30 September 2011
Okay.
I get that you're trying to be more open with me.
Make me feel more of a brother.
But I'm sorry.
I don't do that kind of thing.
Growing up, I've never opened up to the family.
And I don't intend to start doing so anytime soon.
I don't mind talking about how my day went.
Little things that are detached from any emotional baggage.
But just don't expect me to do it all the time.
Don't expect me to want to be in your company all the time.
Because I'm so used to having my own space.
To having no one to talk to.
And I most certainly don't want to talk to you all of the time.
No offence.
That's the kind of thing that I grew up with.
And I'm not willing to let it go.
Just like how going out for lunch yesterday made me realize.
Just because I don't go out often.
Doesn't mean I don't have a life.
I'd very much rather stay at home or do my own things.
Then stand around or walk around doing nothing.
Talking is nice I guess.
But I don't like it when you sit down and keep trying to squeeze out every little thing to talk about.
Don't get me wrong.
I appreciate the gesture and I think that talking is important.
But to me.
The more I talk.
The more I express myself under informal circumstances.
The more I reveal a little bit more about myself.
And that kills me.
To have everyone think that they can figure you out just by the things that you say.
To know that you can prevent that from happening by just not talking.
But you have to talk because it's only right.
Nah.
I don't like it that way.
So no.
I don't like going out a lot.
I don't mind going out sometimes.
I do prefer to do a lot of things by myself.
I'm used to having a lot of space to myself.
Personal space, if you may.
So any sudden attempt at reaching out to me and knowing more about me.
When all this while we don't even spill our hearts out to each other.
It puts me off.
And I don't like it.
I can try to change.
I don't have to, mind you.
I can try.
But even change takes time.
And change isn't necessarily always good.
So.
Don't expect a lot from me.
Call me weird.
Or not normal.
But I really don't care.
I large portion of my life has been spent worrying and bothered by what others think of me.
How much I'm different and weird.
And wrong.
I really don't want to have to go through the rest of my life.
Having to force myself to conform.
It's okay to be different.
It's not always good to be different.
But you don't have to conform.
I don't have to restrict myself to what everyone thinks is right.
If you think there's something wrong with me for being me.
Then clearly there's something tragically wrong with you.
Don't go around asking me why I'm so gay.
Or so much like a girl
"Amirul, why are you so gay?"
How the fuck do you expect me to answer that?
It's like asking someone.
Why are you so stupid?
So ugly?
So annoying?
How does one fucking answer such a stupid question?
If you want to say something to the person just say it.
But if you know that you're going to hurt the person.
Then think about what you're going to say.
But really.
Don't let stupidity or a lack of social consideration get the better of you and ask such a stupid question.
At the end of the day.
I guess what I'm trying to say is.
I'm tired of having to correct myself all of the time,
To check if I'm walking correctly.
If I'm postured the right way.
Just because a circle can't fit into a square doesn't mean there aren't any other shapes.
Just because I have a penis and two fucking balls doesn't mean I need to be muscular.
It doesn't mean I have to play sports.
Doesn't mean I have to fucking love soccer.
It doesn't mean I have to be a jerk.
But it also doesn't mean that just because I'm effeminate, that it makes me a woman.
The world doesn't have to work under such narrow constraints.
No one should be subjected to convention simply because others are so fucking judgmental.
That's just selfish.
I know that sounds ironic.
But it is.
2:48 PM
29 September 2011
Some random thoughts that I deem note-worthy:
I can't believe I'd ever say this.
But I really love Mathematical Induction.
Like.
I really do.
A genuine feeling of affection for Mathematics.
Who knew?
But I still hate Mathematics in general.
I hate it, I do.
You really shouldn't doubt me, you shouldn't.
I love the smell of the spices that my mother used to cook Kari Ikan Masin.
Salty Fish Curry?
"Salty Fish" Curry rather than Fish "Curry that is Salty".
I think there's a name for that sort of fish.
But no.
I don't like most fish.
More importantly.
I love the collective smell of the spices she used.
I don't know how to describe it.
But I know that it's not too overwhelming.
Just whelming enough.
Someone needs to do something about the cicak that seems to be residing in our kitchen.
It's an impediment to my reaching an ideal level of comfort at night whenever I step into the kitchen.
