Wednesday, March 30, 2011

When I Was A Kid

. we used to have an annual Honours Day function, where they'd announce all the best kids of the class, and give them awards and students would present dances and all that jazz. so when i was small, i was made the teacup from Beauty and the Beast. i had to hold hands with the teapot and dance with her. my teacup was made out of Styrofoam.

. some years later, i was part of the African dance team. all i had to do was jerk my knees slightly and shuffle something in my hand. the entire time i looked everywhere apart from the audience. i think i was 9.

Monday, March 28, 2011

When I Was A Kid

I never played with Barbies. My mother didn't believe in having young girls play with Barbies, intimately touching what was a very developed model of a woman, and twisting and turning her into weird positions. She also didnt like the fact that a child would ever grow up thinking that it was Barbie's image that you should aspire to be.
She didn't really need to worry. Whenever a Barbie would by mistake come into my hands, since I had no better application of it, I'd dismantle her head, flatten it and laugh. I thought it was hilarious. And because I couldnt cut my own hair, I'd give Barbie haircuts for free. Those same styles you see Rihanna sporting today, I was cutting that up when I was 7. Honest. 
And then when I got super-bored because Barbie didnt have any hair left (I loved cutting her hair just to get to the ends of it, where there'd be these little sprouts. I thought humans had hair like that too), and because I was bored of seeing her flat face, I'd dismantle her arms and legs. And use highlighter and paint her legs. 
The Barbie would be pretty much destroyed after that. 


Sunday, March 27, 2011

Dear Charlie,

This is just to inform you that I find your mind extremely brilliant. I have just finished reading your letters and peeking into your thoughts, and while I think that you cry far too much, I think you're delightful apart from that.
There is one particular paragraph that caught my attention, and has remained in my mind. It is about your brother, and I attach it here.
"More like the movie where the guy meets a smart girl who wears a lot of sweaters and drinks cocoa. They talk about books and issues and kiss in the rain. I think that would be very good for him, especially if the girl were unconventionally beautiful. They are the best kind of girls, I think. I personally find "supermodels" strange. I dont know why that is."
In all sincerity, this is the kind of love I've always dreamed of. I call it the 'woolly' kind of love. Where everything just gives you a warm feeling. Where you bond not over superficial things, but over words, debates and conversations. I love that kind of love. I love hot chocolate. I dont really know about the kissing in the rain part though. I've never thought about that. And what I love most is the idea of being found 'unconventionally beautiful'. I hope someday someone finds me unconventionally beautiful. I hope someone falls for me hook line and sinker. I love the idea that all of this could happen in front of books, a nice warm drink, sweaters, comfy carpets, fireplaces, just all that stuff. Surrounded and serenaded by beauty. I just love that. That is all. 

PS. This might be really weird, but when I first posted up excerpts from the book, I used one quote. It was the same quote that's on the blurb on the book. It goes,
"I walk around the school hallways and look at the people. I look at the teachers and wonder why they're here. If they like their jobs. Or us. And I wonder how smart they were when they were fifteen. Not in a mean way. In a curious way. It's like looking at all the students and wondering who's had their heart broken that day, and how they are able to cope with having three quizzes and a book report due on top of that. Or wondering who did the heart breaking. And wondering why."
I think that's freaky, how we'd both think of using the same quote, of all the quotes in the book.
A.

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Dear God,

I know this is a little too late by about 21 years, but there is a question I would like to ask you. I couldnt ask you this before, because obviously I couldnt write, nor speak, but why exactly was I not asked whose nose I wanted? The messed up genes and chromosomes, I can deal with, its cool. Really. But the nose. Duuuude. Did I really have to be given my dad's? Why not my mum's pretty nose? Why dear God, why! If nothing else, can you please make sure that someone who falls in love with me likes my nose? Because I certainly dont.
Posy,
A.

Dear You,

When we're together, I intend to put my feet up on you, and leave it there. I dont want massages or shit, but my feet are going to reside in your lap. This is non-negotiable and is just a piece of information I'd like to relay to you. We're also going to have lots of those quick moments where we're going to read books together. So I'm not talking to you, you're not talking to me, but we're both there, with each other, yet we're not. Because we've been transposed to different places and times, thanks to the books we're reading. I'm going out on a very unlikely third limb here and assuming that you're going to read, and preferably not from an iPad. So yes, that's the basic scenario. Fun fun fun!
Lou,
A.

Diss For Sale.

. So if there's someone you see and you dont like the way they're behaving ethically, because they've done something you deem to be immoral, or wrong, or what-have-you, I have a free diss (as always) for you.

"Has your conscience shut shop indefinitely?"
or
"Is there a permanent Out of Order sign hanging in front of your Conscience Department?"

I think that's snarky.

. If you're my friend on Facebook, you know I have this habit of posting a lot of links onto it, things I've read and that I think others should, or would find interesting. I had this lovely diss thing going with a particular friend of mine. I attach it below for your viewing pleasure. I hope you find it funny, because I most certainly thought I was.

. that's about it. but before ending this, i want to ask you something. i realised this when i was about 19, but maybe you knew this before. does it not disturb you or affect you that everything that Archie and all his friends say is in exclaimation marks! like this! everything i say! and yknow, ive been reading Archie comics since i was about 7, but i never noticed it before! is that weird! okay, im going to stop typing now!

Friday, March 25, 2011

Dear You,

This is just to inform you that I intend to live in your shorts, shirts and hoodies. And there is nothing you will be able to do about it.
Much love,
A.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Keep Digging!

“The only kind of dignity which is genuine is that which is not diminished by the indifference of others.” - Dag Hammarskjold



because remember, your face will change, your beauty will leave, your possessions are nought but things, but what you leave behind are your actions. the way you behaved with people, the way you dealt with them, the deeds you did unto them, the deeds you didnt do unto them. today is hard. to be nice to someone you dont like. to give someone respect when they deserve none. to let go of things you know you're right about and others are wrong. to throw hissy fits of immaturity. voices inside may scream profanities at the way someone is treating you, or the things they're saying to you, but let nothing take away the pleasure your conscience will provide you with, years later, when you look upon today and when Cricket will say, 'you did good kid'. let nothing get in your way.
keep digging for dignity.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

When I Was A Kid

Nothing would make me as happy as watching Mr. Bean.
The only thing that trumped it was watching the intro to it.
I used to think at that point of time that one day I too was dropped onto Earth like that, because I once asked Mama how I came to Earth. And she didnt give me an answer. 
Yes loves, I know what you're thinking, "Abeer Yusuf- assuming since 1989".
In other news, can you ever get enough of that choir theme? I know I cant.





Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Dear Disney,

It has just dawned upon me that you have been irreverently fooling me and thousands of young minds alike since the dawn of 1998. How else do you explain the complete surreal capacity of a baby dragon that sounds conspicuously like an American? Kindly be aware that the next generation of kids will not take 13 years to realise this. 
A.


PS. I just love the fight scene at the end. That and the part where the Emperor of China, along with the entire city bow to Fa Mulan. Amazing. And everytime I watch the fight scene, I get goosebumps. There are very few existing female fight scenes that are so empowering. I feel awesome and extremely proud to be a woman upon watching those scenes. Thank you.

When I Was A Kid

I thought that that song Macarena was about macaroni.
That was how I read it at least.









It wasnt.
Something in me died that day.

Monday, March 21, 2011

Mama O Mama!

