Be Wary of This Heart

Be wary of this heart,

For it’s been trampled and abused

Can you see the pitted scars of yester ache?

The lashes of whips left by broken promises

The vestige of an untarnished youth, crumbled.

Be wary of these hands,

For they have touched unbridled yearning,

Kissed by calluses and fleeting ecstasy

Hands that learned to write love and wipe tears,

Hands that learned to keep a loose grip.

Be wary of these eyes,

For they are witnesses to tragedies,

Beauty and misery pool within its inner sights,

While mist cloud the corners of its folds,

Giving life to the waterfall of torment.

Be wary of these feet,

For they’re searching for an escape,

From the entwinement of sorrow,

They’ll take us away,

My hurting heart,

My bruised hands,

My battered eyes.

My Father, in a nutshell.

This is my father. 

(We wore coats, and I didn't realize we wore the same damn cardigan underneath. He insisted we took a photo)

Mohd Nasir Abdullah. Business owner, professional cynic and Asian parent. Like so many of us, I owe my father almost everything. So here’s a little update of his life story, it’s pretty darn colourful, so bear with me.

My dad didn’t have a tertiary education. He did finish primary school in TBS Tampin where his reign of terror has started, ending only in high school, in the Royal Military College. After that, because of stellar results, he had opted for the army (… didn’t have much of a choice). I can honestly say my dad took a little time to grow up. But seriously, he is probably proof that you do not equate school with an education. With a little bit of confidence, a good command of English and a tall stature, you too can fool people into thinking you’re so much smarter than you are. Also, his words, not mine.

He was adopted, which I had always thought was a little odd because he never had this serious nerve wracking crisis that plagued so many people you see on tv. You know on tv, people have ‘unfulfilled lives’ and ‘voids’ when they realized they were adopted and set off on a whimsical journey of self discovery to find themselves. And then the Lifetime logo comes along and you’re reaching for a box of tissue to dry up your sentimental drivel. He seems pretty content with the MIA status of his biological parents. I asked once if he wanted to reconnect with his parents and he replied 

‘And have a bunch of strangers asking for money? No’. 

Did I mention my dad is Asian?

His adopted father (who married his adopted mother when he was 9-10 after his OTHER adopted father died. Migraine inducing stuff) was Sri Lankan. I know this sounds a little racist but that does explain his very ‘Indian’ demeanor. And the fact that he doesn’t mind me forging friendships with Indian boys (Yes, I mean you Dharma!). There was this one time when we went to this satay restaurant my dad has been frequenting since he was a kid and the old lady at the counter saw him, lit up and said

“Oh you kah anak Cina dengan bapak keling tu?” 

(Oh, you’re the Chinese kid with the Indian father?)

Gotta love Malaysian sensitivity, I tell ya. No one can ever accuse us of being too PC.

My father was a misbehaved child. Oh no, he won't take offence at the accusation. It’s true. I remember one time; I attended his primary school reunion is Seremban and three girls (who were, by now ladies in their 50s) refused to come because they knew that he was coming. Can you imagine the aggravated trauma they had gone through to still be carrying that burden after 40 odd years or so? One story my dad told me, that was validated by one of his schoolmates, was one time, there was a screening of a movie in school hall.hall, and him being the impish child that he was, dropped stink bombs along the corridor and waited outside, delighting in the hoards of people rushing out to escape the suffocating smell of rotten eggs. The school never found out it was him.

My relationship with my father, or my parents in general, is a very Asian one. Not in the sense of him constantly badgering me to get married and or major in both Engineering and Medicine from Harvard University of Oxford. More like, often I take offence in what he says and vice versa and rarely do we apologize for whate we say. Not a big fan of public displays of affection, really. My mother often comes in as the peacemaker, trying to diffuse whatever tension filled situation we were in. Oh no, just because I’m a girl, doesn’t mean him and I don’t log heads. I inherited his short temper and impatience and frequently this has been a source of strain.

But since I left home, I started to appreciate my parents a little more, and perhaps, them with me as well. I realized that pride would spell the deterioration of any relationship, and that the angsty, angry tortured little girl wasn’t gonna cut it anymore. I mean, I’ve lead a good life, and who am I, not to cut the people who have provided with so much, a little slack?

Long story short, while my father is stoic, a little apathic at times, mean, and not to mention knows how to bloody well push my buttons. I love him dearly and not because he spoils me unnecessarily, but because I see so much of me in him (the cynicism, the inability to mince my words, the lack of a verbal filter in general), just a weathered, wiser version (even the face, sadly, even the face). He is me in about 30 years. And like he said so many times, mistreating him would mean I would be cut from the will, and all the money would go to some rural orphanage somewhere. Thanks daddy, love you too. 

Oh,

Happy father's day, daddy!

What Do You Think About Egypt?

