early age – not by teaching them what to learn/read but how to learn/read.

More points next time, hopefully in my next post!

2. I forgot to mention that English is not our first language, so, English is not our first language but I think the problem lies with LANGUAGE itself

One of my lecturers who was not a local, had kindly pointed out that the fact that English was the overall standard language in the uni might be a disadvantage to a lot of us. It was, but not exactly the way he thinks. He thought that we were more fluent in our native language and we would have performed better if the essays were done in Malay. Well, I’m not sure about that.

The problem is that, though, the idea of being bilingual is great, a lot of us are struggling towards achieving that. Most of us who are fluent in our native language, are not necessarily fluent in the standard native language aka the formal language, especially written.

English is made the official language in most public schools and that means, most subjects are taught in the English language. That could explain how some are poor with the standard Malay language. Yet, some of still struggle to grasp the most basic English. I remember that one of my lecturers (different one) complimented how well Bruneians speak English here generally (probably owe to American tv shows), but he couldn’t say the same for our written English.

So here are the things that I frequently hear that we’re lacking of generally with both Malay and English: Grammar, structure, format. Effort, definitely, yeah we need to do a lot of work.

3. To a lot of us, the university is the first, real INTELLECTUAL institution

Like I said before, there’s a huge gap between the university level and the previous education. When I first started university, one of my modules was a Philosophy course and I couldn’t forget that experience. It was probably an indirect introduction to critical thinking and reasoning (it was actually an introduction to Islamic Philosophy class) to me. I realized then that I’ve been missing a lot of prerequisites in my life!

Since Philosophy deals with rational thinking more directly than other courses that I’ve taken, it came to me how fundamental it was to have these instruments – logic, thinking skills – before getting to the big league. Even if you’re not from the Social Sciences Faculty and even if you’ve read Descartes or al-Ghazzali or every Shakespeare’s work at a young age, you’d need them not only to survive, but excel in the academic field.

I’m realizing now that I’ve been writing this stuff as if I was talking to my past self. Despite everything though, I’ve enjoyed my uni years overall. It was rough, but it was worth to know the things I couldn’t do and am capable of doing in the future.

For one thing, I really need to read more.