Not only do I have to worry about ghosts and insects.
Yes, I am silly and pussy that way.
But now I have to worry about tiny pale-green creatures jumping out of the trash bag everytime I want to dispose of something.
The worry is too much for me to go through every night.
Do you know that I nudge-kick the trash bag before I come close to it?
I look crazy.
And I feel crazy for doing that.
So please.
SOMEONE.
DO SOMETHING ABOUT THE CICAK.
Has anyone ever acknowledged how flawlessly flawless Gwen Stefani looks?
She is beautiful.
Like.
Furreal, for real.
I am totally digging music from the British right now.
I have Florence + The Machine on heavy rotation and about to have Mumford and Sons and Adele on repeat as well.
So much raw emotion.
So much soul.
Bloody.
Hell.
That's all folks.
Thanks for listening to my 1.30am-super-extended-digressive-pre-Mathematics-promo-paper-I-should-be-asleep-but-for-some-reason-aren't-that's-very-stubborn-of-me ramblings.
And I see you everywhere.
In Joey.
In L(og) S(te).
I'm not calling you a ghost.
Just stop haunting me.
Actually.
Check it.
I want to be haunted.
As long as you're doing the haunting.
I'm perfectly fine with that.
Has anyone ever heard of the 15 (or is it 16?) Missing Bitches list?
Fucking funny.
1:36 AM
27 September 2011
Today my nose bled.
For some reason, it's always the right nostril, never the left.
And I have a headache now.
It feels really warm and humid right now.
But you know what.
I think that you're the reason for my nose bleed.
Because I managed to catch glimpses of your face for the duration of 1.5 hours.
Not going home early was a good idea.
Not only because I got to spend time with my classmates and laugh more than I have in the past weeks.
But also.
And most importantly.
Because I got to see you.
You know.
I know you see me.
But I'm not sure if you're looking right through me or really at me.
If there really is something between us.
Can you say something?
Be the first to approach?
Act on it?
Because I'm too shy to do so.
Too much of a coward to open myself up.
To take the risk of possibly being humiliated.
Too timid for my own good.
But yes.
I insist that you were the cause of my nose bleed.
But who cares.
It was worth every moment of seeing your face.
8:46 PM
23 September 2011
You know what?
No.
I don't want to fail.
And this time, I'm going to make sure I won't.
So no.
I'm not going to fail.
I will pass.
And even if it's not a good pass.
It's okay.
Because I want to pass.
And I will pass.
No more I'm-going-to-fail-because-I-have-little-time-to-study crap.
Suck it up.
You will pass, Amirul.
You will.
10:06 PM
20 September 2011
This is my 200th post.
This is a big deal.
Who knew I'd keep this blog up for as long as I have?
To actually commit to something.
To myself, really.
Hahaha.
No matter.
I intended to write a long-ass post about the symbolic nature of this post yadayadayada.
But I think that the number "200" speaks for itself.
I don't have to go into detail about the significance of this blog.
Because it's all here.
It goes without saying.
But I will point out one thing:
That I've changed.
Not in most of the ways I had hoped for.
But I've changed.
I'm still cynical.
I don't think I'm necessarily less cynical.
But what I am now is also hopeful.
I've chosen to believe.
To take a peek into the little crack in the wall.
And there will be days where I revert back to my state of depression and self-pity.
Of psychological self-torment.
But I think I'll be okay.
I think I will be.
Because I'm starting to learn that hope is a nice little thing.
So yes.
200 posts.
And several more to come.
Thanks for sticking through with me all this while.
---
This was written during ELL lecture:
On page 2:
Today, I am very irritated.
- Why do you make me feel uncomfortable and angry and make things awkward when I'm nothing but nice to you? / When I've not done anything to offend you?
- I think I will fail. / I am unprepared. / There's a lot to study. / I don't have time. / I want to go home.
- Stop complaining to me. / I don't care. / I have my own problems. / I don't care. / Shut up.
- Stop making little remarks to me. / I'm too tired to bother trying to understand you. / No, I don't want to laugh. / Don't look to me and expect a response./ I don't agree with you.
- Stop looking at me. / Stop trying to figure me out. / I can see you looking at me. / You can't figure me out.
On page 4:
But today, I am relieved.