. A few days ago, I saw Mama working with a 4-sided grater. That grater has been in the household for the last 14 years, and is still as sharp and hurtful (haw haw) as it was when it was brand new. German stainless steel and all that jazz. Anyway, so as I was popping out of the kitchen, I tell Mama that I have always found the grater extremely frightful, because of the risk of getting cut that is involved in that. Mama replies, in English, 'Abeer, dont be a chicken in the kitchen'.

. These following 3 jokes occurred in the timespan of the last 20 minutes. I was working with the computer, and Mama was incessantly annoying me to come for dinner. I just burst saying, 'Calm down!' She replied, 'But that's what I'm doing! Kam!' Kam in our language means work.

. One of my petnames at home is Aburra. Dont ask. I dont know why my relatives always insist on calling me the most impractically uncute names on Earth. Anyway, while I was still at the computer (I'm a bit of a pain really), Mama started screaming, ALLALALALALALALALALLALALALA. Yknow, how the small kids do when they're at the store and Mummy wont buy them sweeties and the know the only way to get it is to make a scene? Mama does the same thing. She thinks that by screaming non-stop in deafening decibels I'll relent and listen to her and come for dinner. She went on for 2 minutes after which she stopped. Then she starts saying non-stop, ABURRA ABURRA ABURRA BURRA BURRA BURRA BURRA BURRA. Then she goes, 'Try as I might, when I repeat your name, no matter how many times I try to call you Aburra, only Burra comes out'. Burra in our language means bad.
. We were having a conversation over dinner (hummus!) and Papa wasnt home yet. After Mama wondered aloud like 2 times about where he might be, I started teasing, 'O, look at the old aunty all full of love missing her old uncle' and stuff of that sentiment. So Mama took it all in, and then goes, 'Yeah so?' 'So what if I want to express love for my family? Arent I allowed to?' To which I replied, 'There's absolutely nothing wrong with wanting to express love for your family, but if its escaped your attention, Syaitaans (Satans) are incapable of loving. They dont have hearts to love'. Mama replies, 'Yknow Abeer, I dont understand why you refuse to stop talking about yourself'.


PS. Before anyone starts thinking that I'm as rude as the desi kids come nowadays, Mama has a sense of humour and knows that everything I say is said in jest. Just think, if I didnt say such a thing, she wouldnt have been able to come up with a response as classic as that. I love my Ammi.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Dear 'The Beatles',

I would like to respond to your enquiry posted in a song called 'Elanor Rigby'. If my memory serves me right, you asked this question in 1966. I'm apologise for the delayed response, as I was searching fervently for your answer, but to no avail.
The answer to the first question of 'Lonely People, Where Do They Come From?' is Monash Malaysia.
The answer to the second question of 'Lonely People, Where Do They Belong?' can be found in the answer to the first question.

I hope that information will suffice.
If I can be of any other 'Help', do let me know.
A.

Dear You,

You'll be my
42.
A.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Woman's On A Mission, Man.

While I was in India in December, the Munni-Sheila debate was all the rage. The show I was working on had recently even concluded an episode on that, because of the topic's consumerist popularity. Anyway, so one persistent I noted both online on Facebook and Twitter, and offline in real discussions, was that of women addressing themselves as Munni. I didnt like it. 
 And I still dont.

Vijaya Badnaam Hui, Darling Tere Liye.
Shilpa Badnaam Hui, Darling Tere Liye.
Azra Badnaam Hui, Darling Tere Liye.

Honestly? Honestly?

You really want to address yourself as a hooker? Dyou really? Perhaps I'm being over-emotional for no reason, but I dont think there's any reason why a well-educated economically-secure person would want to subjugate themselves into a stereotype women have and still are, striving to work so hard to get out of.
On a recent trip to Thailand I had the good fortune to meet an entire agency of sex workers, who said that they were happy doing what they were doing. Not everyone is forced into sex work, after all. This was a conscious choice they'd made. What they didnt appreciate though, was the stereotypes they were constantly battling against.
And why anyone would joke about being disgraced, is beyond me.
Yknow what? Why dont you make the man disgraced for you for a change?

instant gratification.

a few days ago, i sat down with a friend of mine who's going through a break-up. we were talking at length about the problems, issues and dissecting it just as carefully as 2 biology students in the 8th grade would dissect frogs.
in the midst of all this, she mentioned the solutions she'd be offered, and more often than not she noted that she was advised to go for a rebound as a cure for her heartache. while i steered her effectively (i think) away from this plausibility, i wondered what would have made anyone dispense such advise to someone who's just come out of a serious relationship. 
beyond that, i pondered the serious ramificiations of such a move if she were to hypothetically undertake them.
say for example there was a guy who was geniunely interested in her, and seeing her give him some interest, asked her out (now that she's newly single and presumably ready to move on) and they started dating. so while for this girl this was just a temporary solution to move on from her ex-boyfriend, say the boy falls for this girl. obviously since he's just a rebound, there will come a time when the relationship/fling ends. what then of the boy's feelings? what about him? is he meant to be picked up, in the first place, to be discarded like that?
nevertheless this is a pathetic solution. and beneath this, i was able to chart a deeper meaning to why anyone would suggest a solution like this (i have a lot of free time. so sue me.)
this stems from instant gratification. its not really about hurting the boy or the girl moving on holistically. i believe the solutions, as unrealistic as they were, were provided in good faith- to see friends move on in life and to witness normalcy return. but this is about something alot bigger than that. its all about the weakness that has firmly taken root in society and the phenomena that is instant gratification. if i may be the killjoy that i am, id like to add that the Internet isnt helping matters, but that's an entirely different issue that i'll visit a little later on. 
instant gratification makes it seem that everything is okay, acceptable and gives you false pretense that all is well. yknow what? maybe it is. maybe in this moment, it is. but look at the long term. in 5 years, im quite sure this girl is going to feel an immense amount of guilt for doing what she did, for toying with a boy's heart she shouldnt have, and all those extraneous feelings that usually accompany the travelling circus that is misery.
and trust me, i cant say this from experience, but i have gut instinct that that guilt is alot harder to live with.
see the problem is with the structure of society today. whatever we need, whatever we want, we want it today. we live in the moment. i live in the moment. but for everything i do, everything i say, i make sure it wont have any repercussions for me in the long term. i try not to do things i'd regret 10 years on. this may seem like a cowardly thing to do, even stupid perhaps. but it works for me. ive been hurt by people, and ive wanted to say mean nasty things to them, about them, all that jazz. but i stop myself only by considering whether any of this would matter in the next 10 years. would i look upon something that seems the world to me now, and think of it at omnipresent stage then too? probably not. would i think it was something trivial, that was however bitter an experience, an experience _______? something that i had to go through to build character ? most probably yes. its a little weird for me. im highly impulsive. i want what i want, i know what i want, and i know when i want it. but when it comes to these bigger things in life, i dont mind waiting. id probably have passed the Marshmallow test, dare i say so. i have faith and belief that in the future, all those who have wronged me will realise the implications their actions have had, and those that who do right by me will prevail in my life. perhaps its Utopian of me. but i have this faith and belief. mind you, its been put to test recently and i feel like crumbling and giving into the temptation that is instant gratification, but im just holding on, somehow. one day at a time. yaaaanyway, this is not about that. this is about what causes instant gratification.
as i said earlier, its all this moment. its about doing what you feel is right now, and then realising that perhaps you didnt do the right thing after all. what shocked me most, from the conversation with my friend, was a revelation of hers. she had not only been advised to go for a rebound, but that she get out there 'and kiss some boys'. i was flabbergasted. if there's no other solution available, unleashing sexual desire is the way to go! 
it may be all well for those who've perhaps practised this philosophy and find it effective for themselves. but i think its a very uncool way of dealing with problems. what we need to recognise and indeed, media at large too, is that not everything is about repressed sexual desire or the need to feel good instantly. sure, you'll take a load off by making out with some grunge kid you meet at a bar, perhaps it'll even be better than what your ex was capable of. but in the long run, it feels bad. at least i think so. there's no harm in having fun. but letting feelings which are governed by passion and love (+ lust) be commonly available to those who would not otherwise be deemed worthy of receiving them, is surely no solution.
its hard to understand this. but waiting it out and believing that the best is yet to come, is the best therapy you can ask for.
ill show you a simple example. remember that time when you were 15? and your O Levels, or the Big Board Exams were coming up? remember how you were worried sick, depressed even about your performance in the coming months? remember how it ate up your nights and days? remember how you used to cry in frustration, not being able to memorise something, or because you were so darn tired from something? 

