((insert post title here)) // Thursday, September 5, 2013
Note: This post is the result of me being left alone with my thoughts. Each paragraph is a different topic because I was too lazy to update multiple times about different things so I just mushed them together in one giant butt-kicking post. Enjoy. السلام عليكم و رحمة الله و بركاته Often when I'm on a social network these days and some typical skinny girl uploads a selfie, people tend to comment things like “thiGH GAP” and “omg i want your thigh gap” and yadayadayada and I'm just curious as to why. Honestly I'd feel super uncomfortable if someone were to comment something like that on a photo of me. Idk, it just gives off the impression that the clothes I wear are too revealing or my body is on display for prying eyes to feed off of. And why are people so obsessed with having a huge thigh gap? Everyone wants a thigh gap because having a thigh gap means you're skinny. Everyone is afraid of not having a thigh gap because not having a thigh gap means you're fat. Come on, seriously? Having a thigh gap does not determine whether you're skinny or not. Just because you have a huge thigh gap doesn't mean you're super skinny and just because you don't have a thigh gap doesn't mean you are obese. It just shows how judgmental our society can be. Everyone wants to be a part of what's in because everyone is afraid of being unaccepted, excluded. I was too. Was— in the past tense. I was afraid of being the fat kid everyone teased, who had no real friends and was always the laughingstock of the school. But at some point I grew tired of everything; of trying to be accepted, of trying to fit in. So I just let it slide. And when people started talking bad things behind my back, and my friends started asking “Are you not mad?” my answer would always be “I can't seem to afford to give them that kind of pleasure,” Back in America, when my siblings and I were still young, we had this dream thing we kinda made up together. I can't quite remember who started it, Fareeda probably, but once in a while one of us would bring up that particular dream, because we just did. One of us would bring it up by saying something like this: “You know, this is all just a dream. We're actually back in Malaysia; dreaming of the life we used to live in America. It's weird because we're all dreaming the same dream.” Thinking back about it, I can't help but curse at our naïve selves for saying such things; things like that especially. We were so stupid then, it's actually hysterical how stupid we were. And it's ironic too, seeing how that ‘dream’ we made up turned out to be this nightmare I call the life I live today. But the worst part is, it actually —at times— feels like it was all a dream. I still have the memories lingering on in the back of my mind, but sometimes, just sometimes, I can't help but feel as if they were fragments of moments I pieced up together using the limited imagination that I own. The remnants of the memories, they're so far away, so distant. I'd go through photo albums and ask myself why I can't remember a certain event, or why I wasn't smiling in the picture, or if it took place at my house or someone else's. Why can't I remember even though it was me who went through those very moments, all those years ago? Whenever I talk about things like these to my friends they'd sway from the conversation and steer it towards all the harm America had caused throughout the years. The wars and the 9/11, and somehow all those things would be pinned on me. But why am I to blame? Why am I to choose between my religion and the place I spent most of my childhood? And then I realized that I was an intruder, invading the gates of Malaysia and contaminating everything with my american germs. I am still clueless as to why the majority of people on social networking sites have a problem when people inform that they've finished performing their prayer or just broke their fast. They accuse those who tweet things like “done with Maghrib” or “just finished Isya’” as showing off their good deeds. But how would you know? Maybe, they tweet such things as a sense of satisfactory, relief, that they've successfully performed their prayer without having to go through any life-threatening obstacles or hardships. And here, I'll quote a hadith about intentions, which states انما الاعمال بلنيات وانما لكل امرىء ما نوى meaning “Actions are dependent upon their intentions, and every man will have but that which he intended,” narrated by Bukhari and Muslim. So why are you judging them with half-open eyes, as if you know what is concealed in their hearts? Even if their ways of expressing satisfactory contradict with yours, don't you think you should use a more softer approach when dealing with the issue? Instead, why don't you tell them that sincerity comes when you start hiding your good deeds as if you are hiding your bad ones. Or maybe you could tell them to tweet “الحمد لله” instead of done with blahblahblah. When I started upper secondary school, I was separated from two of the best people I grew close with during the glory days of form 3. But at that time, the school I was formerly attending didn't