I missed the train to Mansoura yesterday. After an amazingly relaxing weekend in Alexandria, the train I was suppose to be on went off at 2.10, five minutes earlier than the scheduled time of departure. The best bit was probably the high intensity chase in a futile attempt to catch up with the fleeting vehicle. It was like a scene from a movie, Luqman leading the way of the chase, while I trailed like the breathless cow that I am, running as fast as my chubby legs could carry me. At one point, he even tried grabbing my arm to coax me to run faster. Yeah, no. So there I was, with my terrible Usain Bolt impression and a stuffed backpack, just watched helplessly as the train chug away in all its rusty glory. And that was followed by a moment of dumbfounded silence as we tried to catch our breath as well as wait for the incoming surge of anger to reach it's boiling point. And then, in pure diva fashion, Luqman lost his shit at the station master's office, arguing in Arabic with the still defiant station master who was insistent that we were late. It was a very touching, Hallmark moment. I could cry just thinking about it now. 

In a last ditch effort, I took a car back to cosmopolitan Mansoura (which was actually a pound more expensive than the train ticket. I had to convert the amount in ringgit to avoid getting pissed again)  when I got to talking with this charmingly nervous officer in the Egyptian army who spoke in broken English, and expressive hand gestures. After I was interviewed with the standardized Egyptian set of questions (What's my name, what I was doing in Mansoura, why am I huge when the other Malaysians are tiny etc) , he brought up the most dreaded one, a question I have given varying answers to;

"What do you think of Egypt?"

Oh, not again. While I just smiled sheepishly,my head was screaming;

 'After being abandoned by my train just and being overcharged by ruthless drivers, this is not the best time to ask me that question'.

But he was nice. And I didn't feel like being a bitch.

Like I mentioned, answers have varied. There was this one time when a taxi driver asked me the same question after I came back from Dahab, drunk from the sun , and I sang praises like I was working for Egyptian Tourist Ministry. And there was a time where I came back from the supermarket, after being verbally harassed by a bunch of teenagers, the driver in the cab I was in (yes, big fan of the cabs alright) asked me the same thing. I hissed a choice of not so very nice words and asked him if the Biblical plague was coming back anytime soon. Mr Cab Driver, if you're reading this, I'm sorry.

Like everything in the world, Egypt is (obviously!) is both blessed with its Middle eastern charm and marred with flaws. In all honesty, when it comes to natural landscapes, I've never been so overwhelmed as I have since I've been here. As much as it pains me to admit it, this ismotherf&*$ing gorgeous country. The first time I saw beaches in Taba, I actually took a step back to just drink it in. I've never seen something so beautiful in my life. I was surrounded by such majesty, and thought how lucky I was to just be able to be there, to be engulfed by such a sight. 

And I know it can get repetitious (cause you know, every Egyptian has probably mentioned it) but seriously, 7000 years of history is pretty god damn impressive. From the Karnak temples to the pyramids of Giza, here lies a civilization that was capable of greatness and did exactly just that. They did nothing short of a miracle, settling down and building up an empire, an empire that pioneered things that were perfected only until recently. So fine, you have your bragging rights. This country has history that surpasses any other. 

And from my own personal book of experience, undoubtedly I have met a few gems that have soothed my less than thrilling horror of an adventure while being here. You might call then friends but I call them people who have stopped me from going on a murder rampage here in this god forsaken town. Semantics, you know. I have always been impressed by how much they care about their country, how much actual physical pain they endured when liberating it from their provincial oppressors. They're proud people, and they know it.

But that's also where the problem stems. Pride. I don't know if you've been living under a rock, but have you not noticed the xenophobic/sexist sentiments going around here? Particularly against us Asians. So being female and of Asian descent, I get the worst of the brunt. I have had people asking me if we still lived in trees in Malaysia. Or caves. And why our people were so unattractive (one boy said we looked like apes, it took all the strength in me not to f*cking chargeat him). And of course, at the end of their highly offensive spiel, they reassured me that Egypt was number-f*cking-one. 

And pride also stokes the fire that brews sexism among the people. You have these chauvinistic men who think that us women are mere objects to toy with, to gawk at, and even physically harass against our will. And good luck trying to say no. It's like, if you're nice to them, they'll badger you, and if you're not, they'll think 'Wait a minute, she doesn't like me enough' and try harder, successfully pissing you off further. And the cycle repeats. Well, until some Asian girl loses her shit and kills everyone. 

But my biggest gripe about Egypt is probably, the difference in social strata and their disgusting attitude towards it. "Looking poor" is a legitimate insult. I had a friend who was told her jacket made her look 'common' and that she should stop wearing it. I've seen my own friends making fun of a man picking up garbage by the sidewalk. There is minimum charge in restaurants because they want to separate those who have money to throw and those who can barely afford it. The poor are criminalized and all compassion is gone, just because they don't dress or act in a decorum these so called richer, luckier people are used to. Of course, it's not an attitude every person exhibits, but it's something I've witnessed too many times to still be hiding the shade of denial.