remember how important and consuming it was? uptil that point, that was probably the worst thing that could have happened to me, personally. it was just eating me up, constantly. i wanted it to end so badly, and at that point, i couldnt see anything in my life beyond that. i thought if i didnt do well, i would be a failure for the rest of my life. each and every blighted moment was spent thinking about it, worrying it, wanting it to end, and both not wanting it to end. 5 years on, i cant believe i was so possessed about something as tiny as that. 

i dont know if this analogy helped, but that exam is your problem now. and its consuming you. and you want to escape. but like the exams, you cant escape. you may think you can, but you're going to have to face it. and you'd rather deal with all the problems now than confront them at a stage when they've just blown out of proportions. no?

in other news, i salute anyone and everyone who can keep their feelings of anguish and instant gratification out of facebook, blogs, and twitter. because i most certainly have to make a concerted effort at it. and sometimes i fail. i fail, cryptically, but i fail nevertheless. this is another reason why we cant beat that instant gratification behavioural pattern. because there is an outlet out there that's screaming that everything you go through, everything you feel ought to be documented and everything will be better once you tweet about it, or Facebook, or just, let it be known to people you may or may not know. yknow what? its not cool. you may vent, you may get that outlet, but you must realise, in the back of your mind, someone is judging you and saying, this person cant even handle their problems on their own. i know how it is when someone breaks the last straw on your camel's back, or whatever that quote was. and i know how sometimes you need to vent. but if you absolutely must, do it as cryptically as possible.

Now this dude's heart broke, and he told everybody about it. As if he wasnt unattractive enough, he's out there maligning his ex. On Twitter. And see, you and I, we dont even know him, but we can see his tweets. We can peek into his mind, and judge him. And we can tell he cant take a hit. I'm sure what his ex did to him was horrendous, and probably something no reasonable person would do. But then again, no reasonable person would take to Twitter to vent like this no?

Reasons Why You Shouldnt Date A Journalism Student

The title's self-explanatory, so I'm going to get down to the nitty-gritty.

. We do our research.
If we ever agree to step out with you for dinner, be aware that we're doing so with each and every idea of what colour you like, to where your ex-girlfriend is studying now, to what's your favourite TV show. While this is awesome for the duration we're in a relationship, you must remember that we have a file lodged, both virtually and in our rooms, that documents each and everything about you. We know where you hung out last night, so there's no use telling us lies, we know who you were talking to on the phone at 3am and we even know what your Mum's opinion on your new hairstyle is. Just remember, if things go awry, we can use this against you. Not only do we have more material than 2 Asians combined, but rest assured, we're going to know exactly who you might be dating right after us. If our intentions were not right, or you might have hurt us a little more than necessary, be secure in the knowledge that we have all the ammo and more than we need to destroy your rep. Also, dont sweat, but we've most probably also done a background check on you, criminal records and all.

. Communication is key.
We're studying a major that is all about communication, so you can bet that we'd be kick-bum at it. And its important. Being withdrawn and unexpressive does not cut it for us. You need to talk to us, about the ants you saw having a massive Termite Convention if you must, but you need to. We dont appreciate mono-syllabic or 2 line texts either. And you'd better have a good reason for not communicating with us online, seeing as we're constantly perusing it.

. We're quite adept at current affairs.
With a few exceptions, every week, all of us almost always score a high 7 or 8 on BBC's Weekly World Quiz. And the only time we will find you remotely interesting is when you know something we dont. But remember, we dont show off our knowledge, so kindly dont make it seem like you're the only one who gets a newspaper in your entire village.

. We're trained to argue.
So there's no point fighting a lost battle. We're taught to be objective, so when we do fight, we fight fair. But when you know you're in the wrong, kindly dont be a poster child for Bastardism and keep ploughing on. I think this following line also deserves a mention. We dont judge a book by its cover or presume you to be guilty until proven innocent, to use the two most cliche lines ever seen, so you will be given the addendum  of being guilty 'beyond reasonable doubt' for quite some time. Once we catch onto the fact that you might be taking us for a ride, or that you might have noticed our fair-ness and might be toying with it, tides will change. And you will be tomorrow's newspaper.

. We can fight dirty.
We have the power of language on our side. As well as portraying emotions. If you do wrong by us, just remember that we're the mouthpieces of society and future news-makers. It wont take long before some unrealistic fact about you is leaked into your circle of friends, and before long, you'll be that homeless guy on the street you just laughed at.*

. Timeliness is Godliness.
We're usually running on tight deadlines and have tons of things to do. The fact that we're taking some time out from work and friends to spend it with you ought to be of some value to you. We could just as well be absorbing knowledge from some tomes at the library or reading opinion pieces from industry stalwarts about the future of geysers, or meeting friends and laughing along to the most hilarious pronounciation and grammar mistakes we've had the displeasure of viewing, OR we could be saving the world one blog post/article/news byte at a time. Alternatively, we could be running around doing things in Student Council, working on the school newspaper and well, you get my drift. Dont make us (me) wait. No one appreciates having to wait for someone else, unless you're an interviewee (if that's the case, we'd wipe your dog's doo doo with our bare hands if need be). If you give us a time, honour it. You will be given a 5-10 minute grace period, but if you feel you're engaged in something, be nice, send us a text, maybe a call if you can, and tell us when you'd next be available. If you keep us waiting for too long, chances are you'll soon be the one biting the dust.

. We know what we want. And how to get it.
We're writers. We know how to behave in order to get you to react to us in certain way. Heck, we know how to manipulate you- whether its through tears, emotional blackmail or your fear of teddy bears in the dark. Don't make us use it.

. You'd be pretty lucky to be dating us. Really.
Let's face it. You must have crushed on a Journalism student one time or the other. One reason why you'd be so unfailingly attracted to us is obviously the lack of narcissism we have. The reason why you would be lucky, however, is that despite knowing which way you put your pants on, we still choose to associate with you, and if I may go so far as to say this, even view you romantically. I wont lie, we're highly judgmental people. We judge you by the way you apply prose in conversation, by your hand gesticulations, by your grammar skills on Facebook. You'd have to be pretty darn flawless to be considered worthy of a Journalism student. Honest.

Apart from that, we're lovely really. Not at all pompous, petulant, egotistical, narcissistic, vain, demanding. No sir.



*Disclaimer- I jest. I dont think any journalist in their right mind would curate facts of that sort. This is just an exaggerated version of events. Yknow, better to be safe than sorry.

When I Was A Kid

I used to love singing into the fan.
I would just stand in front of the fan, my hair billowing, me imagining that I looked like one of those actresses on TV, and I would sing.
I would also imagine I had a great voice, and that I was singing to an audience.

