A reflection on reading and life in general

Recently, and maybe not recently, but ever since I began to realise I do not exist in vacuum, and become more and more aware of the tragedies and happenings around the world, wether it is within my own country or across the borders, of the devils that exist in human form, of the injustices that are justified by people on pedestals, by how I'm protected from the news I watched, because of one thing: the place and family I was born to.

And so what does that mean? Why me? What should I do with this knowledge? What can I do to help? To support, to change, to do something, anything...what can I do?

And this job I'm doing, of polishing manuscripts till it shines so bright, it captivates and engulf the world through its' sheer existence. My daily job, where I work with fictional strands of conflicts and premises, weaved into convincing stories, food for the soul, nourishing and satisfying.

And in all of this, how is my job contributing to the whole scene that troubled me. Maybe what I'm doing is trivial, unimportant amidst displacements, poverty, and genocides. Maybe I should do something more, rather than thinking about how to bring out the emotions of a character better, or spotting the inconsistencies in a story narrative. I mean, how is all this doing anything to help improve the world?

At the same time, I know, I know what I'm doing is important. Good stories are essential. People need and crave for excellent literature. The world can not live without meaningfully crafted fictional POVs of different individual striving to live, despite all odds. Soul food.

What's missing is the bridge. What's the bridge linking what I know what I'm troubled about. How can what I know about my work help prevent and fight genocides and atrocities.

Then maybe, an answer has already formed for a long time at the back of my mind, I just needed substance and just a little bit more conviction by anything, to carve out the answer.

A few weeks ago, I picked up a book called When Hearing Becomes Listening: Prophetic Listening and How It Can Transform the World Within Us and Around us by Mikaeel Ahmed Smith at a warehouse sale at the place I worked in haha.

So this book, as I was reading the book yesterday under the sun, between lush trees and chirping birds, I stumbled on a passage I didn't expect to exist in the book. It was this:

Polls show that women, generally, read more than men and that the gender gap in reading is largest in the area of fiction. Reading or listening to a fictitious story forces a person to make some level of emotional investment in the characters in the story. As the characters navigate various situations and interact with certain people, we learn more and more about them and we get to know them. The best authors make us feel as if we deeply know the characters involved. This storytelling incident between the Prophet SAW and Aisha RA shows a willingness to not only listen to, but also to emotionally invest in the fictional characters she was describing. 

The prophet SAW was so invested in the story that he was able to compare himself to these fictional character she was describing. The Prophet SAW was so invested in the story that he was able to compare himself to these fictional characters. Aisha says that after listening to the story, he said to her, "I will be to you like Abu Zar." So not only did the Prophet show us how important it is to value what those who are closest to us value, but even when the subject matter is fictional and perhaps quite trivial, he used it emotionally connect with his wife.

Something about these paragraphs struck me hard. Reading "fiction" with "the Prophet SAW" in one text feels surreal at the given time. It's like, "Oh look, the Prophet SAW respects and appreciates fiction. I found it increasingly interesting how the author used this example of the Prophet SAW listening with full attention and focus to the words of wife, through this specific example. Suddenly, my daily job of editing stories do not seem trivial. Suddenly, I feel acknowledged and maybe you can say, validated haha. The Prophet didn't stop Aisha from telling her stories, in fact he enjoyed it, and this situation was used as an example for emphatic listening.

This alone, solidified the answer that has been building up within me.

The world need good stories.

The world need powerful and emphatic authors.

The world need authors that can write to change and challenge the narrative, the world need authors who know how to deliver their point tactfully and concisely, the world need authors who can shine light and push people to really see the plight of the orphans, the refugees, the weak, the war, the wrongs. 

Authors and stories and literature and woven words do not exist in vacuum. There's a whole professional team whose sole purpose is to polish and sharpen the existing words, so that it can serve its purpose as a medium to make people relate, reflect, ponder, imagine, and feel and see the world the way the never had.

Stories created empathy, stories create understanding souls, stories shifts perspectives.

And so, what I'm doing is not futile. I'll do my best to become a better editor who know when to see the forest for the trees and when to see the trees for the forest. I'll do my best to help great stories to breathe, exist and stretch its' hands throughout the world, in hopes that one day, this path I have dedicated myself to, will bear healthy fruits for a long time; creating generations of wonderful, wise, emphatic, respectful, brave, and imaginative authors, who wield their words as a weapon to protect the weak, to speak up when new bursts of genocides began to spark, who write ferociously, knowing they can change the world through their words, knowing they can heal hearts from their prose, knowing stories, literature, prose, fiction, are not futile nor trivial, but seeds to a better future.

The journey to see the trees from the seeds, that can shelter people from the cold and harsh wind, will require a lot of patience and determination, but we do what we do, and the future will unfold naturally, one day or soon.

