Why?

Why do we always like the person who doesn't like us back?

And why can't we like the other person who likes us, the same way?

Ironic, no?

The Light (Part 1)

I've been contemplating about publishing this entry. I hope Mama or Papa doesn't ever come across this one for it will somehow crush their hearts. Probably to pieces - Mama especially. But my intention is to share. You might agree or disagree, maybe totally feel like I should be banished to some foreign land or be struck by lightning. But that's not my concern right now. Because if you don't like what you're reading, by all means, leave this page. That's a short disclaimer for you :)

*****

I was born a Muslim. However, I've never really sat on a prayer mat since 2007. Let alone touch my prayer veil. I remember stashing it among unwanted clothes for donation. Without an iota of guilt, I did that. I can't recall exactly why I stopped performing As-Salat, or in laymen's terms; praying to God - Allah. I was doing so well in high school and in University, but slowly I slipped from grace.

After two failed relationships, I sought solace in clubbing and drinking (alcohol). It's not something I am proud of right now. I cringe every time I recall all the wild nights and painful hangovers. But anyway, I did it. Some people would put the blame on the crowd they mix and mingle with for all those bad influences, but a person in his/her right state of (spiritual) mind would be able to make a sound decision between the good and the bad. But apparently my spiritual grounds was at level zero, which lead me to ceaseless partying, drinking and other ungodly activities. Lucky that I hated cigarettes, so I was clear from weed. And drugs were just not my thing.

There came a point when I questioned myself why must a person pray in that manner? Why the 5-times-a-day solat, with veil and all? Why can't a person just pray from their bedside, whenever they feel like praying? Why must I perform such a ritual, with an insincere heart? Hence, I dropped praying altogether.

Sigh.

I can't believe I was that broken. I was spiritually broken.

I loved booze so much, I was thrilled at the sight of the words 'Happy Hour Discount'. I went from liquor to beer to cider to wine, and I decided to stay loyal to cider. Langkawi was my alco-haven. My new year's get-high sanctuary. The idea of duty free alcohol put a smile on my face, every time. Changkat-Bukit Bintang even felt like home.

What was going through my head: This is so cool. This is beyond awesome.

Alcohol turned me into a dimwit. The gibberish speeches, the light tumbles down the stairs, the loud banshee laugh, the blurry vision, the dangerous driving, the frisky and flirty behaviour (which lead to..ahuh. Yup.) and the excruciating vomiting series. I heavily regret it the morning after, but I do it all over again the next week.

With all that fiasco, where does God fit in? No where. I made no room for Him. I didn't even bother to say "Hey, thanks God!" for all the important things that mattered in my life - a good paying job, extra income, new relationships, the chance to travel and have splendid holidays with friends... I didn't even bother thanking Him for still having a wonderful loving family. He could've taken all that away from me, but He didn't. He could've stripped me off from all the little luxuries in life, but He didn't. And I was still an ungrateful minion.

Then April 2012 came, and things started to get rough.

Maylin found herself empty and beyond lost.

Drop It

When you're 30, the same question catapults your way from the people around you - "Bila nak kahwin?" There will be a season when the question is nothing but ultimate annoyance; like a group of mosquitoes doing a flash mob right next to your ears. Then there'll  be a season when the question is just like any other ordinary question. It means nothing anymore.

It's mosquito season for me now.

Mama stopped asking if I was dating anyone. She knew I was up to my eyeballs with those inquiries. She just told me something that I never felt was that important, until recently.

Find a man who prays, who makes a point to complete his daily solat 5 times a day.
A man who doesn't see alcohol as H2O.
And the optional 'been-there-done-that ex party goer', who's had enough of all the nonsense. Who understands that too much partying will just give you a hellish life.

Pretty much someone like me.

"If he doesn't pray, or has no intentions to make himself better, then drop him."

Those stern words from Mama haunts me until today.





 

So, Anything New With You, Woman?

I usually have a barrel of nonsense to pen down, but lately all of those trashy thoughts and moo points go on Twitter. Yes, I'm a Twitterholic or Twitter-junkie or Twitter-addict. Whichever rocks your boat, stranger.

My friends say I'm married to my iPhone. Indeed, I am. Oh, you missed the wedding ceremony, did you? Aqad nikah aje. Takde reception pon. Anyway, Mama always wondered if my handphone is actually sewn to my palm. Heck, even I wonder the same. It's really just a habit - being glued to the phone. A bad one, mind you. The first thing I do when I open my eyes in the morning is to reach for the phone, and check my messages. I know, it's not like I'm the President of Papua New Guinea or anything... It's just a bad habit that I can't get rid of. (Not bothered to get rid of, more like).