That, ladies and gentlement, was the original Auto-tune.
Or the poor man's Auto-tune, if you will.
Yknow what song sounded the best that way?
Cher's 'Dyou Believe In Life'.

I only recently found out that it was Life and not Love. Until that day, I was under the impression that it was Dyou Believe in Love, After Lobe After Lobe After Lobe.
I fail horrendously at singing to songs.

When I Was A Kid

I used to love sitting in the car, at night, while it was raining outside.
There were 2 reasons.
As the car would move, tiny little water snakes would form. Until I grew up, I had no clue it was because of the wind's impact on the raindrops. I loved believing that the water snakes would have races.
I used to cheer the longest snake all the time. And it would usually lose pretty quickly. You were disqualified if you disbanded from other raindrops.

The second reason was that whenever I wasnt playing the above game, I used to love resting my hand onto the windowpane (please tell me what the correct term is for that place), and pretend like the shadow of the raindrops on the window were actually a terrible bout of measles that I had contracted. I used to try putting my face against the window too, to get the measles effect, but it didnt work out that well, because I never saw my face. Then I'd look out the window at other people in their cars, and I'd look purposely sad, because I'd contracted measles. And I hoped that they would wonder in their car, 'O gosh, what a terrible skin condition that child has'. It never occurred to me that:
a. they probably couldnt even identify the tiny little me in the backseat of the car,
b. and that they would have the common sense to be able to tell that it was raindrops.
Sometimes when I was extra hopeful, I'd pray that the light reflect the shadows as green in colour, so that it was established beyond reasonable doubt that I had in fact contracted measles. I thought measles were manufactured in the colour green.

And a third favourite car activity of mine was to peep at the moon, look at my reflection on the window, and then look out for the moon once more. I used to strongly believe that the moon was following me, going where I was going. When I'd lose sight of it for whatever reason, I used to immediately conclude that the moon had better things to do and it got a life, so it went away. Then when I'd see it again, I'd be like, O, it's back to following me.

And now you're either thinking:
. What a bizarre kid. 
OR
. What cheap thrills.
OR
. What an attention seeker. 

I wont deny any of the charges.

Abeer Appropriates!

. I think it takes a special kind of an idiot to edit an article and add spelling mistakes where there are none.

. I was talking to Rashaad yesterday. Some desi dude walked past us and started screaming upon seeing his friend. I told him, 'You can take the man out of the des (country), but you can't take the desi out of the man!'

. I can speak UbbiDubbi, in both English and Urdu.

. I am utterly butterly depressed at the thought that I'm not in India AGAIN for one of my most favourite festivals, Holi. UGH.

. UGH.

. Is wearing heels to university socially acceptable?

. 2 weeks ago, I'd fallen ill. Sheza exclaimed upon seeing me, 'Are you that sick Abeer, that you're wearing flip flops?' Sadly the answer is no. I never realised the magic that are the damn rubber soles, until I bought a pair of flip flops recently.

. Teach me your language. Your beautiful prose and breath-taking enunciation.

Dear Reader,

This is a request on my behalf, to ask you to please purchase a soft toy when you see one. For me.
But not just any soft toy.
Special animal soft toys.
So far I own a peacock and a tiny camel, so the next time you see an elephant (I love elephants!), koalas (I love koalas!), camels (I'd like a bigger one please, without sounding greedy), emus, flamingos, giraffes, hippopotamuses, rhinos, dinosaurs (specially the one with a fan like head), and just, those unconvential soft toys.* 
I love soft ones.

Also, I have tried desperately, upon every trip to Ikea Malaysia to get the heart-shaped cushion. They dont have it anymore here. If they have it in your home country, kindly purchase one for me, and I shall remunerate you.

* Provided they dont cost a bomb. I can only afford cheap soft toys at the mo.

Dear Servers Of The World,

When I tell you I want ketchup, I think it should be implied that I'm referring to tomato ketchup, because one does not refer to chili as ketchup ever. Chili sauce yes, tomato sauce yes, but when I say ketchup, I MEAN TOMATO KETCHUP SIR.

Here, a Wikipedia entry to make your life easy.


And,
Yo Maggi, Imma let you finish, but HEINZ HAS THE BEST KETCHUP OF ALL TIME. ALL TIME.

Diss For Sale.

So quite some time back, there was a hater on my blog. Well, they actually only left one comment, but it was bad enough for me. Because this person hadn't stumbled upon the blog from weird location. They came on through Facebook, which meant that this person was/is my friend on Facebook.

Anyway, so at the time, the comment they left was,
'No one even reads your blog.'

I replied,
'You just did.'

Today morning while brushing my teeth, I realised I could have said something else. 

That something would have been,
'O, so your name's No One?'



I think that's snarky.

Dear You,

I demand piggyback rides.
That is all.
A.

Idiots Attract.

it has often crossed my mind, and escaped it, how idiots attract other idiots. im not talking of 2 people in love specifically, but in general. how do the most silliest and stupidest people come together? is there a community online? is there some forum that they sign up themselves for? how does this work?
this may be deemed a personal attack, and i wont even hold you against it, but i relate this to a person i know. this person lives abroad and very recently took a picture of bird that was trapped in their window in an unfortunate fashion. the person was sympathetic to the fact that the poor bird could not even be helped, because it was trying to get out and it couldnt manage. really, the expression on the bird's face (?) was gut-wrenching. in all of this seriousness, there jumps a person who says, o well, i guess theres no option but to eat the bird. to which the person who took the photo replies, yeah, but i just hate having to pluck the feathers. i dont know why, but that just really upset me. i know i have no right to go bossing about other people's business and im opening myself to alot of flak from other people, but honestly, how can you say that when a bird is trapped?! if you can take the bird into your apartment, you can most definitely let it out from your door or whatever. you dont have to joke about eating it and whatnot. 
personally i thought it was very sick.
that is all.

Mama O Mama!

We just went out for dinner and came back home. Here's what happened, since, and at dinner.


. So there's a bit of a back story. I'm a hopeless athlete and have been since the age of, well, since I was born. But obviously when I was young, we didnt know this. The Yusufs found out soon enough. And how. At school every year, we'd have an annual Sports Day, and all students were allotted to their respective houses. I was and always will be, from Jupiter. Jupiter was yellow, Mars red, Venus blue and Neptune green. The year was 1996. I was in Junior 1, and I was about to participate in my first ever Sports Day. Sports Day was held at the Kampung Pandan Stadium, which has an extremely rundown-about-to-be-devoured-by-termites Grand Stand. It was that way in 96, and it still is. And probably will be for the next 20 years. Anyway. So there I was, wearing my Jupiter shirt and shorts, all ready to go, and I find out from the house teachers that I'm in the Juniors relay race. It escapes me how many metres we were meant to run, but considering we were kids, not that much I presume. So there I am, in the relay race, and I had no idea what a baton was. I just knew I had to run. So as soon as the Jupiter runner passed me the baton, I ran. But I ran in the opposite direction. So while everyone was running towards the finish line, I ran towards the start line. I am really not making this up. This happened. And everyone started screaming. I realised midway through the track, changed direction and ran the right way. Unfortunately by then, we were in 2nd place. All because of me. And everyone in the Grand Stand was laughing at that little bony Indian child. So were my parents. And they were probably telling other people, 'Thank God that's not my child'.
So anyway, just keep in mind that this happened in 1996 and we're in 2011 now. That's 15 years. So we're at dinner and Mama says something and I go, 'I swear I'm going to run away. I cant stand you two'. Mama replies, 'Yeah, with your luck, you'll leave home, and then run back home, thinking you're running the opposite direction'. Desi people I tell you, remember things that happen in 1996.

