I felt it run through me.

It was the usual past-midnight phase that gushed through my vein. I felt it coming in like a wave. The sense of reality leaving my body, as the thoughts began to flood.

I tried to think of how the butterflies weren't so bad. Butterflies - that was how I had decided to materialize the image of my fears. Their fluttering wings moved as quickly as the thoughts that scurried in me.

I'm scared to admit that I'm afraid of butterflies. I'm scared to admit that the patterns on their wings gives me psychedelic nightmares. I'm scared that if anyone ever heard me say that butterflies only remind me of their broken wings and fragile bodies, they would call me crazy.

The butterflies that run through me have no mercy.

Swarmed within color, flutter, and flight, I am as lost as the midday wind under a dry sunny sky. I try to write the butterflies away. Desperate to grab hold and halt the tremble in my palm - stay still for a while.

But there is nothing here in my hand to clench. And as quickly as they come, like time, they are fleeting. Morning rises over the hour and I am left with this vague sting of absence.

I stare at the stains of my eyes on the right-hand sleeve of my sweater, wondering whether any of this was even real. Having tossed and turned over unwashed sheets, I imagined watching myself from afar, where the wrinkles of my blankets only remind me of broken wings a fragile body.

Veganism vs Raya Haji

I was just as ignorant to question veganism at a point, as any other non-vegan/vegetarian would have, but it doesn't take much to realize how our questioning toward the views of veganism are practically moot.

Veganism is not to stop the killing of animals for meat, but instead to stop and stand against CRUELTY of the meat and animal produce industry. Veganism is not about not eating meat because meat is bad - it's about not eating meat because it's believed that the animal had suffered before becoming meat.

It's a coincidence for me to post this on Raya Haji, but also very appropriate.

The halal way of meat production is very different from modern day slaughterhouse industries. There is no cruelty toward the animals, because cruel animal butchering (like being bashed, fed drugs, or kept in small spaces) would make the meat non halal.

Halal meat derives from an animal placed in a comfortable, clean and peaceful environment.

Animals that will be slaughtered must be kept away from the eyes of other animals (to avoid anxiousness and fear in the other animals - this is something I admire very much, as animal empathizer), they are lied down facing the qiblat (the same direction muslims spend 5 times a day praying toward, so you can see how much the animals do matter to us), and are slit in the throat with a VERY sharp knife, and small word of prayer - this allows for minimal pain in a swift, quick death. The blood will then be drained out as to keep the meat clean.

Halal meat follows the circle of life, in which certain animals (humans included) eat meat. This is a natural thing that cannot be stopped - you can't stop lions from feeding on prey - same like you can't stop us omnivorous humans from eating meat. Even the method of slitting the animal at the throat, imitates that of wild animals biting their prey at the neck.

“The Circle of Life argument simply doesn’t take into account the brutal and completely unnatural way in which meat, eggs, and dairy are produced on the overwhelming majority of modern farms.”

The quote above is how vegans debunk the argument of the circle of life, stating, as I have also done before, that veganism is not about stopping the death or killing of animals for meat, but instead to stop the CRUELTY of the modern meat industry.

So if you are against cruelty, but do believe that the human body should survive on meat, as is the way nature had made us to be - then halal meat is definitely the way to go. Halal is not about the religion, but instead about how the religion had decided was the best way to maintain both the natural way of eating (through eating plants and meat), and also to stay cruelty free.

I myself have contemplated going vegan for quite some time now, but remembering how halal meat is treated and paid so much precise attention to, reminds me that it's ok - sure, life can be a little uncool, quote, "damn nature you scary!" but that's just how life works.

Like I said, we can't stop the wild animals from eating their prey, so neither can we stop ourselves too.

It's natural, and that's just the circle of life.

(ps: I do personally intend to go vegan someday, and have slowly been reading up and trying toward a vegetarian lifestyle as the least I can do for now. Despite knowing about halal meat, the produce industry on a more global scale does not conform to these halal laws. So unless I'm buying meat from a certified halal butcher, I do intend to go vegan)

Story of my Pets (karangan budak tadika).

(Takes big breath  of relief)

Hi. I know it's been a long time since I've blogged, but something amazing just happened to appear at my doorstep! It's taking me through many new pages of my book, and also, in memory of old ones.

I picked up a little cat. I assume she must've been lost or abandoned, since I've seen her many times before around the area, in which she was still all fluffy and healthy. When I found her again, not a month ago, she was down to skin and bones, frightened by every sound, and matted tail.

Now, here she is at the deck of my house, in a cage, just having bathed (I washed her myself!), smelling faintly of chemically apple, grooming herself from the wash - which is something I'm seeing for the first time. She's put on a bit of weight, with a rounded belly - her spine still showing - but she's getting better. More active too!

This reminds me of my previous episodes of pet care.