Until then, the future where Malaysia will become a force to reckon with, through words. 

Until then, I'll be here, reading, editing, reflecting, hurting from the stories around me, healing from the soothing words whispered to me, and occasionally writing, as honest as I can.

Hey, how have you been?

I’m doing fine, great, sometimes horrible, sometimes just plain confused, most times living.

How old are you now? Spiritually and physically? Do you feel like you’ve aged? But really, how do we know how we should act, with our given age? Who decide the rules?

Hey, I heard you still live there, and sometimes live in the woods, but really, where do you feel you are right now?

Are you here with me, or are you floating out there in the wind, between floating leaves, befriending surprised birds up in the open air?

Or are you deep beneath the earth, lurking in burrows and caves, hanging upside down with a sleeping bat? 

Or maybe you’re long gone, saying goodbye when I’m busy dealing with life, crossing another bridge, burning another path, building another fort. 

That paper I saw floating in the air, flying further and further, and someday landing somewhere, becoming one with the world, was that you? I wonder.

Wherever you are and whoever you are now, I’ll be here. Because I have decided I am capable enough to live on my own feet. My naive and fiery self of the past, collides into one. My “I know about life” and “I know nothing about life”, now a mesh of careful ducklings crossing a busy street.

I am here. For you, to return and visit when you want. 

Until then,

A presence you have known all your life

Fickle fickle mind

Hello my fickle fickle mind.

Fickle but stubborn mind,

do you mind?

Could you step aside, let me be free,

an experience what it is to not live in a paradox of universes.

Hello my fickle fickle mind.

Fickle but persistent mind,

do you mind?

If I stuff you in a titanium box,

and sink you deep deep in the ocean.

Hello my fickle fickle mind.

Fickle and determined mind,

do you care?

If all I did is stay close to you,

while cursing your existence and slowly,

burn your roots curled deep within my soul.

Would you mind?

If I call you mine

but wish for you to be gone?

A joke and an ancient tree; my fickle fickle mind.

Used to & now I

used to come here to write everything and nothing as if digital life is not absolute.

used to come here and freely write like tomorrow never exist.

used to be here because it felt like, a place I could return to.

used to be here to soften the bruises I didn't know I had.

used to be here to feel listened and comforted,

by my own words.

used to,

but now I 

I am still here.

Hi.

You never left,

the shimmering river within me,

filled with life and cool amidst the heat,

untainted amongst the junk,

flowing, living,

you

how are you?

25 and life is clearer but muddier too,

the way it was

the way it is.

This and that,

are you still there?

are you still with me?

are you still living?

are you alright?

Family

 Here's me with my scrambling thoughts after ep 13 of homecha.

God.

That episode made me cry a lot.

Also been reading Maybe You Should Talk to Someone by Lori Gottlieb, which made me delve more into my own behaviours, past and present. Crazy how much one doesn't know about one self. 

Back to title. Family.

This word has been hiding in my mind in some distant corner covered with dust, but still there nevertheless. Staring at me waiting for me to pick it out, among all other thoughts. And carefully hold it in my hands. Giving it the attention it needs.

Stepped into a new group of people i've just met or just met few days ago, and they say we're family.

Stepped into a new building with entirely different life and it said we're family.

Walked into a common ground in conversations and events and the world chants we're family.

Family.

Should be a holy mantra.

A powerful piece of word that immediately wraps up everyone in a bubble.

Tying arms to each other, assuming familiarity and comfort.

A powerful tool for authority and security.

I wonder. How many of us, how many of those who said we're family actually acts the way a family does and doesn't feel like another black and white law. Dull on a sheet of paper. Read everyday solemnly.

We're family.

I don't know if i have ever truly felt family in any circle that overused the word other than my own blood-born family. 

Blood-tied. The strongest pact. But even then, it took years to finally understand what a family is. A sense of comfort, familiarity, unconditional love and support through thick and thin, always with you through time. 

Family is not just a decoration. Real work must be situated to make it work. Even when a thread in the knitwork goes astray, there's a way to make it work. To make it fit comfortably in the overall look without cutting it off. To never leave one in their worst persona. To wait patiently and love nevertheless and willingness to make it work. Whatever it is. To know that you belong no matter what. You can come home no matter what.

Family and home is intangible.

Maybe i'm still overprotective over my heart, tears and sanity. And i deny any other entity that says we're family without any visible action that convinced my heart. 

What a nice word.

Sold for cheap.

How can one be family if money, monthly targets, written rules, and expected behaviour are included in the bowl?

How can one be family without knowing each other and cutting parts of oneself to look exactly the same as others? 

That's not family.

I cannot accept an expensive word to be sold cheap.

 Fleeting, a cm away from earth.

 

August is about to end, and my country is still on fire,

A fire of varying degree,

Felt uniquely by each and every one,

Nevertheless, we haven’t stop burning.