. While we were coming back, we stopped at a traffic light. Now the area is one that Ive grown up in (Jalan Ampang), so we're quite familiar with every landmark there. While waiting at the lights, Mama noticed that the name for Lanson Place has changed. And she goes, O look, its some spa now. Now because the windows were up and there was drizzle on our windows, Mama couldnt see so clearly. She goes, 'O, look, its' called The Simpleton Spa'. The name is The Sompoton Spa.

. We came back and were watching the New Zealand-Lanka game. Since they're equally matched opponents in terms of cricket pow-wow I asked Mama who she was supporting. She replies, 'I always support the undeveloped, underdeveloped nations. I'm supporting Sri Lanka.' Unfortunately for me, her support made all the difference tonight.

. Yeah, just baai the waaay Mr. Third Umpire, Jayawardene was totally out.

. So while we were watching the game, Papa was praying Isha. Therefore the game was on mute and we were talking in hushed tones, as we always do. For some reason, in the midst of it, Mama and I both thought that Papa was done, because it sounded like he was packing up the prayer mat and all that, so Mama unmuted the TV. And as the two of us look over to Papa, we see he's still praying. And Mama's like, 'O, I thought he was done.' I replied, 'Yeah, thats what I thought too. Yknow, maybe he's praying 2 rakat Shukrana namaaz'. Before I go on, Salat-as-Shukr or Shukrana, is a small namaaz one prays when he would like to offer thanks to Allah for whatever reason. Ive prayed it on almost all major occassions of my life, and sometimes, just because there's so much to thank Him for. So anyway, I was like, he's praying Shukrana namaaz. And then I added, 'He's praying that because he wants to thank Allah for being gifted a child as brilliant as me'. 
Mama responds, 'If anything Abeer, I think he's thanking Allah that he doesnt have more than one Abeer to deal with.'

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Theme Song

If I ever had a theme song, 
I would like to imagine it'd sound something like this.


Or this.



Not much of a difference I realise.
I have these on my iPod.
SO? 
I like listening to news channel soundtracks.
Sue me.

Good Evening World.


I know that somewhere in the crowd,
there's you.

When I Was A Kid

I aspired to be a celebrated creator of culture.
Today, I am an excellent consumer of it.

In other news, I find it absolutely despicable that I cant use the word 'legendary' to describe something actually legendary because I fear it being commonly equated, nay, being brought down to the level of Barney Stinson. As hilarious as that man may be and as rib-tickling as you may find him, you may have noticed that now whenever anyone wants to say that anything was a little above average, they have absolutely no fear in appropriating it as legendary. Yknow what? That rollercoaster ride was NOT legendary. It was thrilling. Get your assumptions right. Also, stop saying epic after every less-than-mundane affair. Honestly.

Mama O Mama!

. Mama just cracked the most hilarious joke ever, like 2 minutes ago. So I was telling her something, and I'm like, 'So tell me, who's the Prime Minister of Australia? Neither of us know who the President of Australia is, but surely you know the who the Prime Minister is' (tbh, i dont even know if they have a President or not, but I'm too lazy to find out). And she identifies, correctly if I may add, Julia Gillard at the helm of the Parliament. To save face because I didnt know who the PM was, I said it was wrong. And then I walked off with an air of concealed indignation. 
To have something to say, I was like, 'Omygod you're such a spectacular fail. I'll bet all my future bucks that when I become a world-class journalist, you'll say, "Yeah, Abeer works at CNN", when in fact I'll be at Al-Jazeera".
To which she responded, "No, I'll tell them that you work at BBC. Because Abeer Baat Bohot Carti (Karti) Hai".
Baat Bohot Carti/Karti Hai- means talks alot. And I'm sure you can see the acronym forming above. You cant really say C instead of K for the Karti, but Mama's never been a stickler for rules like that. Because she's desi.

. So whenever Mama watches a WC match, she's more often than not supporting the underdog. And Papa usually speaks in terms of, 'O, India will lose today, or O, New Zealand have no chance now'. Mama's usually like, 'O, I hope Ireland wins. I'm going to stay up and watch the match till I make Bangladesh win'. This has no relevance to what I want to say, but I thought I'd say it anyway. Just to show you how things work at the Yusufs. Anyway, so we all know that Netherlands has not won a single game. While watching a recent game of theirs, Mama goes, 'Yknow, maybe they should rename their team Neverlands'. 3 minutes ago, she goes, 'Yknow what I said about renaming Netherlands Neverlands? I take that back. They should be called Neitherlands. Because they're neither here nor there.'

. I was washing dishes last night, with my iPod plugged in as usual. The volume was reasonably high and as Mama came in to say something, I told her, unaware of my own volume, that I couldnt hear her. I could hear some smattering of what she was saying, but whenever she said anything, presumably an instruction on what to do next, I kept saying 'Cant hear you, cant hear you!' I saw her leave and I got back to jiving to my tune. Until suddenly, within a second, I realise someone has highjacked my collar, and before I can react, there's a stream of water flowing down my back. My mum comes next to me and says, 'I hope you heard that'.

   __________________________________
Inaugural Post- Mama et Papa!

 . So yesterday night, Mama and Papa were watching England play West Indies. Before I go on, legendary match, if I may say so. So there's this dude playing on the team, called Tredwell. He won Man of the Match, which we thought was unfair considering how spirited Russell was, but that's a completely unrelated point. Basically, the dude's name was getting a little tough for Papa and Mama Yusuf to pronounce. Despite my repeated attempts to correct them, Tredwell remained Dreadwell for Papa and Threadwell for Mama.

. My official graduation pictures have come in, and being the desis that my parents are, 'your high school graduation profile picture was much better', 'look at how you're smiling, like someone's threatening you', and 'look at you, offering a shop full of teeth whenever you can', plus many other comments of such sort followed. But by far the most negative comment I got was my father dissecting my on-stage photograph wherein I'm receiving my degree from the Chancellor. Apparently, my picture does not look good, only and only because unlike the Chancellor, I'm dark. The colour scheme of the black background works for him because he's white, but because I consciously decided to turn dark that day, my face doesnt look that good. Someone needs to tell him that its kind of because of him that I look the way I look. That and that I think his nose is fugly. Because I have the SAME damn nose!

. As I uploaded this post on Facebook, I added a hilarious description. I regurgitate it here for you. 'sometimes i think i have the best mum in the whole world. then i wake up from my nightmare.'

Diss For Sale.

So the next time someone you dont like says something highly knowledgeable, or unexpectedly smart, say,
"Someone's been reading up on their Wikipedia I see".

I think that's snarky.
(PS. Just imagine that blog post title in place of Psychiatric Help. Here, picture for your short-term memory.)
(PPS. The diss is on sale, for free. Because no one in their right mind would buy a diss. From me.)