So if you ask me again Mr Nice-Officer-in-Training-in-the-Car-from-Alexandria what I think about Egypt; Egypt is beautiful, it's boasts a culture so rich, encompassing thousands of years, it has built a nation so old, reminders of its history still stands til this day. I love Egypt.

But I can't wait to get the hell out

Don't Tell Me To Keep Calm.

Don’t tell me to keep calm,

As your deceit seeps into my nation,

As your lies dance around like ember flame,

As your morality withers into nothing,

As you thrash my country’s good name.

Don’t tell me to keep calm,

As you whisper broken promises into our ears,

And oppress our minds into submission,

As you sit on your high and mighty throne,

And plot your next move of deception.

Don’t tell me to keep calm,

As you assemble your army of fraudsters,

And live like false prophets and kings,

As you deny the dreams of the people,

As you brutally clip their soaring wings.

Don’t tell me to keep calm,

As long as my mouth don’t fail me,

I shall scream and shout,

As long as my limbs can carry me,

I shall kick up a fuss,

For I see the faults between the cracks,

For this 2013, I am taking my Malaysia back.

Don't forget to vote. Enough of this bullshit.

The Only Child Syndrome

Have you ever had someone come up to you and ask you questions that you absolutely cannot relate to? And the disbelief on their faces when you expressed your inability to connect the dots. An example? When people find out that I'm the only child and go

'So how does it feel to be an only child?'

Part of me just smiles and laugh at what I think is a ridiculously stupid question, but another part just goes 'oh, not again'

It's basically asking how does it feel to be me. And really, I do not want to get into some philosophical, existential debate. Am I suppose to feel different? Am I supposed to fall into deep spiraling depression because I don't have someone barging into my room every 5 seconds wanting to borrow my iPod?

It's like going up to a congenitally blind person and asking if he ever gets tired of not seeing shit. Or better yet, asking a black person if how does it feel to not be white.

News alert, they wouldn't know! 

Why you ask? Well, for one, a blind person who's been blind since birth does not know a life of vision so living life in darkness is what they are used to. So no, I do not how it feels to not have siblings. Because out of my 22 years, there hasn't been a time when I had a sibling and they were forcibly taken away from me for me to actually miss them.

But this fascination with my siblingless status can get pretty annoying. I've probably heard it all. every ignorance infused comment and quip.

'Oh you must be so spoiled'

'My parents must really love you' (Cause you know, it's unnatural for a parent to love their child)

'Oh, you probably have a hard time making friends'

Well, I'm here to debunk some of these stereotypes because frankly, us only children are getting a whole lot of flack for no good reason. Is it our fault that our parents got it right the first time and decided not to have anymore? I kid. I kid. So here I go, for every oppressed only child sitting on their throne at home.

#1 Only children are spoiled rotten.

There is some truth to this. Well, if you take two doting parents and have them love a child with all their heart, a child is bound to be a little spoiled. And I'm not even talking materialistically. An only child could be spoiled with just love and affection from two parents who are fond of them without turning out to be a material hungry whoremonger. I didn't have much growing up. But I sure was hell happy cause I was constantly surrounded by a loving family. And another thing worthy of a mention is that, why do you care? Not every only child gets what they want, and if they do, what is it to you?

#2 Only children are selfish

This is a little tough to call. Of course an only child is selfish! What do they know about sharing when they don't have anyone else to share with. I personally do not like sharing. Surprise surprise eh? But I do like making other people happy, even if it means sharing. I'm getting a little better, I especially enjoy cooking and feeding those around me. I'll attach an excerpt from an article from a site called the Only Child Project which I think cements the fact that we, only children are perfectly functional human beings (maybe even... superior? I kid again)

One does not need a sibling to know how to share and care. A mother of an only child reports to have inculcated the habit of sharing in her daughter by daily offering a portion of food from her own plate to the child. And while doing so, the mother reinforced the fact that she was only sharing her food and not giving it all away. This practice allowed the child a glimpse into the act of sharing without having to be deprived of one’s rightful share.

There are other factors that also come into play. Consider this: Unlike in the multi-child family, the only child does not have to fight for toys, space and attention. He is more willing to share because: 1) he hasn’t had to fight for the things that are shared, and 2) he feels secure in sharing because he know it is all his in the end- to him, sharing does not mean giving away.

 #3 Only children are immature and self absorbed

I remember when I was a little younger, I had asked my mom for the last piece of chicken from her plate at KFC (Damn you finger licking good chicken!). I could see the slight flash of disappointment in her eyes before handing me the drumstick. Yeah yeah, mother's love and all that. But now come to think of it, I think she was just trying to keep me fat. But in all seriousness, would you trust an 8 year old to pick up on these things? New studies have suggested that only children mature faster than peers their age because well, they grow up with adults so staying a child wasn't really an option. And only children are burdened with the expectations of their parents and are under the glare of their scrutiny so this strives them to be the best they can be.

