Showing posts with label Witticism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Witticism. Show all posts

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Negativity


A few days ago a friend of mine was a reading a blog and she kept telling people to come read it on her laptop. I didnt go over to read the post, but it somehow crept its way to the usual lunch session with friends. Apparently this person wrote a pretty negative post about something, being a literature student and having read some of the worst things ever published on paper, I have found that very little surprises me about what people think and put on paper (or digitally). I listened to their conversation intently with a little bit of regret not having read the post myself. Primarily because if I did I would have been more engaged in the conversation itself. But from the bits and pieces that I did collect though, I realized that my main concern had little to do with the issue rather than the writing itself.

I believe entirely that "the pen is mightier than the sword." Writers (blogs or books) have a social responsibility. Writers are the social commentators of society and the authorial defined society in which is jotted down will one day be used as material to define the context and situation of society. The writer is the reflection of its society. And even though most writers have found glory in defying convention, much honor has also been placed by those who stayed within the lines of societal norms.

When I write, sometimes, I write with emotion, with anger, sadness and a whole lot of other negative emotions. But sometimes, I wish, people would be a little bit more positive. Just so that in a 100 years people will read these "digital net of information" and think of how positive the days were "back then" and strive to be just as positive.

Bahz Lurhmann once said :-

"Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rises, politicians will philander, you too will grow old, and when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders."

Maybe thats exactly what the future needs. Maybe what the future needs is something written 50 years ago which tells them that politicians were noble, and that prices were reasonable and that children really did respected their elders. Maybe by giving this to them they'll strive for a better society. A more positive society.

There is just too much negativity in the world today. Never-ending civil war in Africa. Natural disasters destroying nations and families. A prime time news session filled with murders and suicides. Maybe all these are happening because there are less and less positive things written nowadays. People spend hours noting on blogs and books and reports and journals and stories that the world has gone bad, that our society has decayed, and all this without ever really acknowledging the success we have had over time. Malaysians have sent a man to space. Our illiteracy rate is lowest of all the third world nations. Malays now are 11 times more involved in running the nation then they were in 1952. Chinese in Malaysia today are 14 times more richer (considering gdp and inflation rate) compared to 1930 and the number of professional Indians in our country has steadily grown over the years in increasing numbers. Yes we have problems but no nation is perfect, no civilization is perfect, Rome was not built in a day.

I am a fairly open minded person. I am far from perfect, if anything there have been mistakes in my life, in the immediate past, which I am not proud of. I have often at times let my emotions get the better of me. I have swayed from the right path and in the process condemned myself to total idiocy too....

But the world need not be a worst place because of it, and writers need to acknowledge it. A thousand years ago "history were written by kings who have hanged heroes." But nowadays, with the internet, those who are writing now, are writing history. What we say, or write, are the words in which our world today is being painted through our eyes. How the picture turns out, very much relies on the words we use today. Most people write for leisure, just "venting" they call it. But writing is much more than just that. Writing is about convincing people, injecting ideas into their brains and with that, writing must come, with a specific set of responsibilities. One cannot write purely on the basis of free speech without having the intellectual courtesy of at least "trying not to offend anyone." One cannot write simply on the grounds that "this is my opinion and you have to respect it even if you dont like it."

I love the fact that more and more people are blogging nowadays. With the vast amount of information available online whether through academic research or day-to-day experience, these information can seem like a finite number of books. And very much like books, some are written to offend, though it should not be a target that a writer strives for.

People are growing more courageous at writing which is a good thing. Because they know a lot of people are thinking what theyre thinking but someone needs to write it down. But it is a cowardly action in actuality, when you write because you are aware of the fact that when you write something negative, the only consequence you face are a bunch of comments disagreeing with you. Writers all, be aware that what you write affects people. Once youre aware of that fact, why not take a turn and start affecting people in the right way. Im just saying, then again, what do I know. :p

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Short Story Part 9


It was 9 o'clock as I sat in the conference room alone. Fidgety, I looked at my watch. 15 minutes late. I stood up walked out of the balcony. The 15th floor meeting room with a balcony. I don't know whose idea that was, but i think it was genius. I pulled out the box of cigarette from my coat pocket and placed the tip on my lips. A lot has happened in the last few weeks. I left. Lost friends. Lost enemies. I placed my elbows on the rails. Gently huffing smoke into the winds and watch it get blown away and slowly dissipating to nothingness.

"Hello sir, may I ask what youre doing here?"

I turned around to see a young man pushing his head between the doors. He was well built, fair, he looked younger than I was. There was a sense of brilliance in his eyes coupled with a bit of naivety. I threw the cigarette butt on the floor and stepped on it to make sure the fire was out.