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Dear Reader,

This post stems out of concern. I understand that you will find the medium highly ironic in a minute or two, but it is imperative that I impart with this uneducated opinion of mine, because I dont want you to belong to the quicksand of a vortex that is the Internet. And it is imperative that you see this here, because you're already drowning, and I have no better way to reach you apart from this. I know that is pretty much the same case as it was with the children's TV show that propogated outdoor activity and said that kids ought to stop watching so much TV, but alas, there isnt much I can do to correct this unfortunate cross-roads of a situation.
I say this out of love and fear of losing the ones I love most (I'm assuming at least one person I love is reading this) but it must be said. The Internet was invented to liberate you; data cables enhancing every flight of fancy you wished to undertake; for journerys both magical and fantastical. It was meant to decorate and illuminate your mind, to show things you never thought possible, to connect you to people you thought you had seen the last of, for thousands of miraculous things to happen. 
Yet today, the Internet is confining you. It has spread everywhere, worse than the Great Plague, and shows no signs of stopping. At least they could contain the Plague. This isnt something you can. You know why? At one point, there was some effort you had to go through to access the Internet. You had to sit somewhere, you were confined to a place to access all that was wonderful. Now its everywhere. Its on your phone, its on your tablet, its on your lap. Its everywhere. And yknow what? You're losing touch with people. You're not looking into eyes, you're looking into screens. You're not revealing feelings, you're tweeting. You're not writing, you're blogging (I know what you're thinking. Stop.). You're not on the quest for knowledge, you're Googling. I know I sound like the crazy homeless person from round the corner, who's constantly screaming, 'The end is near. They have landed!', but think about it. They're already here.
Enough. The Internet has confined us enough. We owe so so so much to it, so many thunderous advancements, developments, aid, assistance, so many things that we have to be grateful to the Internet for, but let us control the Internet. Dont let it control you, my love. Dont.
A.


To illustrate this simple point, I'd like to show you a video that the smart guys at Windows picked up on. Please dont become one of these.


 

Only Rajnikanth Can Touch This



One day, I will learn those damn dance moves. 
One day.

Dear You,

Get here quickly. When you do, together I hope to go to backalleys and backways, backwaters and humdrums of ordinary lives, taking pictures as mementos from everywhere. I'll have my camera slung around my neck, as will you, perhaps I'll don a nice comfy straw hat, and we'll just walk, stopping to take pictures. I reiterate, get her quickly. I cant wait much longer.
A.

Jingle My Bell, O Why Wont You?



Reason #20843928574754 on why my kids wont be half as lucky as me.

ukeleles.

they make me very happy.
now, they're making me laugh.
i came upon this man while reading an article, and decided to give his video a try.



here's what i got, and i attach lyrics for your intellectual pleasure. no pun intended.
George Formby - 1933


Now everybody’s got a crazy notion of their own
Some like to mix up with a crowd, some like to be alone
It’s no one else’s business as far as I can see
But every time that I go out the people stare at me

With my little ukulele in my hand, of course the people do not understand
Some say why don’t you be a scout, why don’t you read a book?
But I get lots more pleasure when I’m playing with my uke.
Of course I take no notice you can tell
For mother’s sound advice will always stand.
She said "My boy do what I say and you’ll never go astray
If you keep your ukulele in your hand, yes son
Keep your ukulele in your hand."

While walking down the prom last night as peaceful as can be
When some young girl said "what about a stroll down by the sea?"
She said her name was Jane and that she’d just come for the day.
She looked so young and harmless that I couldn’t turn away
So with my little ukulele in my hand, I took a stroll with Jane along the sand.
We walked along for miles without a single care or frown
But when we reached the sand hills she said "Come on let’s sit down."
I felt so shy and bashful sitting there, ‘cause the things I said she didn’t understand
She said "Your love just turns me dizzy, come along big boy get busy"
But I kept my ukulele in my hand, yes sir, I kept my ukulele in my hand.

Made up my mind that I’d get wed some eighteen months ago.
I also bought a book about the things you want to know.
But just about a week ago I got a awful fright,
I had to get dressed quickly in the middle of the night.
And with my little ukulele in my hand, I ran along the road for Dr. Brand
It didn’t take him long to get his little bag of tools.
I held his hat and coat and let him have my book of rules.
Out of the bedroom door he looked and smiled
He said, "Come inside and see your wife and child."
My heart it jumped with joy, I could see it was a boy
For he had a ukulele in his hand, oh baby
He had a ukulele in his hand.

___________________________________

if that doesnt suit your fancy,
watch a man i love.
i dont know how his fingers move on that thing, but by golly, 
its divine. 
+, anyone who can play Pink Panther on the ukelele has got to be special no?



kindly keep this in mind, dear reader. should you chance upon ukelelian music, let me know.
i happen to love it.

wimps.

we're all wimps. even me, even you. and im such a wimp i dont have half the courage to tell anyone this to their face. 
we all like the easy way out of everything. i refer this particular posts to monash students, perhaps only to Arts students. i have found myself and a significant number of other people more tolerant towards 'bad' teachers, teachers who we dont believe are educators qualified enough to teach us, primarily because their methods arent holistic and dont encourage us to learn. and why are we tolerant? 'because at least he/she doesnt mark us tough'. i think that that just about does it. i know, that in my time too, i withstood making complaints and official remarks about lecturers primarily because at least they were grading me fine. 
but whenever the grades werent right, for me and others, there'd be uproar. why? because we'd think this person didnt judge our subjective essay well enough, because obviously, having put in the amount of effort that we did, we dont think it fair that it be graded a heartless, cold C.
of course, to give ourselves credit, when we have found good educators, people who really want you to grasp the concept of something and have worked towards that, but give us poor grades, we dont say anything. because given their reasoning and what they have to say for our grades, we understand. maybe we dont. but when we see that most people probably grasped the objective of the assignment and we didnt, that perhaps we're in the red for a valid reason.
i can tell you from my personal experience. i had a lecturer who refused to tell us our periodicial assignment grades, stating that if he released them, and say by the end of the semester, we were cruising between a 69 and a 7o, he wouldnt be able to help us get the extra numeral. and we were all okay with it. i was okay with it. in the belief that when D-Day came, he'd help me get the HD in place for the D. it never occurred to me that i might end up with a 62, a C. what also happened was that we were never allowed to view our assignments. which basically meant we didnt know our progress throughout the semester. it was something that we did in understanding that once we saw our work and whatnot, we wouldnt be able to make changes. and forgive me if this sounds gripe-ly of me, but i let it happen in the wide-eyed belief that all would be well. and perhaps its a testament to my wimpiness that i am now writing a blog post about this. this probably wouldnt even have occurred to me if i'd gotten the D or the HD i was ever so confident of.
dont hate me, im just putting this out there.

Abeer Appropriates!

yknow what i dont understand? i dont understand why anyone cant describe me. am i that weird, that different, that much of a loser, that no one can use an adjective to describe who i am as a person? 


so the next time, be kind, rewind. 
USE AN ADJECTIVE TO DESCRIBE ME,
INSTEAD OF CALLING ME AN ABEER!

yes, i know that doesnt make grammatical sense, because you have an irresistible urge to say its a beer.

discernment

dyou know when we lost it?
we lost it when we started typing on keyboards rather than typewriters.
though an 'erase' button has always existed on typewriters, even that had to be utilised carefully. my papa owns a typewriter, so i know. reels run out. keyboard's peripheral parts dont. and that's where we started slacking. we realised it was actually that easy. that led us to be more lazy. yknow that quote, 'people dont deserve good writing they are so satisfied with bad'? i think it was either oscar wilde or some other equally sarky dude. but they had another thought coming. that was that time. its worse now. because we know we have one button to pick up after us, we have no fear of metering what we want to say. no cause to be cautious, none to be aware, that beyond a point, you cant erase anything. 
i feel that this is the reason we're losing words. 


dear you, when you come, please show me words. show me lovely words. words that i never knew existed. i dont want to lose words. i want to find them. i want to find them, and keep them in my memory.
and if its not much to ask, i want to type them. into a typewriter.

yknow what else i feel? because the keyboard is so instant, that the moment your finger presses a letter and it appears, we end up feeling everything fast. we dont think twice. thoughts are measured when you have to type it into a typewriter, because a typewriter doesnt relay your button-pressing-ness onto paper that fast. and think about those days when you had to adjust the margin lines and stuff. o god. 

make me a word. only for me. 
ps. you cant use humbuggler. i just created that. last night. ill find a use for it soon. for now, shangari and i have decided that it should be an adjective. because it looks like an adjective. we get that adjective vibe from it.

dyou want to hear the most awesome thing ever?
im so adjective, i verb nouns.
arent you just in awe of this?
i know i was.