Yes, I do realize we're talking about other only children here. Not me

#4 Only children are lonely

Yes, I don't have a brother to watch football with. Or a sister to gossip about boys with. And no, I don't appreciate you rubbing it in my face. But you know what, I'll live. I have never dependent on someone for my happiness and I'm not gonna start now. I can be shop alone, go out alone and eat alone because the matter of the fact it, I'm okay with being alone. Hell, I enjoy it sometimes. Just because I'm alone doesn't mean I'm lonely. So yes, I'm okay. I'm good.

The 'Lelaki Melayu' Dilemma

I’m sure everyone knows that girl who goes around claiming they’re too ‘westernized’ or have different ‘mentality’ to date the Malaysian average Joe. They snigger at the very though of stooping that low on the social ladder, instead choosing to devote their time and attention to secure ‘mat salehs’ the ultimate jackpot of the local dating scene. The very thought of being with le whitey is still a hype that titillates our starry eyed local girls.  

Can our Malay boys stand a chance?

There’s obviously nothing glamorous about a date with Udin, or commonly known as Dean, at Pelita Nasi Kandar, where a perfect dinner consists of oversweetened ‘teh tarik’ and ‘mee goreng mamak pedas’ and ultimately, going dutch on the RM10.50 bill. 

Where as Richard will take you dancing and drink cocktails in some swanky Bangsar bar where you can wear your skimpiest black dress, fake an American accent but still manage to slip in a couple of ‘lahs’ and ‘ahs’ at the end of a sentence when emotions run a little high, or sobriety’s running a little low. You know what they say, you can take a girl out of Malaysia, but you can never take the Malaysia out of the girl.

I used to be one of those girls. Well, not the douchey Sarong Party Girl type, just the general ‘avoid them Malay boys like the bubonic plague’ kind. There were countless times my friends and I would decide a guy wasn’t good enough just because he was ‘too Malay’. Oh, being too ‘Malay’ in my school was a slap in the face. It was probably because you couldn’t pronounce your words without having the thickest accent drawled throughout your sentence. Or having grammar so terrible that it could incite world war 3. Those were the rather trivial deal breakers. It was a rather elitist school, I have to say. It was common knowledge that Malay men would were a bunch of  MCPs (male chauvinist… pigeons) and sexists. The Malay man would tie down his high flyer wife just because he can, despite her pleas and protests. The Malay man would buy a Mercedes first than sending his children to good schools. The Malay man would accessorize himself with expensive watches and clothes while still living in a low cost flat. The horror stories were endless.

But wait a minute, all these terrible things that the enigmatic ‘Malay man’ does; isn’t that just people in general?  Don’t these bad traits exist in every society, from people of every walks of life? Just recently I read about an American teacher (sorry, I meant pedophile) abandoning his wife and three children to be with an 18-year-old girl (sorry, did I say girl? I meant slut) from his class, the same class his 17 year old son attends. Or what about the Austrian man who kept his daughter in captivity in his basement, raping her and fathering 4 of her children, while keeping the whole incestuous relationship a secret from his wife by reporting his daughter missing? Basically, there are bad men, selfish men out there. And these bad, selfish men are not exclusive to the Malay race. 

So instead of nitpicking the flaws our men have, do know that these imperfections are everywhere, and not just in our highly misunderstood men. Sure, the average Malay man is not the type to whisper sweet nothings into your ear or come barging through your door with a flowers and suit of armour but surely there’s something commendable about them. I have seen some pretty laudable behaviour in some of the Malaysian guys here in Egypt, having proven themselves as responsible leaders and adequate caregivers. Don't believe in all the notoriety of 'Malay men'. 

They’re not perfect. And that’s okay.

So yeah, give them a break. Remember that we’ve come this far as a nation, thanks to the efforts of a few good Malay men. 

 

No, I'm Not Making Excuses Why I'm Such a B*tch

Let me tell you something about me. Well a couple of things really. Growing up wasn't really easy. I was shy, painfully most times. I mumbled through conversations, hardly mingled with anyone, sat behind during classes (well, that's mainly because of my early growth spurt, I was a whopping 5'5 at 13).

I can honestly say I did not have many friends until I was about 10. I remember cause that was the year I discovered I was good in science and everyone was at awe at how out of nowhere, I was topping the class in something. And in something worthwhile at that. It was also the year that I realized that I'm probably never gonna win a beauty contest anytime soon (well, not in this life at least. Not that I believe in reincarnation... before anyone starts throwing rocks to my head) I was gonna win people through brains and personality. Then I discovered I had a knack for writing and I could express myself best when I had a pen and paper and some quiet alone time. 

Some things still have not changed, as you can see.

As for having a personality, well, years of having not-so-nice things being said to you, you tend develop a defense mechanism. And humor is a defense mechanism. 