- I'm finally not hung up on you and what you will never be.
---
It's raining.
When I do, it pours.
10:54 PM
17 September 2011
Let's talk about suicide.
I take suicide really seriously.
At least that's what I tell myself.
I hate it when someone belittles the issue of suicide.
(And mind you, I'm not including suicide by those who are really mentally-challenged.)
I hate it when someones says things.
Like.
Those who commit suicide don't think.
That they're dumb.
Stupid.
For me, it's never that easy.
It never is.
You can say that those who commit suicide only desire an easy way out.
Because they're too lazy to try.
Too weak to pull through.
But do you know how much effort it actually takes to get to thinking about suicide?
That there's so much that goes on in their minds that brought them to the idea of suicide.
Worries. Suffering. Pain. Hurt. Loneliness. Standstill. Confusion. Loss. Frustration.
Any amount of all those things and more.
No one JUST commits suicide.
Reasons vary but they are no less insignificant.
For every reason someone takes his own life, there is need to pause.
To understand and appreciate why someone jumped off a building, slit his throat or stood in front of a car.
No one should ever die in vain.
And even if you don't agree with one's reasons for committing suicide.
The least that every one of us has to do.
Should do.
Is learn and comprehend.
Because more people are bound to commit suicide.
And you never know.
You could be the person to prevent that from happening to someone else.
Or even.
To yourself.
I don't think I'll ever commit suicide.
Mostly because I don't know what's going to happen the moment I hit the ground, the moment the metal touches my throat.
I could still be alive.
I could be suffering.
In pain.
Paralyzed.
Scarred for life.
Or I could die and not know what happen.
I know religion has dictated the outcome of suicide.
The outcome of death.
But really.
Who knows what will happen when you take your own life?
When you die?
Truly?
So remember.
Don't ever talk about suicide like it's some water-cooler conversation.
Don't tell me to jump out the window and treat it like a joke.
Because I've contemplated a lot of things before, that being one of them.
Because it's real.
Because it's more than that.
Because no one should ever die in vain.
No one should die in vain.
No one.
It's sad that many do.
---
And a note to you.
You said that I'm annoying today.
Do you know what I was itching to reply to that?
That you're fucking irritating almost every week.
That I feel demoralized everytime I'm around you.
When the least that I ask of you is to just teach me.
Simple.
But you treat me like I'm a piece of shit.
There's a reason why I get you to teach me.
You know everything.
You're smart.
I'm stupid.
I get it.
Don't keep pointing that out to me and think that it'll make me any less stupid.
If anything, it makes me feel even more stupid.
Sometimes I don't understand why you waste your time by asking me a question I clearly not know the answer to and for some reason keep expecting that I have all of the answers at the back of my hand.
Even after I pause and stare for what feels like an eternity.
I DON'T FUCKING KNOW THE ANSWER.
I need you to teach me so that I'll know.
I don't mean to be rude.
But really, you're so fucking unreasonable.
And it's tiring.
So fucking tiring.
To have to sit through two hours every week and be tormented by your belittlement.
NO, I DON'T REMEMBER.
My memory fails me.
I'm not a calculator.
Help me remember.
Help me.
Help me and stop doing the contrary.
I need your knowledge but I don't need the snide that comes with.
It's depressing.
That's what it is.
So.
Fucking.
Depressing.
12:42 PM
16 September 2011
I got a new phone.
Which costs approximately 400 bucks.
Guess how much of that I had to pay?
3/4 of it!
I know that I'd sound like a spoilt brat if I were to complain.
So.
Yeah.
$300.
Poof.
But I like my new cell phone.
Actually.
I love it.
I really do.
It's most probably the most satisfying and worthwhile phone I have ever purchased.
So I guess you can say that it's $300 well-spent.
Samsung SII Galaxy.
It's uh-mazing.
Apparently it's better than iPhone 4 and could even rival the upcoming iPhone 5.
Like I said.
Uh-mazing.
However.
I resent that the internet browser can't access the posts on this blog properly.
Something to do with the template or some shiz like that.
Everything else is perfect.
Oh.
It's touchscreen.
I was initially apprehensive of getting a touchscreen smartphone.
But after much deliberation, I figured that I'm bound to get a touchscreen phone sometime in the future anyway.