Monday, March 14, 2011

did i say im just a girl?

i came across the most awesome music video ive seen in a while. i dont generally watch videos, because i find very few of them eye-catching. but here is the link to this awesome song. you must watch the song, and listen to it too. the lyrics. are just what id like too. yknow why? well, of course you do.


I bit my tongue in the ark of conversation
I don't know why
I don't know why
I've met you once and I've fallen for your notions
I don't know why
I don't know why

Do you believe that there is treasures in the ocean
Did I say I'm just a boy
One kiss from you and I'm drunk up on your potion
That big old smile is all you wore

Girl you make me want to feel
Things I've never felt before
Girl you make me want to feel
Did I say I'm just a boy
Did I say I'm just a boy
You can hold me to that

No lonely hands grab my suitcase full of nothing
I don't know why
I don't know why

You took me in gave me something to believe in
That big old smile is all you wore

Girl you make me want to feel
Things I never felt before
Girl you make me want to feel
Did I say I'm just a boy
Did I say I'm just a boy
You can hold me to that

I'm Sorry...

I have approval to go on air at CNBC.
What dyou have?

Pretty soon I will realise that I also have a huge ego. Rid me of it please. 

FYI-ing

Just for your kind information, I will not ever appreciate it if you give me a certain time, say, o, I dont know, 10 minutes, or a time on the o'clock, like say, 4, and then, have the gall to not be on time and not even inform me that you're going to be late. If you've said 15 minutes, I'll give you 20. But kindly never make me wait for more than the allotted time, and then expect me to not fume and shoot you with metaphorical daggers, because really, in my mind, you're already dying a very terribly slow and painful death (okay, not really. I'm not that morbid). 
What I will not appreciate even more, is you giving me attitude about it instead, saying that o, I wasnt late. I saw you talking to someone else, so I thought I'd wait it out until YOU finished talking. Come on lah. Who are you kidding? I dont ask much. If you cant make it to meet me or talk to me at an allotted time, no worries. Its cool. I get delayed too. But I have the decency to send you a one-line text saying, listen, getting delayed by 5-10 minutes. Or hey, I'll be there in some time. It also very unkind to be like, 'in a bit', because uh hello, our bits are extremely relative. 

Dyou know what else I dont like? I dont like it when you ridicule the amount of undying effort I've put in, into something, and then say, O, we're going to do a better job at this than you. I'm sure you will, but there's no need to state it so sharply. I can take a joke, but I will not tolerate a joke when you try to make yourself look better than me. For this sole reason and another very personal one, I hope things dont work out for you.

Dear God,

Kindly dont Magnolia like this with me. 
Also, give me the strength that I dont have to get through this. 
Surely this one thing that I'm asking for isnt so hard to manage.

Love,

A.

Deja Vu?

You can say that over and over again. 
I'm extremely freaked out.

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Dear You,

When the deed's finally done, I hope its not too much to expect that you'll feel like the South African team's reaction to winning the match against India. 
I hope ah, before you think I'm all hoity toity.

ohana.

i love this song to death. 
it makes me feel so good.
i tried tracking down the 'making of' version but was unable to find it.
i love how the words dont make sense to me, but i know that they make sense to a Hawaiian,
and at the same time, actually mean something.

i attach the lyrics, so you may fall in love with this too.
i will one day, learn the words. ive got the first part down pat.



Aloha e aloha e
'Ano 'ai ke aloha e
Aloha ae aloha e
A nu ay ki aloha e

There’s no place I’d rather be
Then on my surfboard out at sea
Lingering in the ocean blue
And If I had one wish come true
I’d surf till the sun sets
Beyond the horizon

A wiki wiki mai lohi lohi
Lawe mai i ko papa he'e nalu
Flyin by on the Hawaiian roller coaster ride

A wiki wiki mai lohi lohi
La we mai iko papa he na lu
Pi'i na nalu la lahalaha
O ka moana hanupanupa
Lalala i kala hanahana
Me ke kai hoene i ka pu'e one
Helehele mai kakou e
Hawaiian roller coaster ride

There’s no place I’d rather be
Than on the seashore dry, wet free
On golden sand is where I lay
And if I only had my way
I'd play til the sun sets
Beyond the horizon

Lalala i kala hanahana
Me ke kai hoene i ka pu'e one
It’s time to try the Hawaiian Roller coaster ride

Hang loose, hang ten, howzit, shake a shaka
No worry, no fear, ain't no biggie braddah
Cuttin' in, cuttin' up, cuttin' back, cuttin' out
Frontside, backside, goofy footed, wipe out

Looking for the wipeout
Let's get jumpin', surf's up and pumpin'
Coastin' with the motion of the ocean
Whirlpools swirling, cascading, twirling
Hawaiian roller coaster ride

There’s no place I’d rather be
Then on my surfboard out at sea
Lingering in the ocean blue
And if I had one wish come true
I’d surf till the sun sets
Beyond the horizon

A wiki wiki mai lohi lohi
Lawe mai i ko papa he'e nalu
Flyin by on the Hawaiian roller coaster ride

A wiki wiki mai lohi lohi
La we mai iko papa he na lu
Pi'i na nalu la lahalaha
O ka moana hanupanupa
Lalala i kala hanahana
Me ke kai hoene i ka pu'e one
Helehele mai kakou e
Hawaiian roller coaster ride

Why The Internet Stopped Being Cool After The 9os.

in my unesteemed and uneducated opinion of course.

basically, the internet began serving a different purpose for me personally. no longer was it about playing with the resilient cover of the floppy disk drive, or the power you felt when you played a simple game with the Up, Down, Right and Left arrow keys. it wasnt about how cool your fingers felt as they typed on this typewriter-like device and how they magically appeared on screen, sprinkled with little green and red wiggles underneath, and it wasnt about being able to go on crayola.com and garfield.com anymore. it wasnt a past-time anymore and wasnt a tool a young person was to use for re-creation, something to make up for the fact that you didnt have siblings to play with. it wasnt about the CD-ROMs either- the endless amount of Scrabble you could play with the pirated CD your Papa just bought you from Imbi Plaza (HEE! i was here before Low Yat was the IT place to go to [geddit? IT, iT, IT?]) or the endless amount of times you could watch the same movies on CD over and over and over again ( i had 3- dr dolittle, home alone 3, and the borrowers ). 

suddenly, somewhere someday, someone realised the potential that was the internet, and just how much it could control us, rather than us control it. along with that, came this deep embedded change in how we, as humans, were to behave in the 2ooos and the hereafter.

id like to take a 3-pronged look at this. i know that later in my life im going to regret using the term 3-prong, but really, theres no more vivid, sense-making word in my mind right now. 