Damn, I should've learned kung fu instead.

I'm 21 now, (begrudgingly) turning 22 this August and even after I left those awkward, approval seeking adolescent years, I can't help but sometimes feel like I'm thrusted back to those days of horrid bitching, backstabbing and distrust that plagued me. To say that I came out unscathed would be untrue, I still have the self esteem of a leper. But hey, that's basically the life story of anyone who's been through high school.

But what still leaves me swimming in disbelief is how even after I thought I've seen everything, every terrible trait a person could possibly have, I'm blown away with yet another undiscovered rancid human attribute. I thought the universe worked in two ways; good begets good while bad gets the living crap kicked out of them. So basically, I was taught that if you were nice to people, helped them out in a time of need, you'll live and die happy. Oh boy, how screwed up was that life lesson.

No actually. Good does not begets more good. What it does is basically brand you with a smoldering mark that says;

Please come take advantage of me. 

I have a head you can walk on, a back you can stab and a face you can spit on. 

The couple few with some shred of compassion won't abide to this sign and would actually reciprocate any kind gestures you might show. They're called 'friends' or 'people whom you would skip in case of a killing spree' However there are those marginally few people, who even despite you've dutifully showed a world of kindness to, will take a gun and shoot your faith in humanity point blank, leaving it to die. 

At 21 (going on 22, god damn it) I'm not exactly a person you would picture on a rocking chair on a porch, moaning about the good old days and giving words of advice to passing children. But if I may, I want to say this: 

Learn to say no. Remember when to put your foot down. And the two best words you'll ever learn are 'f*ck off' 

Nothing good can come from being 'too' anything. Too much sugar, diabetes. Too much salt, hypertension. Too much cocaine, overdose (well, a little cocaine is bad as well. Just scratch that cocaine bit) 

We just have to accept that there are people out there will only be around when it's convenient for them and when you actually need help, they're nowhere to be found. We call them 'fair weather friends'. Well, they call it that, I much prefer the terse and sweet term 'assholes' Some even might suffer extreme amnesia, forgetting all the things you've done for them, the moment the opportunity for their own happiness comes around. Which makes sense if you ask me, why give a shit when you don't have to?

I know people like that. They're everywhere. Some closer than others. 

So we can either be the bigger person and let it slide, letting them have the satisfaction of being petty. Or we can let it affect us, allowing them to drag us down, so that they can won't feel so lonely in the bottom pile. 

Or you could just resort to violence.

I guess I can 'accidentally' knock someone over with a car, 'accidentally' back up 3-4 times and 'accidentally' making sure their faces are absolutely unrecognizable. 

Yes, that sounds like a plan.

PS

*A shout out to the girl on Facebook who sent me a lovely email telling me she loves reading my blog. Honestly, I forgot how much I loved writing. So thank you for giving the push. This one is dedicated to you :)*

I'll Sue EgyptAir if They Sell Off My Ticket Again.

They're at it again.

The wall graffitis, the agenda filled pamphlets, the riot police.

Damn it.

As much as I enjoyed the month long holiday that was graciously handed to us by the university spurred by the upheaval last year, I just really, supercalifragilisticexpealidociously want to graduate. And another violent revolution at hand is not gonna push that boat in the right direction.

Just yesterday, we were walking (more like being in a cab) down the Sharie' Gehan (or Gehan Street, didn't think I'd pick up some, albeit minimal, Arabic did you?) and there they were, in all its maximum security glory, three dark blue armoured cars with what looks like a sizeable makeshift prison cells at the back.

And the little dreamer in me was hoping a hand would slip out from the cracks, longing for sympathetic human touch, and I'd run to the car slowly with John Lennon's Imagine playing in the background, arms outreached only for the car to drive off away into the dark of the night. And music would fade to the last part of Knockin On Heaven's Door.

End scene.

Following the debacle that was last year's evacuation process (and my brief 15 minutes of fame where my post 10 hour flight face as well as my grossly exaggerated quote was printed in the news for all of titillated Malaysia to see), this revolution is apparently a move to give the Egyptian government the heave-ho to set an exact date for the presidential elections or in a more official news-y way

The military has floated a timetable that places the transfer of power late in 2012 or early 2013, but the protesters want it to announce a precise date. A growing number, however, wants the military to immediately step down in favor of an interim civilian council

Now my opinion on the matter. Hmmm.

Also reported by msnbc.com that 22 people have been killed, although these numbers could've been either embellished immensely or depreciated, whatever tickles the fancy of the Western media. And this is just to urge the government to set a date. What happens if they don't like the president? Or the results are rigged? Are more people going to lose their lives from protesting? Or are they going to give up, weary of the same empty promises? Something has to change, but what? Is it the seedy attitude of higher ups or the complacent nature of the people? Or will this endless cycle is just gonna rear its ugly head again and again And of that, will the country be strong enough to build itself from the rubble the revolution has left the economy in?