"Im suppose to be sitting in on a development meeting. Scheduled at 9." I said as my voice trailed indicating the fact that I don't know why at 9.30 the meeting have yet to start.

"Oh you must be Huzir then." He said smiling stepping out to the balcony with me. He extended his right hand. He had a sixth finger on his right thumb. Dominant character. I remembered i read that somewhere. His handshake firm, radiating strength and personality.

"I'm Hassdy. Creative manager and marketing team leader." He said asserting authority. I smiled.

"Huzir, newbie." I said as I smiled cynically. He laughed. He took out his cigarettes and offered me one. I shook my head. Wasn't my brand. I took out my own cigarette and lit up another one.

"So where else did you work before this?" He asked out of the blue. I finished my huff and answered him.
"A few places, editorials, marketing, writing, social services." I said as nonchalantly as possible.
"Thats quite a lot of places to be working at 26."

He knew how old I was. He knew who I was. In that instant I saw flashes of him reading my profile, my CV. I smiled. Brushed away the fact that my privacy had been breached and that it annoyed me immensely.

"You plan on working here long?" he continued his interrogation.
"As long as I am needed I guess." I answered again uninterested.

Just then a young chinese girl opened the balcony door.

"The meetings about to start." Said the 23 year old Jessica. I smiled and threw my cigarette away and walked into the conference room as Hassdy followed suit. I sat at the place I had left my day planner.

"Welcome to the first Paint development meeting." Said Shamsul, the 43 year old Human Resource officer that head-hunted me.

"As you all know realizing the rapid growth the company has gone through over the duration of the first two years, we are looking to expand the the brand of Paint. The management has agreed that in order to that we will need to bring in new blood to inject some new fresh out of the box ideas." I heard Hassdy scoff at the statement. I detected a bit of arrogance. Then I saw him.

Across the table from me. A tall dark young man around my age. Quietly sitting down, his eyes lacked emotion. his long dark hair covering a small portion of his face. I analyzed his face. His body language. his hand movements and he sat leaning forward, elbows rested firmly on the table to indicate a strong interest. Then he looked at me. Our eyes met for the first time. I felt a connection. In my head the room went dark with no one else but me and him. He averted his eyes from our little staring competition and placed his attention on Mr. Shamsul.

"This is Hamdan. A new recruit highly talented and winner of the Paint Apprentice grant last year. Everyone knows Huzir, prodigal writer and head of the Persona Think Tank for the past 3 years. And everyone else, is well everyone else. Dont worry you two, you'll get to know all of them soon enough."

It wasnt a meeting. At least I wouldnt have called it one. A meeting for me is where you find solutions or ideas to implement. This was an ice-breaking. A way to announce Hamdan and I were now part of this group. This Development group. As everyone began leaving, I saw Hamdan slowly getting out of his chair and moved towards the door.

"Im looking forward to working with you Huzir..." he gently said
"Yeah me too..." I replied.

He resonated, he shone, he was different. Somehow, I thought to myself, that I was going to enjoy working with him. As I was thinking to myself, Hassdy came and patted me on the back.

"Good job for your first meet." It sounded like fake encouragement, but to me he was insignificant, I felt the fact that he was going to be an annoyance, but right now, for me, he's just not important enough. Right now, I'm more interested in Hamdan.


Thursday, February 24, 2011

Short Story Part 7


It was cold. The breeze flowing into the moving car right after the rain had stopped was cold. I preferred it like that actually. I prefer to drive with the windows down at night, or after the rain. So since it was 830pm and the rained had stopped an hour ago. I drove home. In the best condition. The wind in my face, messing up the right side of my hair. But I didnt care. This was the best part of my day. I looked again at the clock. Slowing my car down. I didnt want it to end. I wanted to drive for as long as I could.

Then my phone rang, waking me from my imaginary flying abilities.

"I cordially invite you to our wedding on the 5th of March 2011 at..... Hanafee and Sabrina." The main details of the text message. My eyes widened. Surprised. I havent talked to him in a very long time. Suddenly, out of the blue he tells me he's getting married? Crap!

I rushed home. Questions after questions after questions in my head. He didnt seem like the one who would want to get married so soon in life. I mean come on, we're only 26. Hanafee was not a close friend of mine. But we shared a lot of common ground. The weirdest of all was that we were both born on the same day. 17th of January 1985.

I got home, rushed into my room, ignoring my housemates in the living room, saying only "hey!" as i walked in. I got into my room, windows opened, wind rushing to the door, like cats trying to get out of a house because its been trapped all day. I put my bag down and took out my phone and dialed Hanafee's number.