provide education for the upper secondary school level, meaning: I knew that we'd probably be separated anyway, because changing schools was inevitable, I just didn't know that I'd be thrown to the farthest end of Bangi while they'd be stitched up together in the same school. We went through the same clichéd “we'll continue texting like always” and “I'll call you on the weekends” or “we can hang out together sometime” which died down after the first few months. Then the texts stopped coming and my inbox turned into a chest of old messages. And I felt pathetic. To the point where I even felt sorry for myself. And it was dumb of me, but I wanted to prove to them, to myself, to everyone— that I wasn't weak. So I changed myself 360 degrees. I became a snob; arrogant and ignorant. I was a bystander, a wallflower and I stood between the lines trying to make myself as invisible as I could possibly be. I left WhatsApp messages from those two friends hanging and prioritized my current friends, because I was selfish and I was sick of being left behind. When I started tweeting about how I hate using “aku//kau” with my friends because it sounded harsh to me ((it still does)), I didn't really acknowledge the fact that I used “aku//kau” with them until they stopped using it with me to make me feel comfortable, and that statement itself made me uncomfortable because it was proof that we were drifting apart. Worse, when one of my friends mentioned all her current friends in her Twitter bio, I felt hurt, without realizing that I was the one who did it first. I had no right to feel hurt. They did. I was selfish. I am still selfish. Since primary, we were taught not to go to school to learn basically because of the upcoming public exams, but to find ilmu, to make learning an ibadah. And to this day, we still get a few random pep-talks about learning because we genuinely want a good education. It all goes back to the intention concept I mentioned earlier. Frankly I don't know if it's just me, but it seems like all the teachers are giving us students mixed signals. One minute we're supposed to be learning for a bright future, the next we're supposed to be learning for great achievements when our SPM results come out. The teachers are telling us to make learning an ibadah, but at the same time they themselves are acting so SPM based. In fact, there are a few teachers who refuse to teach us a few topics because they know we won't choose to answer the question regarding that topic, or because that topic won't be questioned during the day of the exams. It's hard not to be SPM based when our teachers themselves are SPM based, and frankly sometimes I get my intentions mixed up because of things like this. Reciting the dua’ in class has become a routine, and some of my classmates even hold conversations while some just have their hands held close to their chest blowing raspberries and glancing at the table. I myself, sometimes find myself pondering when reciting the dua’, a habit I shamefully admit. I've even reached the extent where I've begun to grow hatred for school— waking up to the same stressful routine full of exhaustion adds up some spice. But don't get me wrong. I love learning. Education is something I crave for, but school.. the entire opposite. Ever since I started upper secondary school, I stopped using honorifics with my juniors. I like the fact that juniors know they should respect their seniors, but I don't know, it just felt like there was some sort of gap that separated juniors from seniors every time someone called me “kak”. I talk from experience, because back in my old school I always referred to myself as “akak” when talking with my juniors and used “saya” when talking with my seniors. And even though I was really close with a minority of them, I just couldn't get used to the honorifics, because somehow, it made things really awkward. When talking with my former juniors, especially, they'd accidentally call me by my name without the “kak” or refer to themselves using “aku” then apologize profusely for being rude. And because of small issues like these things would go awkward for the next few minutes, then I'd have to take the initiative to tell them it's okay. So when I changed schools, I decided not to use honorifics with anyone. Not even with my seniors, I just used my name when referring to myself even though I wasn't really used to it at first ((but that isn't an issue anymore since now I guess I qualify as a senior ahah)) and the same goes with boys. I sometimes don't know if I should use “aku//kau” with boys or use my name when talking because personally I really don't like using “aku//kau” and I wouldn't want to come off as rude. But then it'd be awkward talking to guys using “kita//awak//saya//kamu” and frankly I've been caught accidentally using those references when talking to guys and wow the awkwardness was equivalent to publicly telling the world your pet is gay. I sorta wish I was free to talk to everyone in english because then it wouldn't be so hard to figure out what to call them but since I can’t ((I'd be labelled as a show off, trust me; I talk from experience)) I just avoid talking