Might as well get one now.
And it's Samsung!
Who knew I'd ever buy a Samsung phone?
I think my first phone was a Samsung.
A really sucky one.
I've always thought that Nokia was the best.
Thank god for research skills and online reviewers.
Yeah.
I've been busy playing with my new gadget.
When I should really be studying.
STUDY.
Be like everyone else and #gohardlikeamofo
Okay, I'll go take a shower after this and then I'll study.
But before I go.
Here are some quotable quotes from the mighty Zhuo Rong:
"It's painful to laugh." (The juxtaposition brought me to tears.)
The next two quotes are courtesy of Russell's apparent lack of common sense:
Russell: How do you stop your legs from shaking? [Looks to his legs (which were shaking for no reason.)]
Zhuo Rong: Don't you have brains to control your legs? [Emphasis on "brains" and, in true Zhuo Rong fashion, followed by her trademark eye-roll.]
Russell: What would you do if I became the president?
Amirul: At the first rumour that I hear of such a possibility, I'd change my citizenship. (I thought this was good but wait till you hear Zhuo Rong's masterful craftsmanship.)
Wait for it.
Wait.
Wait.
Zhuo Rong: I would assassinate you.
And the crowd (me and Dyon and even Russell) goes wild.
If it was a Mortal Kombat match, it would've been a triple fatality or something to that degree.
Thank you, Zhuo Rong, for making my days, no matter how dull, more meaningful.
8:42 PM
13 September 2011
You know.
One of these days.
When I do get somebody to love.
I will love him so hard.
That breaking up with me would be the most painful thing he'd ever think of doing.
That's how deeply I will love.
That's how devoted I'd be.
1:47 AM
11 September 2011
A few things from today:
Nenek Su insisted that I look like Taufik Batisah.
Or as my sister puts it, Tau-"fake" Batisah.
I take the former as a compliment.
It started my day off really well.
And thankfully so.
Because it was a tiring day.
But fun nonetheless.
I went visiting with my cousins again.
The more the merrier.
You know how you send out mass messages?
And you know how fucking frustrating it is when the recipients don't reply?
It's FUCKING IRRITATING.
And it's not just once.
I know I have a bad habit of not replying or replying also.
But really though, it's not acceptable when you don't reply a lot of times.
It's just fucking rude.
#ruuude
The written report is due on Friday and I'm constantly shitting in my pants because of this.
The least you could do is not make me more worried by not replying to my SMSes.
Urgh.
Also, I think that "My All" is a good song to have playing in the background when having sex.
Darkness with spots of orange hues, candles slowly burning, warm but cool enough.
Perfect.
One day.
School starts tomorrow.
Yay!
Fuck it.
9:59 PM
10 September 2011
The words "I will love you till the end of time" never fail to make me feel all funny inside.
The promise of eternal love.
It doesn't matter that those words, at the moment of their revelation, can't truly and ultimately promise the immortal sustainability of love.
But it's strong enough in that instance.
In that slight second where forever is forever.
And that's all that matters.
Beyonce's sang those words. Lana Del Rey too.
And I always find myself anxiously waiting for the parts where those words appear.
Hoping that one day I don't have to rely on songs to hear them.
That I would have a lover who would utter those very words to me.
Warm breath on my neck.
Chills down my spine.
Darkness.
And that those words, coated in the voice of my lover, would linger forever and ever in my mind.
I will love you till the end of time...
12:23 AM
07 September 2011
"Are you afraid of death?"
I'm more afraid of loneliness."
"Do you pray?"
Yes, for I believe in love.
"What advice would you give a woman?"
Love.
"To a young girl?"
Love.
"To a child?"
Love.
6:01 PM
Please excuse my excessive, self-indulgent indiscretions about XFC.
I swear, just in the past hour, I've repeated the scenes where Michael Fassbender speaks French and German more times than I would like to admit.
DID I MENTION THAT HE SPEAKS FREAKING FRENCH IN THE FILM?
FRENCH.
SEXY FUCKING FRENCH.
I can't help it.
I really can't.
He's too insatiable.
If it's one reason you should watch XFC, it's for the mere fact that Michael Fassbender is in it.
And that he speaks French and German.
Please go watch it.