I go through Twitter, Facebook (not as often anymore) and my emails. And there's WhatsApp! WhatsApp is at par of a demon as Twitter. Especially when you have several active groups consisting of approximately 15 chatty people in it. Topics ranging from baby poo, diapers, breast pump to fishing, lucky ball, the human balls (read: testicles), and Olympics... and a ceaseless list of interesting subjects. Half of the time it's just pure utter nonsense.

I've forgotten the purpose of this entry. Oh wait, I don't actually have one. Oh yes! I do, updates! I blame it on old age, my airheaded-ness.

Raya's just around the corner and I can't wait to hop on that bus and head straight for Penang. I miss my cat. And Ma, and Pa, and Tasneem. And Tok. Yeah...

My baju raya is ready. Like previous years, Mama will always insist on making at least 2 pairs for me. Yes, I'm a spoiled brat. Rotten. There was this one year I told her I'd buy my own baju kurung raya. It burned a hole in my wallet. No, it actually burned the whole damn wallet. From then on, she said "No more KL-made baju raya for you!". Selamaaaaaaat.

 It's only 12.45pm, and my tummy's throwing a fit already.


Gaaaaah! Later peeps.

Little Explosion

All of us were hanging out at Andy's BBQ booth in Publika (Solaris Dutamas) sometime ago. Bethany (Andy's wife) made these amazing, AMAZING chocolate gooey crinkle cookies for sale. I obviously bought 1 box for my own consumption (I don't share my cookies, mind you). As I was raving about the cookies to my friend EG, an awkward conversation took place...

Me: OMG! These cookies, are awesommmme! 
EG: Really?
Me: Ahuh! They're like little explosions in your mouth.
EG: Well that depends on what's in your mouth. *cheeky face*
Me: Dammit. (-__-')

Inch By Inch

I'm a sucker when it comes to inspiring sport-themed movies. I can watch them over, and over, and over again. Here's a (long) quote from one of my favorite movies; 'Any Given Sunday'.
Tony D'Amato's locker room speech (played by the great Al Pacino) has never failed to give me goosebumps.

5 minutes of pure awesomeness.

"I don't know what to say, really. Three minutes to the biggest battle of our professional lives. All comes down to today, and either, we heal as a team, or we're gonna crumble. 


Inch by inch, play by play. Until we're finished. 
We're in hell right now, gentlemen. Believe me. And, we can stay here, get the shit kicked out of us, or we can fight our way back into the light. We can climb outta hell... one inch at a time. 


Now I can't do it for ya, I'm too old. I look around, I see these young faces and I think, I mean, I've made every wrong choice a middle-aged man can make. 
I, uh, I've pissed away all my money, believe it or not. 
I chased off anyone who's ever loved me. 
And lately, I can't even stand the face I see in the mirror. 


You know, when you get old, in life, things get taken from you. 
I mean, that's... that's... that's a part of life. 
But, you only learn that when you start losin' stuff. 
You find out life's this game of inches, so is football. 
Because in either game - life or football - the margin for error is so small. 


I mean, one half a step too late or too early and you don't quite make it. 
One half second too slow, too fast and you don't quite catch it. 
The inches we need are everywhere around us. 
They're in every break of the game, every minute, every second. 
On this team we fight for that inch. 
On this team we tear ourselves and everyone else around us to pieces for that inch. 
We claw with our fingernails for that inch. 
Because we know when add up all those inches, that's gonna make the fucking difference between winning and losing! Between living and dying! 


I'll tell you this, in any fight it's the guy whose willing to die whose gonna win that inch. 
And I know, if I'm gonna have any life anymore it's because I'm still willing to fight and die for that inch, because that's what living is, the six inches in front of your face. 
Now I can't make you do it. You've got to look at the guy next to you, look into his eyes. 
Now I think ya going to see a guy who will go that inch with you. Your gonna see a guy who will sacrifice himself for this team, because he knows when it comes down to it your gonna do the same for him. 
That's a team, gentlemen, and either, we heal, now, as a team, or we will die as individuals. 
That's football guys, that's all it is. Now, what are you gonna do?" 

Hey, Here's My Number

Awww... How sweet is this! She put my name as the emergency contact...just because I'm glued to my phone 24/7! *sigh*