to everyone outside of my circle of friends and the english society, boys especially. So when I don't refer to myself as “kak”, don't go around saying I'm “bajet muda//taknak mengaku tua” and all that crap, just know that I am super awkward or better yet just shut up. Okay adik-adik? To be honest it's really hard to talk in english at school when people interpret it as me showing off my english skills when in all actuality I am just stepping in my comfort zone. It's difficult to talk to Aiesyah and Aishah and Aisha and Munawwir and Shaun and Raef without people staring and having me shut up my big mouth. I've been through the she's-such-a-show-off-thinking-her-slang-is-all-that thing over a million times already, and here I am rambling about this issue for the umpteenth time. I'm sorry— wait no, I am not sorry, but my slang is not something I can simply ‘tone down’. You don't see me going all up in your face telling you to tone down your Kelantan slang or pronounce words slowly in Malay so that I can catch up with what you're talking about. The way you talk is none of my business and the way I talk is certainly none of yours. I should be free to talk in whatever language I want to without having ugly stares shot through the insides of me and you guys should know that the english kid is called the english kid because you labelled me so. And I am just living up to what you have labelled me as so why are you so mad when I talk in english? It's really hard to understand what you want from me and it's harder to take in the fact that you'll never be pleased so yeah I’m pretty much just about done here. There is no need to blurt out “Eh, boleh cakap London lah!” for the people living on the far ends of Jupiter to hear when I am having a decent conversation with Aiesyah just to make me feel stupid. Point taken? It's the fourth of September. Happy birthday to Mom in advance since I won't be posting anything on the tenth. The time on my iPad shows that it's eleven twenty-five. Which means I have english tomorrow and I haven't ironed my school uniform yet. The music I've been listening to changed from Anna Kendrick singing the cup song to The Script's If You Could See Me Now and I was just wondering what it'd be like when I grow up and not have my parents around. The other day INTI International University called and asked if I wanted to apply using my trial results or my SPM results. It caught me off guard, because I suddenly realized that I am almost free from the school bars and the future is closely tailing me from behind. I've been thinking a lot lately, seeing how I hitch a ride from Ika to UKM’s KTM station every day and take the train ((train?)) from there to Bangi and catch a taxi back home nowadays. Honestly I love the vibe Ika and her sisters give off during the short moments we share in her Mom's car, they're so positive and lively. I'll miss it when all this is over, I swear. So anyway, waiting for the train ((again with the train thingy, I don't know what to call it so a train it shall be called mua ha ha ha)) alone gives you an awful lot of time to think to yourself. When I say awful, I mean awful, very bad, unpleasant. Staring at my black school shoes makes me wonder why I bought them black in the first place. Then I remember I did so because I bought them two weeks before raya seeing how my white ones were too poor in condition, even they seemed dreaded with the thought of me wearing them on a daily basis. Buying black ones seemed strategic then, because wearing them for a short period would be a waste and having them black in colour would be useful when I get a part time job at MPH next year, while waiting for my SPM results. Thoughts like those would trail off to thinking about if my approach to gaining 10As is right or if I am striving hard enough for such excellent scores. Sometimes I feel as if I don't want it enough, which is the reason behind my laziness at times. Other times I think about my past actions, my current actions, and my future ones. The love-life I chose was stupid and I regret it at times, the time I spent wasn't always spent wisely, I am doing nothing to change these things besides nag about them to a blog no one reads, I am not sure with my own ability to succeed. The next thing I know the train arrives and I am boarding it with an understanding for my parents to not feel proud of me at times, and a simpathy for them because I am a burden and I turned out to be a screwed up one at that. Four minutes later I'd be getting a taxi to send me home, paying the driver and expressing my gratitude, checking the mail, unlocking the door and embracing Fariha in my arms. The next day comes as if it wouldn't, school hours are short and the teachers are booming their voices through the microphone telling us to put our pens down. I bid farewell to everybody and walk out the school gates with Aiesyah and Ika sandwiching me. The cycle repeats itself and I am restraining every fibre of my body not to go crazy just yet, just until SPM is over, just until you make your parents proud, Farisha. Just until then. Then after, you'll be free to go crazy and disappear. Disappear completely. |