And I would just want to clarify that this is merely an observer's opinion on said matter. I'm not a political commentator nor have I credentials of a certified Middle Eastern scholar. I'm just another wide eyed student who has seen her fellow peers fight for their rights tirelessly, only to be despondent with the outcome. I want to proudly declare that I was there when Egypt achieved freedom. But I'm afraid whatever utopia dreams that Egyptians may have is just gonna be just that, a dream.

I offer my prayers and hope that Egypt, a country that once basked in the glories of early human civilization with a future shrouded with uncertainties, will rise from the ashes and bring back the once thriving land of the Pharaohs and Pyramids into full throttle. InsyaAllah.

Hypothetically.

Hypothetically

... What would you say to someone you're no longer friends with?

I'd say

"I don't know why or how it has dragged this long, but I'm no longer angry. And faults, it's not yours. Neither is it mine"

Hypothetically

... What would you say to a loved one who is no longer living?

I'd say

"I hope life has been as fulfilling for you as it has for me knowing you. And what is afterlife like?"

Hypothetically

... What would you say to the families of the victims of disaster?

I'd say

"You might not see it now, or tomorrow, in another 20 years, but somehow, there is a silver lining, and God willing, you will find it"

Hypothetically,

... What would you say to a friend who is miles away, connected only by mere texts and calls?

I'd say

"Each time you make an effort in keeping this friendship afloat, I feel like the luckiest person alive. Truly, phenomenally lucky"

Hypothetically,

...What would you say to a person whom you adore but never mustered the courage to tell how you feel?

I'd say

"If that day comes, the day when you realize you had a good thing waiting for you, God I hope it won't be too late"

Hypothetically,

... What would you say to a person whom you once cherished that has hurt you irreparably ?

I'd say

"I don't hate you. I'm not angry. I just want an explanation. Cause I'm tired of hurting alone, and being confused beyond reason. Please, just an explanation"

Hypothetically,

... What would you say to those you have hurt?

I'd say

"I'm sorry. I'm just so sorry. If I could match tear for tear, pain for pain, heartbreak for heartbreak, I would, in a heartbeat"

Hypothetically,

... What if half of these questions were not hypothetical?

Oh, we'll never know.

KL - Abu Dhabi - Cairo - Hellhole/Home :)

Because I live a world apart from where I'm studying (cause I'm badass that way) , I've been blessed to have been able to travel long haul flights (nothing says adventure like risking getting deep vein thrombosis).

After a while, the thrill of taking off and landing have se

em to disappear, well aside from the occasional "IS THIS THE END?" moments when turbulence takes you by surprise. And your head starts flashing images from the one episode of Air Crash Investigation you watched because you were bored. No? Only me? Fine.

Now, at 2.30 am, while waiting for my 10 am flight to Cairo at Abu Dhabi airport, I'm absolutely drained from flying

Look at absolutely-drained-from-flying face

Now look at face wondering why is EVERYONE is speaking Tagalog.

And this places is infested with Asians. Not filled, not populated, but positively overrun by them. As far as the eye could see, there were Asians. A cashier at Burger King, Filipino. A perfume salesman at Givenchy, Sri Lankan. A clerk at a pharmacy, Indian. The Asian Invasion is here, and is here to stay (and apparently snatch away all the menial jobs from the locals)

... Hey, hey, it's not racist if you're on of them. Like how Chris Rock crack racist black jokes and no one would say anything but the moment some non black guy says a racial slur, it's choo-tink-choo-tough-foo'?

That's just the way of life.

I better get some sleep before I turn into a raging maniac on some stewardess who won't pour me another cup of tea. It can happen, it can happen.

Before I go, just a little shout out to the Etihad feminine male female dumb homo flight attendant who refused to help me put my bag in the overhead cabin even after the thing almost crushed my cranium in because you were too busy gossiping with your other homo friend...

Well, you suck! *runs and hide*

I can't think of any demeaning remarks right now. I need sleep.

Semester 5, Biochemistry Hell

Okay.

Time for a little confession. Yes, despite the hefty prolonged time of not updating this blog, I haven't been filling my time with anything more productive than just lazing around, wallowing in self pity, more lazing around, travelling (Oh, Europe has not been kind of the wallet) and of course... lazing around.

I admit, most of the time I've been trying to keep myself busy, from my post you-know-what depression. I can't remember now how many hours I wasted joining inane activities, exploring every little crevice of Cairo, taking part in glorified social causes and last but not least, ample of hours on jamming, which performance got stopped half way through anyway.

And God knows, this semester is such a bitch.

I swear.

It's even worst than semester 4 head and neck curriculum, filled with a certain touchy-feely, borderline pervy doctor's lectures. Moreover, I was kicked out of HIS lecture in the beginning of the semester (cursed, no?). Maybe it was a sign. May-beh.