the first of this belongs to blogs. i write on a blog, and i only just started (again). i have begun blogging at a time when even a blog demands and consumes far too much attention and time, as i have been told so by many of my friends an alibi for why they dont view my posts. that and the fact that i blog too much (hawhaw. i happen to have alot to say, as you may have noticed). now im constantly faced by a conundrum and i constantly wonder whats the right thing to do. theres a good chance that im not a conventional blogger, convential in my hypothesis being defined as someone who quite metaphorically pours their heart out over a post, detailing trips to places, emotions that are raw and unrefined and naming people, places and feelings about them. i dont really write about myself, yet i do. everything i write is more or less about myself, something im not very proud of, because lets face it, how many people would want to read something about me? i once explained this logic to a friend, who then told me that that was exactly the purpose of a blog- its a log. youre meant to log into it. and say what you feel. its your space, so you can do whatever you want, with no care of what anyone else has to say or think about it. while that did temporarily comfort me, it brought forth many other dragons. numero uno, consider for a moment why one blogs. while reasons vary, it has to at some sub/conscious level have to be about showing one person, some person, alot of people, how you write, what you are as a person and who you are in anger, sadness, at your comical best and your physical worst. 
it is about presenting your thoughts, to the best of your ability, to someone else. you know that once you hit that 'publish' button, its no longer something you have complete control over. you know that other people are reading those very words that youve painstakingly produced. if you're me, you hope rather than know. does that not in itself create a subconscious desire to present yourself in a certain light? to show that you're a certain kind of person, and perhaps have the liberty of creating a certain kind of online persona, aura and charm? 
now combine that mental image with this previous line of mine-"so you can do whatever you want". this means you can post anything you want, at any point of time, about anything that takes your fancy. does that not scare you? because i sure am afraid of such a thing. i too feel alot of raw emotions and have been especially prone to them over the last 3-4 months. when you know theres a tool available right here, right now for instant gratification, the perfect playground for even a pity (online) party and a pool to collect all sorts of generous comments, who would hold back? i know i was tempted to give in many a time, articulate my thoughts as brilliantly as i possibly could, make a sweeping statement, caring no less if i tried. 
but i didnt.
for the simple reason that there is a huge difference between your personal diary and your blog. a diary is on paper, you can forget it once you've written something and never have the displeasure of going through it again, unless youre spring-cleaning 3 years later. a diary doesnt have a Search bar, which will take you to every post that is related to a key term should you be the least bit interested. a diary isnt as permanent as a blog on-line, where i can steal a thought of yours, without your knowledge and privately do with it what i want. a diary is personal, a blog at any level, is not. and its this last point that has constantly stopped me. what kind of a person would i be if i were to express myself to the point of not holding a single intimate detail back from a reader, telling them everything, play-by-play if i wish. its alright in this moment, for this is what i feel the strongest about, but 2 years later? say i just went through a breakup, and i felt depression, nay, anger at the situation. its okay to blog about it now, but what of the next 4 years? when i revisit the blog 4 years later, will i still be of the same opinion? certainly not. but having poured my soul out on a blog, i would have recieved some instant comfort, something that in the short term is gratifying, but in the long term? hardly healthy. imagine, if your future suitor were to chance upon that post, what would he think? im not saying one ought to veil their personalities by presenting themselves as what they're not, but when you give into expressing your negative emotions so easily, does it not say something about you? 
to me, as i recently wrote in an article, it screams the inability to withstand adversity of any kind. constantly expressing how you feel is okay upto a certain point, but when you use an easily available tool as a ruse and replacement to actually actively dealing with your domestic dragons, something is seriously wrong. i can understand an outlet, but i am afraid thats not where things are at anymore. people blog perilously with gay abandon. dont they ever go back to see what theyve written? as a retrospective look perhaps on who they were prior to an experience or situation? dont they fear what might be their impression upon others who chance upon old posts? i know i do. 
at the same time though, ive just recently posted a post about being trusting and nice and all those gay and sunshine-y things you want in Utopia. is it right for us to hide the seamier side of life just to project ourselves as if everything is fine, even when everything in life as we know it, is falling apart? is it right to have impression instead on readers, that youre a bright yellow rainbow of sunshine (o god what a paradox) and that your thoughts are only second in serenity and peace to that of the Dalai Lama? 
i fight this battle each and every time something remotely personal crops up. while i dont wish to hide the more depressing feelings i have, i tend to be cautious in writing anything vilifying about anyone i may not like, because one day, there could just as well be a blog post in cyberspace about me. and if its an attack on me and why im the worst last indian on earth, id rather it be cryptic than obvious. i also wonder that while i might in one very moment feel extremely strongly in a certain way, in the long term, would i feel like that? and more importantly would i be safe in the knowledge that one point of time, in the heat of a moment i expressed an opinion i cease to feel?

till tomorrow, good night.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Can Someone Please Tell Me...

Why something always has to be a bitch and not a boy dog? What happened? Why the sudden change in gender? Stop hating on girl dogs. At least they're mothers.


My proud Saturday night Chris Crocker moment, ladies and gentlement. 
O, I just created that through serendipity- gentelement. According to this book I'm currently reading, The Ants Are My Friends, this was a malapropism, albeit not occurring through sound. Doesnt that sound better than ladies and gentlemen? Or better even than a brilliant-er sounding ladies and germs, something I picked up from this movie called Magnolia. Bloody weird movie.

What are boy dogs called?

trust.

why have we become so difficult as humans nowadays? why dont we trust each other? why do we constantly safeguard ourselves and shelter and cushion our falls, make sure no one gets to us, near us; believe in them, take their word for something and let go? why are we constantly doubting the good faith someone might have, a moral judgement someone might have made with regard to a certain situation? why is it necessary for us to place a sinister, ulterior motive behind everything? why cant we take things and people at face value anymore? 

why is it that we believe there to be a superior reason to behind why someone would want to associate with us, apart from what is apparent to the eye?
why is it that we cant open up, tell someone what we really feel to the recesses and resonance that we feel it at? why are we so afraid of something going wrong? think about it, if this trend continues, if we keep relegating and stepping into these mental straightjackets and quit opening ourselves, we'll one day amount to nothing. everything will be within us, nothing out, and we wont ever be able to move. because everyone knows you need an outlet, a trust outlet. family, friends, lovers, whoever. you need an outlet. but maybe because we're so scared of being judged, of what is being thought of us, of how our revelations to people might let them have a hold or an advantage over us, that we just lose out on being humans entirely. we're so afraid that by opening up we're letting such a private part of us go, and that by saying things we're exposing ourselves to potential blackmail and misuse of trust that everything is just hidden beneath, buried under the sadness that is our life.
you and i, we shouldnt be this way.


this post has stemmed out from the fact that someone has changed the bookmark positioning in my book. I CAPITAL HATE IT WHEN SOMEONE DOES THAT. HUUUUGE PET PEEVE!

also, a pulse has been throbbing incessantly for the past 3 hours near my left eye. i dont know why. its extremely annoying and i felt that it totally belongs in this unrelated post about trust.

Doesnt Everything Sound More Wonderful When Said In Yoda?

Think so, I do.

To My Children

The gift of the most beautiful song ever created by a television channel.



And an awesome tribute video.

Beaut.

because the raw beauty has been removed, its not quite a beauty, or beautiful.
nevertheless, these are some of my most favourite films ever to be have been created and theyve been remixed, with some very whacky results.

Mary Poppins.

Harry Potter.

Willy Wonka. I have always found Gene Wilder as Wonka terribly frightening.

The most beautiful tune of them all.

and the movie i love most. A Little Princess.