PLEASE.
I'm supposed to free up my storage space.
And to do that I need to delete the film.
But I'm not willing to let it go.
Because I want to listen to his impeccable multilingual speech skills over and over and over again.
I just can't get enough.
Say it Mimi!
"So, so, ooh... OBSESSED."
12:23 AM
06 September 2011
"I want you by my side."
Best.
Line.
From.
X-Men First Class.
By.
A.
Longshot. (See what I just did there?)
Can you guess who said it and to whom?
So.
Movies I've watched lately:
Scream 4.
Thor. (Best line: "Do not mistake my appetite for apathy!")
Big Fish.
X-Men First Class.
Movies to watch:
La Vie en Rose.
The King's Speech.
And some French film that ZR vaguely recommended.
I really should get studying.
I'd say revise but, really, it's more studying than revising.
If you get my drift.
2 noteworthy things of the day:
It's widely accepted that French is a sexy language.
Even the most raggedy-ass of raggedy-asses would come off sexy when speaking French.
So can you imagine how out of this world it would be like to have a sexy person speak some sexy French?
It would be some high level kind of shitasscrazy.
I think Portuguese or Spanish is a sexy language too.
Very sultry.
It's easy to make something erotic with French, Portuguese or French sexy.
But if you have someone like Michael Fassbender (or F. Assbender), even German sounds sexy.
Have you watched X-Men First Class?
Mr. Fassbender speaking his native tongue is like a choir of guttural angels from beer heaven.
Michael Fassbander.
It's hard to fanfic a relationship between him and James McAvoy while watching XFC.
The only thing on the minds of all non-straight viewers (and presumably some straight ones) would be for them to get it on already.
Down and dirty in some raunchy mutant romp.
It would be cuh-ruh-zeh.
Heck.
Watch some of the interviews they've had during the XFC promotion rounds.
I swear their biggest, darkest secret is that they've done the nasty together before.
With a friendship like that, (agruably) compatible looks and talents, it's hard to convince me otherwise.
Or maybe it's just me who would like to endorse such a possibility.
My dirty mind and I.
Tomorrow I'll get to see you.
For 5 whole hours.
That is, if you sit in front rather than at the back.
Please sit in front.
Or better yet, in the same row.
Or best.
Next to me.
Never gonna happen.
But who's to say?
9:42 PM
I was about to start this post by saying that Buddy Holly was very good-looking.
(Technically I am starting by saying that anyway.)
But then I realized that that would make me as superficial as Lockwood.
So.
Hash all of that.
And take this as the start:
I love and respect Buddy Holly.
Buddy Holly was a genius who made amazing music.
And I say this only after having listened to three of his songs.
I know enough to know that he's that good.
AND.
As I (didn't) already mentioned.
He was good-looking.
That is an understatement, really.
Dude looked fine as fuck.
And he'd shit on a lot of the performers out there right now.
Talent-wise and in the looks department as well.
A major heartthrob if I ever saw one.
I have "Everyday" on repeat right now.
I am grateful to the film "Big Fish" for introducing me to Buddy Holly.
The classic and legend that is Buddy Holly.
And.
Those eyeglasses are to die for.
And that voice.
THE VOICE.
It just melts my heart.
#icant
May Buddy and the and the other casualties rest in peace.
Currently listening to: Beyonce, Buddy Holly, Chris Brown, Gotye & Kimbra
At this moment listening to: American Pie by Don McLean
12:29 AM
05 September 2011
The past 3 days have been raya overload.
I am tired.
And I need to catch a break before letting school shit set in.
Today I realized that I enjoy spending time with my cousins.
Especially when we'd be crazy in the un-contrived kind of way.
Maybe it's that I rarely have a lot of fun so even the slightest bit of fun is fun.
But I had fun.
Fun singing raya songs, being goofy on video, eating together, mengumpat-ing and just spending raya as it should be.
Uninhibited, informal.
So that's all that matters.
I also realized that I hate awkward social circumstances involving extended family.
I know it's the self-conscious freak in me.
But I don't like the feeling of being judged when I'm in my own house.
And I hate feeling like I could never add up to the Malay conventional expectations.
And I hate how I forget that I don't have to feel like I need to amount to all of that.
