The glorious and triumphant return of now-19 year old Blogger, the revival of a once-grand and dare I say influential webspace that produced daily content, and the crippling anxiety of a young woman who no longer has any time or motivation to write, and feels like any ability she had acquired in the past through repetition and sheer will alone is now slowly slipping out of her grasp. Brief history of the Blog and Blogger can be found here.

Here be personal journal entries, observations, slices of life, questions and conclusions, as well as exploration of social and political topics seen through the lens of a Malaysian Muslim, feminist, lesbian, Marxist, and horse enthusiast.

Saturday, September 3, 2011

King of the Sky


I honestly wanted to make something nicer, do something nicer, just whatever. Better and bigger things. But nothing about my blog has ever been particularly flashy. Plus, I am not in a Photoshop mood tonight, you'd be surprised. This took, like, all of three minutes (and I think at least one of those minutes was waiting for Photoshop to load). Regardless, it's a joyous occasion, a cause for celebration, and I wrote something to commemorate this post, this moment in time. (Mostly, though, I've had this post planned out for a long time). 

Thanks for being good readers, thanks for being good friends, and thanks for putting up with all the crap on this blog. 

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I would grab a star
or if I'm lucky
A shooting star
And would bring it back to you

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Sometimes you lose something, and you don't get it back. But it all works out anyways. 

The end of the year holidays are bad for you but not in ways people would define the word bad. Because your house, right across the street, is being renovated and you're getting a nicer room, a bigger, better, brighter room and the house you're living in right now is definitely not bad at all. You got what you wanted, didn't you? But you lose your proof. 

You lose your UPSR results slip and you can't find it anywhere. You even go outside to search under the cars. You don't find it. And you cry. It's force of habit, perhaps, for you to cry when you lose something because you've always been a careless person, you have always been prone to misplacing things and all the while, there hasn't been a single instance in which your father hadn't been able to just step right in and fix things. But regardless of how many hours you and your entire family spend in search of that piece of paper, it stays missing. 

And you cry, maybe because it's an easy target, an easy reason, and maybe not because you're scared. Not because you're afraid of what the future brings and the pressure that comes with it. New school year on the horizons bringing a new school environment. Doesn't change scare everyone? And losing something, losing the friends that you've made and unmade, the boys you've grown accustomed and familiar with, the life you've been building up to its epic quarterly crescendo. Doesn't that scare you? 

Months later, your father announces that he's found the slip, inside and among the mess that is your mother's files and papers. Months later, it's not so bad. Months later, it's maybe that time of the month, that time of the year. At any rate, it's an entirely different story altogether.


Sometimes you lose something and you get it back. 

There was this one night, you remember, maybe back when you were eleven or twelve, when you stayed over at your cousins' house overnight and you lost your anklet. It was a new anklet, you've just bought it and while you don't appreciate it for its aesthetics anymore, it was pretty to you at the time. Pretty and sacred. And you lost it within the first few hours of getting there.

You've just read that book, The Secret, and you thought then would be a good a time as any to try it out. After searching for it high and low, left, right and center and all around the damn place, you started crying. After crying, you sat down and took deep breaths. After that you flipped through the book, because even though you basically got the gist of it, the long and rambly texts kept on repeating over and over again things your brain barely understood and after a while, anyone would start to get confused. There were no instructions. Only a bunch of experts pooling together their insights and as a compilation, they called it a "book". They named it The Secret

Positive thinking. It was positive thinking and never giving up, no element of luck to it, so you got up off the couch, wiped the tears away and started all over again. Miraculously, after zeroing your mind on the anklet and nothing but, a memory flitted across your brain, ever so gently, you might have missed it if your concentration were elsewhere: a memory of you slipping the anklet in between the pages of a book you've been reading. 

It was the first time you've ever managed to use The Secret. It was the last.


Sometimes you lose something and no amount of blood, sweat or tears can help to get it back.

You lose a necklace. Dear, sweet and one of your favorites. It's the Eid holidays, the air still thick with repentance and frivolity and the spirit of things, people still up bright and early and chipper to enjoy a full day's worth of family and food. But you wake up with half an ear, search in vain for your iPod, glasses and necklace that you had placed next to you on the mattress and find your iPod and glasses on a nearby couch. 

The necklace is missing. You fret, worry, putter around searching but in the end, settle your brain with comforting thoughts about your parents or your sister setting it aside for safekeeping. Your sister stirs and you ask her. Your mother groans in her sleep and you ask her after waking her up as gently as you possibly can. Your father is last to rise from bed but he too seems to be oblivious to the whereabouts of your necklace. No one knows where it is and no one seems to care for about half the morning. 

It is understandable that you grow upset. It's understandable that you decide to blame it on your father who moved the iPod and glasses overnight but said he didn't see anything resembling a necklace. It was dark and the necklace is small and delicate. The floor is clear of anything silver that morning and everywhere you look, you meet a dead end.