"Hello, assalamualaikum. Fee?" I said
"Waalaikumsalam. Wei Zir, hahahahha."
"Dude, what happened?" I asked making it sound like something bad had happened.
"Why? what happened?" he said panicking a bit.
"Youre getting married?"
"Stop making it sound like its a bad thing hahaha."
"Hahaha well it is a bad thing, for her!" Hit! right in the forehead.
"Funny.." he stopped laughing and used his sarcastic voice.
"So whens the ceremony?"
"read the text you lazy twat!"
"Hahaha... so tell me... you still working there?"
"Yeah... But i might be moving soon. I dont want to jump into it, but I think I cant keep up the long distance relationship with Sabrina. I mean when we were dating it was fine. But shes going to be my wife and I want to be closer to her.... and at a more constant rate." Hanafee went on explaining things to me.
"So youre quitting huh? Im quitting my job too, just havent found a place to get work yet." I paused.
"I thought you like working there." I said to Hanafee.
"Yeah I do, that place is awesome."
"So you okay leaving?" I said wanting to know his answer, as i was having the same problem leaving my workstation. Hanafee had always spoken fondly of the weird ensemble of people working at his company. He had grown attached to them and it was weird for me to hear him quitting. To be honest I never saw it.

"what good enough reason do you have to leave?" i continued my question.

He took a deep breath, i could sense he had given this matter a lot of thought, or maybe he was just tired of answering the same question over and over again. Im sure someones asked him before I did. Then he said:-

"There are a lot of good reasons for me to keep working here, for me to stay here. But Sabrina, my future wife, is a better reason to leave. She alone is a better reason compared to all the good reasons to stay my friend."

At that moment, I was convinced. I was convinced he knew what he had to do and he was going to do it. I envied him. Mostly because I wasnt so sure of what to do next. We chatted for almost an hour until I told him I just got home and I needed some rest. He hung up. And i sat on my bed. The lights were off, the fan circling gently on top of my head and the breeze blowing in through the window. I closed my eyes as i allowed myself to bathe in the breeze for awhile. Somehow, I fell asleep. So deep was my sleep that night, I had no dreams. Just a large dark space and Im just falling with the wind as a bed. Tonight, ill sleep, Ill handle my mistakes tomorrow. Ill have regrets tomorrow. Ill have a bad day tomorrow. But tonight, Ill just sleep.

Friday, February 18, 2011

Short Story Part 6

picture from fakelvis at flickr

"Have a seat Huzir.... Its been awhile since I've talked to you." Said the old man behind the desk. I sat down, smiling, a bitter smile, but still, a smile.

"I've been hearing some rumors about you." He said calmly.
"Yeah well... Its bound to happen here.." I said sarcastically. He shot me a look and a smile.

He was smart, above all else experienced. The 68-year old mentor. My Mentor. When I first came to the company, our first meet and greet, he sat across the table from me as I remained glued to Obama's inaugural speech. As he sat down and said:-

"Oh he won!. The Republicans messed up." as he began to relax a bit on the sofa.
"Well written!" I declared as Obama finished his speech. He turned to me confused. Me grinning like a kid who was just handed a piece of candy turned to him and wiped my smile off as I saw his face.

"What did you say?" He asked
"err... well written?" I hesitated.
"What were you referring to?"
"Obama's speech.... I'm a fan of writing. Particularly speeches and novels, journals are fun too, fiction, non fiction, science fiction, classics, poems, haikus...." As I realized that I was rambling.

I shut up. Too much info for a stranger I assumed. The old man smiled. Warm, fuzzy, father like. I returned his smile.

"How old are you?" he asked
"I'm 24."
"Hahaha that is a very weird hobby for a 24 year old." He said laughing. His whole body shaking like a medium sized Santa.
"I have been told that many times, though I see no real reason for it though."
"What do you mean?" he asked barely stopped smiling.
"I mean, history is almost always written from a broad perspective, which is good, because it allows people to remain unbiased, but sometimes, looking at events through a smaller perspective can change how we look at times. Obama's speech for example, when I listened to it, I am transported to other speeches by Jefferson and Washington who spoke with the same eloquence about freedom, hope, dreams. The view of one person, which later became the ideals of an entire generation."
"Prof. We are ready for you." I was cut off.

Thats when I realized. He was the main man. The person heading the research committee which I was appointed to due to my experience in researching.

He turned to Mr Zarul. Head of Academic and Research Office.
"Looks like we have a talented one here." He said smiling and nodding towards me, indicating to Mr. Zarul he was referring to me.

That was it. That was how I met him. The man who would later take me under his wing, mentor me.

***************************************************
"Is it true?" He said, and yanked me out of the reminiscing.
"I dont know yet."
"Huzir, you have been in this company for quite some time now. It would be a waste to see your hard work be left behind. Starting over takes effort my young friend."