 

-

 

I’ve been loving every single read this month. I can safely say that this month’s reads are the most satisfactory as a whole. The thing about reading books, the fun part for me, is to combine and find different but complementary messages and ideas, blending into a wonderful new drawing.

 

Started from Algojo, that brought me violently into a world of politics, dirty and reality, spearheading a message that power and money corrupts, unless handled with restraint and moderation. To unravel the mess, to break free from the chains of corruption, one needs to see beyond black and white.

 

“Tapi kemajuan bukan mesin, kenderaan, senjata dan wang. Itu adalah kemunduran. Kemajuan adalah sesuatu yang membolehkan semua orang hidup dengan cara mereka mahu hidup, atas pilihan mereka sendiri. Itulah kemajuan yang sebenar.”

 

“Itu kemajuan dari perspektif mereka sahaja. Atau perspektif awak, Badriya.”

 

“YB, apa yang ada dalam dunia ni kecuali perspektif? Semua perkara adalah perspektif. Kita mesti mengiktiraf perspektif, terutamanya dalam isu kebajikan orang Asal. Sebab selama ini, perspektif mereka tidak dipedulikan.”

 

Sonogram delivered a message that the powerful, rich and elite forms a safety bubble, refusing to pop their bubble and help each other to live safely, and freely, in that sphere. Those with power are, and can be, and most likely are cowards. The higher you rise, the longer the fall. Be careful of the snakes. They lurk in the shadows. Ok, it’s actually a story of a boy chasing “ghosts” haha.

 

“Jadi teruskan berlagak macam tak ada apa berlaku. 90% orang yang ikut motto ni selamat dalam dunia yang dikuasai ahli politik sekarang.”

 

Di Situ Langit Dijunjung dragged me into the screams and blood of racial tensions due to poor leadership and unbalanced socioeconomy. People on the ground cries and digs for a roof, living in fear due to the doings of the ones who were supposed to help and bring dignity towards the land.

 

“Mama sedang mencari tempat untuk bertahan. Untuk merenggut sesuatu supaya boleh bergantung harap, seperti seseorang yang sedang lemas dan hanya tunggu masa nak ditelan ombak, tapi masih percaya akan wujudnya keajaiban. Perlahan-lahan juga aku lihat Mama seperti seseorang yang kelemasan, bila dia sedar bahawa kadang-kala, hidup ni memang tak punya harapan, dan di depan mata aku ni juga Mama mengecil dan mengecut, sampai yang tinggal hanyalah kelongsong. Kosong. Hilang. Aku nampak dekat mata Mama tu semua. Mama dah putus asa, hilang harapan. Dia dah parah dengan apa saja nasibnya. Mama dah bersedia untuk lemas, ditelan ombak jahat.”

 

 

Then i jumped into the wisdom of Syed Hussein Alatas that cleaned my brain from the confusion of social media and opinions of the masses. A dusty window that needs polishing so that I can look outside clearly without any obstructions. The book reminded of the role of leaders towards a nation, how rotten leaders are the root for many destructions in this country, the role of looking at any issue fairly using the appropriate knowledge and sources, and to be the saviour and builder of your people, and not to be among those who degrade their own kind while blindly following the “wisdom” of the west.

 

“Jika hanya menganjurkan usaha-usaha yang baik itu bukan revolusi, apa lagi jika anjuran-anjuran ini disalurkan dalam wadah falsafah golongan kerajaan yang berkuasa. Ini namanya idoktrinasi bukan revolusi! Revolusi biasanya menyerang sistem masyarakat, nila-nilai berkuasa, perbuatan-perbuatan yang berkuasa, penyelewengan hukum yang terjadi, penindasan golongan-golongan tertentu, ketidakadilan sistem ekonomi, sistem kerajaan, sifat pimpinan dan sebagainya. Bukan memburukkan peribadi bangsa sendiri.”

 

-

 

I feel like I’m constantly in a tug of war between reality and imaginary. Finding one in another, finding another in one.

 

 

Let the waves come. I'm tired.

A hooded man with a scythe.

The face of death, an image of death.

Black as the night, feathers of crows.

Black as jet, dripping down ink.

 

Trapped in cement, wood or air.

House, they say.

Shelter, they say.

Safe, they say.

Heaven, they say.

 

Yet demons slither in,

Eyes red as ruby,

Tongue sharp as words,

Hands of cold corpse,

Cold winds and searing pains.

 

Windows that were once so wide,

Shrinks and dissipates,

Into nothing but a cell,

Blocking and stopping,

Whatever it wishes.

 

For what is this all?

A distant roar of uprisals,

A distant roll of waves,

But too distant,

Too far,

How long is this all?

Come forth uprisals.

Come forth,

Waves.