And I remember after the exam, telling Dr Salwa that the exam sucked cause it had TWO Histology in the essay exam. Dr. Salwa. Dr. Salwa Gawish. Also known as Professor of Histology of Mansoura University.

.... Yeah, it wasn't a good start to the exam either.

Anyway, results were released yesterday.

Of course there was a reason for my academic laden rant. And no, I didn't fail. So half of you can put down celebratory streamers and balloons. However results were so-so. Well, not so good.

Okay, they sucked.

The feeling is akin to plunging to the ground from unimaginable heights, and surviving. You are glad, to the highest heavens that you're alive, still breathing when suddenly, a searing pain pierces through your body. Then you realize that both your legs are broken, twisted to unnatural positions, bones probably piercing through the skin, and of course, it hurting like a bitch.

That's how it feels getting my results :)

Well, after a long lecture from Dr. Mum and hiding ze mentioned results from army-trained father (yes, I still fear being ass-whopped, even after 20 years of the no physical violence conduct) I should start doing better.

For one, I'm starting clinicals already. So a lot more work ahead. Patients interaction is rather vital, and well... I'm not the most likable person in the world. And all that self pitying I did, it was enough to fill a lifetime. And believe me, feeling sorry for oneself is exhausting.

To semester 6, I'm here to wrestle you to the ground and mount your head on my mantlepiece like a fallen stag as a sign of my victory over your coming challenges (I sound like such a dude). Imma see you soon, buddy.

And to semester 5

Hell is this way, thank you :)

Make Poverty History.

First, let me point out the obvious.

Yes, I'm one very unlikely candidate to even suggest the notion of eradicating poverty. No, I'm not doing this for publicity, or in an attempt to paint this facade of righteousness or sincerity. I'm as materialistic, indignant and devious as the next person.

But the thought of a little emaciated child begging his helpless mother for measly crumbs of bread to feed his hunger, that just pulls of my heartstrings.

Poverty is a somber matter in Egypt that threatens the very economical well being of the country. Apart from the alarming percentage of the population who are living below the poverty line, people have grown ignorant, oblivious to the turmoil around them, all due to plight of poverty that has inflicted them. Truly, poverty is the worst form of violence. Children are made to work, their childhood robbed before their eyes, decrepit senior citizens still in between menial jobs, retirement only an unattainable dream, it's a common sight. Who will save them? Where will they find their solace?

There's this photo taken by a South African photographer, Kevin Smith. It epitomizes the severity of poverty, where hunger is no longer in question, but a forgotten memory replaced by the reality of possible death.

No one knows what happened to that little girl.

If you can help, go ahead. It may be spare change, a packet of your leftovers, anything will do. The blaze of the human spirit can never be extinguished, despite however small the flame may be burning right now. But if you're content to just bear witness to a catastrophe unfolding, at least be thankful for what you have. Too often we forget to count our blessings, so immersed in our selfishness, in what we want, in what we need.

My last parting words are excerpts from chain letters. Yes, not very professional but hey, I'm just here to help :)

If you have food in the refrigerator, clothes on your back, a roof overhead and a place to sleep,

You are richer than 75% of this world.

If you have money in the bank, in your wallet, and spare change in a dish some place.

You are among the top 8% of the world's wealthy.

If you woke up this morning with more health than illness.

You are more blessed than the million who will not survive this week.

If you have never experienced the danger of battle, the loneliness of imprisonment, the agony of torture, or the pangs of starvation,

You are ahead of 500 million people in the world.

Make poverty history. Break the cycle.

Dark Times.

It's 4 in the morning and I'm clad in my woolen blanket wrapped securely around me. The light ticking of my wrist watch is unusually audible, reminding me of the dawn that is approaching.

And God knows I can't sleep.

I can't say what's bothering me in the wee hours of the Egyptian morning. The plethora of things that has robbed me of lulling sleep have been nagging me for a couple of days now. I feel almost suffocated, gasping for breath. Maybe is the heat of autumn that still prevails in the air, or maybe because so many things managed to go perfectly wrong in the shortest amount of time possible.

It's enough to drive anyone mad.

Have I mentioned how much I miss home? Perhaps not. I never knew it was possible to be this homesick, but there you have it, I crippled by it. Seeing smiling faces of the summer on Facebook has brought me to tears countless times, the thought of spending the next 9 months here even saddens me more.

I feel like I've lost my footing, sprawled on the floor, with only feeble attempts to get up and start anew. How does one just restart their life once they've stumbled and fall? Or improve it on levels that surpasses expectations? How?

But one's thing for sure, I am going to get through this hour of darkness. By hook or by crook, with anyone's help or not, I am going to survive this. I might be unsure, hell, I might be utterly clueless how I'm going to do it but I will.

Cause I'm Nazeera Nasir.

Sunday Night.

It feels like a Sunday night.