My young friend. Thats what he called me. Never son, never boy but my young friend. It made me feel positively different. He had that effect on me. I was young, bundled with pride of kings, energy of the sun, strength of an ox. But with him, with his intelligence, with his words, my pride was reduced, my sun became moonlike, and my strength remain strong only not as wild.

"I cant stay here anymore. I've lost the fire. What had happened, only happened, because i cracked under pressure. Everyone was so eager to see me fail, it came to a point, that I would gladly give them what they want. Me failing." I said as calmly as possible.

He looked into my eyes as silence ensued for the next few minutes.

"When are you quitting?" He finally asked.
"I dont know for sure yet. All i know is that I'm currently looking for a job."

He looked down. I was devastated. This old man, had taken me in, fatherless and motherless me and taught me everything I know. This man who i had looked up to, respected, admired and dare i say loved. I was devastated, because I was disappointing him.

I stood up and waited for him to stop me. He didnt, which meant, he was done. I walked towards the door and opened it. As i turned around and saw him with his face in his hand while the other hand was holding his glasses. For a moment, just for a moment, I felt the urge to walk towards him and hug him and say "thank you... in a life which i have spent a majority of it without a father, you are the closest thing I found, thank you for everything."

But I didnt, I closed the door behind me, and I walked away.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Points of View


Good morning!! =D

This picture helps me understand the definition of -ist families!

Dah ber-cendawan duduk dalam picture folder. So it's time to share with all! Got it from somewhere but tak ingat. You can stare at the picture to find the resource k? Haha

Da!!

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

A New Kind of Fanaticsm


Today something weird happened. It wasnt that weird to me but all the people around me found it really weird that it happened. I was sitting in a review meeting of what is to be presented during a in-company training session and at which point i discovered that i had not brought a pen. With as much cool-ness s possible i reached out to a yellow pen from across the table from me and opened the cap.

What happened next caught me off guard. I was amazingly impressed by how well the pen felt in my hand. I felt like i could write the world on it. Then i realized the tip of the pen. Its like the picture above. And i loved it. After the meeting i gave the pen back, but i loved how it felt in my hand so much and how it wrote so well i actually gathered enough courage to ask.

"Saya nak pen tu boleh? Saya beli dari awak bleh tak?"

And everyone who heard me turned around and made faces. I didnt think it was weird. Then i remembered, not everyone is a writer. Not everyone writes in a journal and have found from time to time how pens can be so unreliable. How a pen that feels weird in your hands makes you feel like NOT writing. And hence my admiration for the pen or for pens in general. None the less, i didnt get the pen. I wish i had a pen just like that, but the guy told me it costs like a hundred something, which is way too much money anyone should spend on a pen. Once i have some extra money though its the first thing on my I-Want-List. Buhbye people!!!


p/s - Im sorry i havent had time to update the blog and seems like Sabrinas the only making this place a warm place to visit. None the less. Holidays are coming up and will try to write more. Sabrina should be writing the Selamat hari Raya post any day now, but if im not there when she writes it, Selamat Hari Raya people!!!!!

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Malam Kuala Lumpur


The elbows rest gently on the window sill with a cigarette in hand. As i watched out the window. My bedroom window, the door to the world I have learned to hate and love equally at the same time. There are no stars in Kuala Lumpur. The lights from the city is too bright to let the star shine on its own. I puffed a cloud of smoke into the air, hurriedly it moves to the right following the gentle caress of the wind. Running away from the cold still air that will inevitably strangle your warmth and wrestle it to the ground. I look again at the dark sky. No stars. The sky is mixed in black and orange. The lights of the city reflected by the water the clouds have learned to contain. Only the sky on top of KL i thought, would have that color. I moved my attention towards the city itself. The seductress. The nice dresses of lights, the shiny lights of promise for a false hope. It tempts the innocent to succumb to the superficial world of material. It tempts the naive kampung boy into believing in being a star. False promises and false hope. Promises of freedom and riches. Promises of eternity. Promises of momentary happiness.

There are no stars in Kuala Lumpur. The Kuala Lumpur sky would scare you. There are no stars in Kuala Lumpur, only those deceived by the promise of being etched in history as someone who is unique, different. The only land rid of its stars, is a land where stars go to die. Where stars humbly forget their existence and die.

There are no stars in Kuala Lumpur. There are no stars in Kuala Lumpur.

You allow yourself to be lied to for the moment of false happiness. You allow yourself to believe that it will be for eternity. Kuala Lumpurr, where the sinned go to live, and the saints go to die. Where there no stars. Is where stars go to die. A graveyard for stars.

There are no stars in Kuala Lumpur, only artists, vagabonds, story-tellers, singers, puppet masters and puppets. And their story is only about Kuala Lumpur...... and the fact that there are no stars... In Kuala Lumpur.