So in honor of this event of pet sheltering, I would like to remember all the other little pet friends who have made my life so much more colorful growing up. I love all of you!

(In order of appearance, lol)

1. Sheena. A stray mother cat with her litter. First time encountering pets, but never really kept her nor the kittens.

2. Tiger and Red. Two Oscar fish. One was mine, the other my sister's. Both were so friendly, and swam to the patterns we would make with our fingers. My strongest memory of them was waking up for Sahur, and they were what made waking up at 4am worth it!

3. Chiliven. Named by my dad, Chiliven's chicken! Came to my house one day, crowing right on the patio! For some reason, before we decided to keep him, he kept coming to our house - and our house ONLY - every morning. So my mom, strangely enough, since she hates pets, made him a chicken kennel. I know you would call a chicken home a coop - but seriously - this was a rumah kampung styled kennel. Alas, Chilivens crowing was too loud for the neighbor, who had us send it away. :( I love you Chiliven.

4. Raven. We bought Chiliven a female friend. She was called Raven, but she was still a chicken.

5. Bilbo! Had him for four years. Before letting Bilbo be our indoor pet, Biblo stayed at a caged off section of my lawn, under an upside-down pot as a make-shift home. When we moved homes, we had the contractors make Bilbo a home out of brick, as they renovated our house. But soon enough, Bilbo was brought into the house and was house-pet, who greeted us every time we came home.

6. Three little goldfish! We didn't name them, but I loved them. They stayed outside the house, in a fountain. They were really gleeful little guys, but passed away one after the other, from being.. too gleeful? They always jumped out of their pond, and we did manage to save them a good couple of times, but - alas, we didn't manage to save them in time, all the time.

7. Molly. After sending Bilbo to boarding and grooming one day after a vacation trip away, at the pet store, my dad decided to bring Bilbo home a female companion. We didn't know it then, but Molly came to become the mother of his two baby buns he never got to meet.

8. Blanco and Mojo. Bunny twins. One white, and the other black, they stayed indoors growing up as baby bunnies, up until we moved to my current house, where they had themselves a shed and a portion of our lawn. I regret everyday that they were not allowed to stay indoors with us, because my mom didn't want pets in the house :(

9. Fishie. A male beta fish is also known as a fighting fish - but Fishie, fortunately, was not a fighter at all. Fishie was timid and approached new objects with caution, but was also the friendliest little guy to those he knew! Unfortunately Fishie was constipated often, and even after always having to feed him fresh peas, Fishie passed after about a year. I watched him take his last little bubbles of air, before he slowly lifted to the surface of the water. Burried him in my lawn, with a stone and leaf as a tombstone to remember him by. Oh god, this makes me want to cry again.

10. Betty. My dad thought it would be best to "replace" Fishie with another beta fish. Betty was a beautifully vibrant red. And he flared up every time someone passed him. But it was too soon for me, as I was still grieving over Fishie, and since no one aside from me usually takes care of pet maintenance, Betty passed away within a few months.

11. Koi fish. We had 11! 11 beautiful healthy koi fish at the pond of our deck, in which one was albino (or so we believe, from its all-grey scales), and another I particularly loved for its longer-than-usual tale. Stray cats from the neighborhood picked up a few, and we were down to so few, before they finally died from the water filter breaking down. :( This one hurts me too.

12. Schne! Or as its real name is: Waschne. Given to my sister as a birthday gift, Schne is all family. Everyone loves her, and can't wait to get back to her. No matter what kind of bad day, or bad mood any one of us are going through - we'll always find it in us to give her a good hug and a kiss.

Honorable mentions: 

1. This cat I'm currently trying to nurture back to health!

2. Minah, my arwah grandma's pet tortoise. She's too cute, and loves eating papaya, but only when its fed from the hands of my grandma. But Minah's been taken away by some Jabatan Perhilitan, and placed somewhere in Cheras. I hope to see her again soon. :(

I think I'm going to die.

It feels as if I've been running for so long, that now my feet can no longer carry me any further. I can't run anymore. Whatever it is I've been running from, has now caught up to me.

I feel it.

I feel it lurking behind me, it's breath grazing my back. I can hear it's face paced footsteps. I can hear it's taunts.

Soon enough, my legs will fail me completely. And I stumble to the ground, face buried in the dirt, I turn to the monster that chases me.

Take me, I surrender now.

For all the times I've tried my best to not end up here, and to all the people who kept their expectations onto me, thinking I would make it - I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I didn't make it.

I'm sorry I failed.

Mimpi.

Thick, dark waves, gaining volume in each creeping distance, rolling into a city skyline. Clouds shroud the daylight glimmer, hidden away behind the bellowing groans of thunder: much like a tiger, disturbed of its peace.

I am running now; panting in and out of breath, sweat beading down my face.

