Wednesday, April 11, 2012


there is always something about post-rock that will either drag something out of me kicking and screaming or wring it all out in a flood of confusing emotions that would leave me in the end, a little high.
Its ineffable. Like the music.

Saturday, April 7, 2012

I once read a story about a son and his mother way back in the Prophet's time (PBUH). Don't ask me where did i read/heard it, i don't really remember. The story more or less went like this. A pious son lived with his mother. He was all a mother can ask for, obedient, god-fearing, responsible, a perfect son. Next to the word of God, his mother's wishes he fulfilled to the best of his abilities. All was well with the world until one day the son fell in love with a girl of his dreams. He loved the girl but he loved his mother best. He feared that should he marry he could no longer take care of his mother as the best he could like he always did. The mother saw the son's anguish at being torn in two and so she told the son, "marry the girl". The son, obediently obeyed and so he married the girl. Slowly, marital bliss changed him. He slowly forgot his responsibilities towards his mother until one day, he decided to place his mother, his own beloved mother in a hut at the back of his now lavish house, to be all but forgotten, to fend for herself. There she lived alone until one fateful day, Death came for the son. It was painful for him, very painful for he suffered but could not die. The news of the dying son reached the Prophet's (PBUH) ears. He came and at once he knew the cause of the son's suffering, the mother felt  hurt out of being left all alone in the small hut, forgotten by the son and forced to fend for her old self. Out of the hurt she prayed for God's justice and God's justice favours of the oppressed, mothers especially. Only after the Prophet (PBUH) persuaded the mother to forgive her son did the son passed away in peace.

The story, demonstrates the power our own mother have over the fate of us, the sons and daughters. The power to decide where we end up in, heaven or hell, in the palm of our own mother. But what if the roles the mother and the son in the story is reversed?
Against a mother's prayer, nothing in this world can win. But will God listen to the fervent prayers of a son wronged?

I am rambling again. Its Talentime. The hospital scene always made me emotional.

Monday, April 2, 2012

Paper St

You can't help to think that your working life is a boring one when compared to those in the creative/arts industry. You can't help but to feel awed (and slightly jealous) to hear that resumes can come in a form of a bottled drink when yours came in the boring stat-sheet extolling you prowess in your field with your big, friggin' face on it. Or when you compare the lack of constricting rules with your hum-drum working life, bogged down and chained from here to the end of days with rules/regulations and all manner of ways Man can think of to so-called 'maintain the social cohesion' of the society.

Sometimes it made you wish that you met that single-serving friend on board a flight who'd tell you:

"I want you to hit me as hard as you can."

and you did.

the legal profession could really use a Tyler Durden right now.

that, or a club where the lawyers, male lawyers beat each other up to pulp without having to worry about a lawsuit coming their way. It is in its way, just like futsal or whatever sport lawyers indulge in only that they don't really talk about it. The bruises and the broken bones, or the lost tooth or two did the talking. They scream: In these times of effeminate men aplenty and of overt femininity, we are Men and we live. 

I would bet my laptop on it that most if not all lawyers had a fellow lawyer (or even a judge) who they would love to land their fist on for whatever reason. Even if it is considered crude or primitive by today's standard and not to mention, frowned upon by the profession itself, just imagine how cathartic it would be; you hate the guy and even if the feeling is not mutual at least it is out of your chest and through your fist. Ask any man, 9 out of 10 would secretly agree, its instant stress relief.

Hell, if there is such club, i'm joining. We are all men trying to stay men.