That I decide for myself who I want to be.
Because at the end of the day, I don't have to care what you think.
2:44 AM
04 September 2011
Family
I found out two nights ago that this blog has been viewed by people other than myself.
Like.
People from Malaysia.
Germany.
The Philippines.
America.
Like.
What the fuck?
Who knew?
That's a bit scary.
But who cares.
I'm quite certain none of these people know me anyway.
Anyway.
I wanted to say this yesterday.
But I was too tired by the time I got home.
What I wanted to say was.
That I'm unhappy with the way that she treats me sometimes.
The things that she says.
Like a remark on what I'm wearing or how I look.
Not the in-your-face kind of remark.
But the effect is the same as a slap in the face.
And I hate it.
I hate it.
Do you know that even when you look your worse I'd be honest but nice about it?
That when what you wear looks just a little iffy, I don't say anything because I know that it'd make you feel self-conscious and uncomfortable?
Because I know how it feels when something imperfect about me is pointed out.
And it's worse for me when it comes from you because it feels like you're ridiculing me.
I mean, fucking sue me for trying to decide for myself what I want to wear.
Even if it's not something you'd recommend.
Even if it's a bit unconventional.
Just don't fucking make me feel bad.
Because I'm nice enough to not tell you that in that instance you look ugly.
I feel sometimes that I'm much nicer than you are because I don't try to bring you down.
I mean, seriously.
How many times have I been the one to shower you with praises and positive remarks about the way you look?
Does that even mean anything?
I don't need you to fucking tell me that I look good or anything.
Because maybe I don't.
But just don't point something ugly out and make me feel bad and doubtful about it.
Make me feel little.
Because I've been nice to you and all that I expect is for you to not be bad to me.
It just pisses me off the way you go about judging me sometimes.
Do you know how insecure I feel about myself?
And to have you magnify them, it just kills me sometimes.
It really does.
You know, after a while.
This all just reminds me that I'm old enough already to not have to hold on to your finger and be like a fucking servant to your own vanity.
That I actually don't need to validate you.
That, really.
I don't need your validation.
I don't need it.
I really don't.
That just like how it doesn't matter what other people think, it really doesn't matter what your 2 fucking cents' worth is.
But you know.
That's just stupid.
Of course it matters.
Even if a little bit.
It all matters.
So that's why I'll still tell you that you look nice.
That you look good.
That you look okay when you need me to say it.
Because I know, just like me, you need me to say it.
But please.
Don't be a bitch to me when I'm nice to you.
Don't be a bitch.
In other significant developments.
I went jalan raya with my relatives today.
It was okay, and it was fun.
And today, I verbally acknowledged my appreciation for my father.
It went along the lines of, "At times like these, I'm thankful that I have my father because my father would never do this, he's way better than that."
Cues opening theme of "My Dad Is Better Than Your Dad."
I know that my parents have always taught me better and that comforts me.
That makes me grateful for having them.
1:51 AM
01 September 2011
I have a friend.
Who I'm relatively close to.
What does relatively mean, anyway?
Anyway.
A friend.
He's straight, that much I know.
And no, I'm not interested in him.
That's just wrong.
But anyway.
He has this tumblr.
The photo blog kind.
And some of his posts are a bit homoerotic.
And I'm not happy with that.
I'm not sure what his problem is.
If it's to show that he's accepting of gays.
Or if he's trying to get attention by showing that he's accepting of gays.
Or if he's just plain stupid.
I don't know.
As in, post anything you want, I suppose.
But to me.
It's really off-putting and unnerving when you know shit about it.
To seem like you know how to empathize with gays.
Maybe you've been bullied and bullies have called you gay before.
I guess that I'd accept.
But I don't know.
I don't know why you do it.
I'm coming off as unreasonable.
As narrow-minded.
And selfish even.
But I just don't get what your intention is.
What the fuck do you know about same-sex feelings?
What the fuck?
What the fuck do I about that either, really?
All I know is.
I don't appreciate what he posts sometimes.
Because I really don't understand it.
In other news.
My CT said that I look different.
That I'm always evolving.
It's the hair, I tell you.
India.Arie says it best, "I am not my hair..."
Or maybe GaGa is right, "I am my hair."
To be or not to be?
6:56 PM