The sight of speed; swift, translucent lines trace the buildings into silhouettes. Strokes painted in monochromes, spinning webs of resisting motions: the heavy winds rush against me: she is the river now, on a tantrum, and her currents only demand vigorous rebellion.

Pushing and pulling and crashing into doors that would not open. One after the other, looking all exactly alike, they simply would not budge. The waves behind me, looming demons they were, drawing closer, erasing marks of my footprints from the gravel. I am panicking now, desperate for an escape.

A door opens.

Lunging in and slamming the door behind me exerts a sudden gasps silence.

How eerie. Cold, and dusty, only barely lit by sunlight coming from the windows on the highest floor, which seems perhaps 80 feet away.

The world begins to spin, alternating visions between sanity and absurdity - like a kaleidoscope of dreams and memories.

The mean cement staircase begins now to spiral mechanically, echoing at each bend, presenting before me, a maze-like path travelling upward, to what seems like infinity.

A peculiar sight: ballerinas all dressed in faded pink tutus, with hairs in a perfect bun, now appear before me like a draft of cold air, out of nowhere, tip-toeing elegantly along the dusty steps. How alluring they look, like ghosts drifting over a still lake - their feet hover only millimeters above the ground.

Music begins to hum in my head, getting louder and louder: A crescendo! It is a strange type of sound - how it is so quiet, and seducing - a devilish enigma behind a piano.

I follow them as their spins and pirouettes trace dusty streams of ash.

I am transfixed upon them. Caught in a spell, clinging on to their delicate beauty, as if they were beacons of hope, sent from the Gods. Up and up and up the stairs - two stories, then three, then four.

At last I reach the top.

It is brighter here. The dancers have gone, and the music has stopped.

Silence again.

How lonely it was: a little girl, lost and trapped on the highest floor of the emptiest, coldest, and dustiest building one could imagine.

Something loud - a scream, a shriek, or a siren breaks the silence.

The tsunami, with roaring waves, one after the other, growing louder and louder. The concrete walls around me, those that had posed themselves to save me, began to crack. How brittle they seemed, tumbling down so immediately.

Water engulfed me, currents conquered me, debris attacked me.

My body was taken away by the waves: so deep and daunting they were, crashing into me with the force of a million storms. Wrestled beneath the currents, I was tossed and tumbled; thrown from distance to distance.

A tragic dream.

How selfish of my desolate pain to bully me so. To take away everything; To haunt my sleep even; To end a story that spoke of hope, and murder it with calamity.

Indeed, a nightmare, in disguise.

Istanbul, Aku Datang (aka, photo spam).

Hashtag throwback.

Soooo, since I have a submission this week and a shitload of work to do at the moment, I've decided to post my pictures from my trip to Istanbul. Yes.

These were taken from the hotel we were staying, called Cafe Halic. The location was great, heart and center in the middle of Istanbul's most infamous old town of Fateh. The hotel was small and quaint, with a narrow spiral staircase, brick walls and arches that were reminiscent of an old castle.

Nestled between a variation of family homes, and family homes-turned-homestay, Cafe Halic was up top sloping hills, where each building jutted out like teeth - or, for a more scenic comparison - like trees, fighting one another for a breath of daylight. Being put up so high, the hotel overlooked the city of Istanbul, with a perfect center piece view of the Galata Tower, which lit up in colors every night.

A view not easily forgotten, it was captured by two of the bedrooms in our apartment, and even from the common dining downstairs. Every breakfast we took in these views over simit, turkish tea, and fresh olives over cheese. Breakfast was my favorite part of each day.

University of Istanbul. Only reason we were here was because Dad was attending a conference. So here he is, standing proudly, boasting his attire. (My album has the most pictures of him, because he kept demanding I would take it almost every 3 steps)

Wonderful view over the city from the Suleymanie mosque. The mosque was so close to us, that to take a shortcut home, we walked through the mosque grounds every day. In my opinion, the best mosque I've seen there. So calm and peaceful, away from too many tourists and their flashing cameras. Here, locals are often seen relaxing under trees reading books. So prits.

Ok. In this picture, where my mom and dad points at the map - this is where some creepy guy came and stared down me and Haida. Ok, maybe I'm exaggerating and he didn't exactly "stare us down" but he stood there for a long time without us noticing while me and Haida were joking about some random obscure joke.

Once we did notice, I asked him, 'yes?' and he just continued to stand there, his eyes hidden behind knock-off sunshades. Ugh. Theeeennnn, he went on to talk to my very confused, very lost parents, and lured them into taking a cruise over the Bosphorus.

What I love the most of Istanbul is just how colorful the city is. In our day and age, Istanbul does not exclude itself in the race of technology, but yet, the cobbled stones, and peeling stucco off of rickety buildings are still so full of culture and history, where almost every few blocks there is a mosque or camii. The blares of azan is a norm, and even Friday prayers are performed within the corridors of the Grand Bazaar, spilling out to the streets.