Cushion covers and couches, bags and pillow cases and mattresses and outside the room and inside the room and at one point, everyone in the house is made aware. It is kind of hard to miss you sulking around. It is kind of hard to say goodbye to someone who's crying their eyes out. 

Maybe you did put in the effort. Maybe you didn't. Four days later and it's still gone.

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Sometimes you lose someone and you get them back. But it doesn't matter.

Because it doesn't matter that you started a two year war. It doesn't matter that falling in love was the only way to end that war. It doesn't matter if the two of you were a love story gone wrong, Romeo and Juliet personified. It just doesn't matter. It didn't matter then, when all you wanted was a normal life free of people who caused you pain and sadness. It doesn't matter now, when you can sit around with them and have a normal conversation about anything and everything. And it doesn't matter, certainly, that they tell you things you might not want to hear, might never be ready to hear, probably in a million years. 

What does matter is the fact that after everything that happened, after you have hurt each other, you found your way back to the very same spot that got you rowing in the first place. And maybe it's a bad spot, maybe it's just a rough patch among many more rough patches to come, but thinking it through, you realize that maybe what truly matters is that you're there for each other. 

Maybe what truly matters is that at the end of the day, even though you're not each other's everything, even if you'd label each other as a friend, a confidante, an enemy, a sibling, it doesn't matter because hey, you've got someone to lean on. You can use each other, for whatever purposes you see fit, and there will be no animosity because you've had enough of that to last a life time. 

Point against point. It doesn't matter.

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Sometimes you lose someone and you get them back. And it's better.

Because you didn't know what you were doing. You were pretentious and full of it and you thought you could change the world by being the change you wanted to see but that wasn't exactly the right path for you, that wasn't exactly the right path for either of you. Because as honest as you were to each other, you were ignoring the one thing both of you needed to hear. Codependency has its flip sides but when it was tilted right side up again, it was so much better. 

You go through bad times to make the good times mean something, mean so much more. You weather the storm before enjoying eternal sunshine. Sometimes you'd look back and it's weird, sure, because at the time you thought you were happier then but now, not so much. Whatever it is, you should be thankful. Lost or found or a year's worth of memories thrown down the drain only to be rebuilt and recovered again, it got better for you and that's what they told you and that's what happened. 

Labels will never come easily. Memories will never not hurt. And it took a while, it took a while to get back to where you first started, that clean slate. It was a do-over, it was start stop start again, but you think that the main question and the main worry at the end of the day isn't how much effort you've put in, time you've wasted; rather it's whether or not it's worth it. 

It is. 

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Sometimes you lose someone and you think it's going to hurt. But it doesn't. Not really. 

As it was, there was never going to be anything more than friendship between the two of you. You are too scared, too hopelessly in love with someone else, and they are too oblivious, too preocupied to even look twice in your direction. There will be no first steps, there will be no story, permanent. What you were and what you are is an unwritten love story, perhaps sketched roughly across the stars, perhaps nobody, man or woman alike, could ever decipher the barely whispered words. Perhaps nothing will ever come out of that nothing and you think that for the moment, it is enough. 

It is enough to hear their voice tinny and faraway on a phone so that they don't get to see your hands clutch desperately in the air. It is enough to chase people around and about, hoping for just the barest hint of them. It is enough for right now, to have bi-semester chats by the hour, texts every other week, and dreams once in a full moon. 

You thought it would be worse and certainly, there was a time when it was worse. A time when everything else ceased to exist and the only thing grabbing at you and pulling on your heartstrings were images of moments long pass and long gone. But for now, whatever you've received so far, whatever you have, it's enough.

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Sometimes you lose someone and you know, you just know, that you're never going to get them back.

Whether you're sitting far apart or close together, it doesn't matter, because there's nothing there anymore. No more smiles, no more laughter, no more being the only thing and the only person to lean against for the other. It was camaraderie like you've probably never had before and it was frightening, to say the least, because it was a no entry sign for everyone else, a closed door, as much as it was a closed friendship. 

And you ruined that. And it was your fault. And whether you joke around or are serious with each other, they've had enough. You're a handful and that someone that you've lost and gotten back (but it doesn't matter), and that someone that you've lost and gotten back (and it's better), and that someone you've lost and you think it's going to hurt (but it doesn't) (not really), they might not say that. They might think it but they might not say it. 

And you're afraid that they'd go against you and that they won't fight for you. Well, you didn't fight for them, did you? You were losing someone and you didn't do anything to stop it. In fact, you were the catalyst. So ask yourself again, do you deserve to have them again? Do you deserve to have any of them again? 

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You might think everyone hates you. If it's any consolation, I like you.

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She can wonder why all she wants. All I know is that I'm here to stay.

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I'm really happy you're my friend.

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And yes she can get mean but it never bugs me because I know what she says is the truth and that is why I like her.

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She.

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Was.

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Sometimes we lose things. Sometimes we find them. Some other times, they stay lost. And if it's for the best, then you should just leave it be. (Oh, there you are. I've been looking for you forever.)

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