The merriment of the weekend has transpired, leaving us hollow with doubt and anxiety of the days to come, the harrows of the hours, the promise of a brighter future or the fear of a foreshadow upon our unprepared lives.

What will Monday hold for

me?

Another life shattering opportunity just waiting to be grabbed by the horns? Perhaps. The disaster of uncertainty ? Perhaps.

They say that third time's the charm. Well, this will be the third time I'm gonna have to say goodbye to everyone. And God knows, even the third time doesn't make it any easier. The sunken feeling is familiar but the sting still jolts your most latent of senses.

The pain still throbs

The tears still fall

The heart still cracks.

Goodbyes still hurt.

... Sigh

Farewell Sunday. Monday morning awaits.

A Way to a Man's Heart is...

Today marks two weeks of fasting.

Two full whole weeks of horrific, monumental traffic congestions everywhere at approximately 4-7 pm, two long weeks of hotels and restaurants hiking buffet prices to exorbitant levels, almost taunting the middle class with unattainable gluttony, two absolute weeks of amnesia stricken souhur meals every morning

You get my point.

As of every year, Ramadan brings things to the plate; some joyous, many not.

What I love about Ramadan is that, there is a greater appreciation for the smaller, often disregarded everyday pleasures. I can't remember the last time water tasted so sweet or how it feels like to savour shreds of meat like it's your last meal.

Yes, Ramadan is a blessing for the ungrateful.

However, there is one thing that irks me so.

So, general knowledge (or not being a total oblivious ass) has made it clear that we are to pledge to refrain from food, drink and other earthly vices that make us human.

Okay, that's relatively easy to do, I suppose.

Nevertheless, our behaviour and demeanour suggests otherwise.

I have bear witness to insane, monstrous drivers, honking their car-worths of battery life, restaurant customers with anger levels escalating to extremities, spewing abuse to workers, the violent flights of inanimate objects thrown across the room and other almost barbaric decorums of usually esteemed men.

Shame on you all.

God knows, our brains only work when there is an adequate amount of glucose in our system.

Anything less, we are governed by our stomachs.

When tired and hungry, it invokes the worst of us, letting loose the beast that has been simmering its poison within our cores. And once it's free, there's no stopping its wrath.

It was literally like watching the transformation of gentlemen to brutes, royals to paupers and elites to the common. But of course, who hasn't fallen victim to acting treacherously ridiculous in times of (can you even call it that?) famine.

But as revered individuals, we shouldn't stoop to being uncouth, flaring tempers and shouting disparaging remarks when facing just one of the many tribulations to come. We're not animals with carnal instincts, but humans with thought and rationale.

Surely, we've been taught better than that.

It's Okay.

When I was still a wee lass in high school, I was mostly the observer.

I was never the instigator in a fight nor was I the perpetual victim of teenage angst, well mostly cause the whole boy drama thing didn't really unfurl for me (go figure), which let us be frank, is the main reason why girls fight.

... And gossiping is excluded, cause well, everybody does it.

Even testosterone-raging boys.

Back to the point. From my 5 years of harrowing through all the melodrama, the theatrics, the peer pressure, I've realized something.

That one something I wish someone had sat me down and explained to me, would've saved me the melancholic heartbreak of growing up.

To the little younglings of this blog, heed this. I'm gonna try to hold your hand while you experience just the beginning of the surprises life has in store for you.

Just remember one thing that will always be the last spoken advice in every little predicament you're in.

It's okay.

It's okay to be that one person who's not in sync with everyone else.

You failed a paper? Single when everyone else is not? It's okay. Everything will turn out alright, you're seemingly eternal shame that has embedded itself within your core will fade away.

It's okay if you feel left out from your circle of friends.

Friends come and go, and your need to adhere to the most influential person you know too will vanish, displaced by a growing respect and love for yourself. It's difficult to understand now, but you deserve so much better.

It's okay to say no.

Your belief is what make you unique. It builds your character and it shapes your soul. And to lose that freedom, it'll be the biggest tragedy to befall mankind. Hold on to your stance in life. Never ever feel like you have to compromise yourself to be anything. Cause life is too short for you to live for somebody else.

It's okay to love and live.

What are the teens years without puppy love? Always be willing to take the plunge. Cause not taking that dive is what regrets are made of. And if you get out hurt and broken, don't worry. There's always someone out there who's gonna mend you. I promise.

Last but not least...

It's okay to laugh at yourself.

Seriously. Your pride will be the death of your juvenility and to bury your inner child will be a sad day to endure. Your cheeks might flush a bit, your story might be fodder for reunion dinners but it's a small price to pay for a good laugh and more importantly, a perpetual smile on your face and in your heart.

This is to commemorate me turning 20. The big two-oh baby. This is the part where usually people whine about being old and decrepit. But I'm not gonna worry too much. Why?

Cause it's okay.

Cause everything's gonna be okay.