The people here are just as colorful, just upon entering the Grand Bazaar shopkeepers come up to you claiming they know where you're from, and exactly what you want. "Malaysian!!" echo the voices from left and right, "I can tell by your mama!" Must be the tudung sarung thing.

Hugs are often exchanged between men, even giving my dad a surprise every so often. It's such an open environment: Two car gets stuck in the middle of a pedestrian street, and all the nearby locals come by to help, laughing and patting each other on the backs as soon as the mishap is over.

What with tea in their tiny glass round-bottomed cups are served on a tray, which get passed around to the salesmen, from store to store. In hand, practically everybody has a cup of tea! Sharing is so avid here, and I just find that so pretty.

Sigh. I need a vacation, badly.

Rough Patch

Oh. Uh. Hi there, long time no see. Uhh, yeah, ahem.

Welp, for what seems to be most apparent, I am back. For now. Hullo dust mites and tumbleweeds.

It's been so long since I last updated this barren ghost town of a blog, so I guess I shall begin with a bit of.. refreshments? Wait.. that's not the word. Refreshments are what you call the drinks they give you pre or mid event. Hmm. Whatever.

Ok.

So it's also apparent that my writing and grammar has gone to hell. Not that it was any much good to begin with, but.. now it's just out right embarrassing. But again, whatever.

I'm here because I need to, and not merely because I want to (or, because I have submission this upcoming weekend, and I'm finding ways to avoid doing work. But y'all should give me the benefit of the doubt. Heh).

To get straight to the point: I am in semester 7. Meaning I'm in my first semester, of my final year. Also meaning: I have just one more semester (6-8 months or so) until I officially graduate from my degree in architecture. Like, woah, right?

So yada-yada-yada, basically, I feel I'm reaching a somewhat "middle-aged syndrome" point in my pursuit towards achieving this degree (cough piece of paper cough). Ok, so it's not so "middle" since I'm nearing the end already, but hey, you get the drift.

I feel fucked as hell.

Frankly speaking, this semester isn't the worst. Study wise, friend wise, whatever wise - it's been pretty peachy. In fact, all around it's been a pretty good semester so far (despite Nurin not being around, but I manage. Somehow).

But man oh man do I feel some internal fucked up-ness on the inside (yeah, what did I say about my grammar going to hell? Point proven).

Not to bore you with the gory details but just a few hours ago, I was bawling my eyes out under my table in the studio contemplating the purpose of my sole existence.

I simply don't feel I'm any good in this life.

In fact, I don't feel much alive at all.

People all around me are excelling in their hobbies and interests; fulfilling their dreams and wanderlusts. Me, here, I'm just.. stuck. In complete standstill. Unchanging, immobile, lost and uninteresting - boring.

Within me there is nothing. No passion, no goal, no cool beans lovable character. Nothing.

It especially frustrates me when the people closest to me are evolving so much so that the difference between them and I is a stark constrast. People who I used to see as equal to myself, now stand tall on pedestals - while I, uh, I'm still here stuck in the dirt.

I've been alive for a good long 21 years, and lo and behold, I have achieved absolutely nothing. Or that is, for the times I actually do achieve things (if you could call them achievements even), what I presume should be a well deserved lauding, with at least a "hey thanks for that" or "congrats" is just always brushed aside.

It's as if what I do doesn't really ever matter to anyone.

On odd days, I hope to believe that I have talent, or skill, or am blessed with something or another - but for the most times, I'm slapped right right across the cheek with a reminder that I'm just.. well, not.

I used to draw so much as kid and growing up I self-proclaimed that I was somewhat "good" in art. But now, at 21 years old, after endless attempts at trying garner notice, and failing, obviously, I realize: damn, I really just can't do jack shit.

Those who I thought were at par with me in skill are actually making a business out of selling their artwork, and taking commissions. People who I thought were my equal, I realize now, really aren't. They're better than me.

Everyone's somehow better than me. And even if they're not - they are still perceived as better. They get the praise, and recognition, and admiration I will never once get to taste.

Oh, the sweet nectar of being something more than nothing; What a dream I'll never have come true.

Ok ok, yes, I know, I sound like an angst filled teen ranting about things I don't have. And yes, I know that the whole proverb of the grass is always greener on the other side applies - yeah, yeah, I get that.

But goddammit, sometimes.. Ugh, sometimes it just doesn't even feel like there is any grass on my side at all.

Am I just being a selfish ungrateful bitch for saying all this? Most definitely.

Do I regret ranting about my pent up feelings towards this current issue in my blog that no one even bothers to read?

Nnnnnnope.

Maybe I'll never stop running.