I've seen your sorrow, I've seen your scars, I've seen the side of you that's broken. And these cracks in you are beautiful, because they've made you, you.
As all good things do.
It died.
Be still
breathe
in and out
in and out
tangled minds and unnerving
thoughts, the weight
of the world heavy
in the trenches of your mind
stop. my dear,
stop. be still.
the burden
of the world is not yours
to bear. this burden
is not yours. this weight
is not yours.
be still, my dear. stop.
be still, breathe
in and out
in and out.
It's been ages, no? So I figured I'd bless your ears with this beautiful piece of music from the ever-talented Jon Bellion, as an apology for my absence. When I first heard his song on the radio, I really thought he was just another auto-tune pop singer. Oh boy, was I wrong. I stumbled upon the acoustic version online and I was so glad I did. This man can really sing and it's only fair that he gets all the credit he deserves.
As I sit at my desk, in this chilly Dublin weather -that in my two weeks here, I've constantly grumbled about though secretly love- I've decided to take a break from my attempts at poetry and write something else instead. Bear with me here as I haven't written in quite some time. If any of you happen to be regulars here, you would notice my few endless poetries about leaving and such. Or if any of you happen to personally know me, you would know then of the recent changes that has been made in the past year. In which case this post has been long overdue. I guess a big part of me procrastinating on writing this is mainly due to myself not fully grasping it either.
The big change here being referred to my move from studying in Egypt, where I was already a 3rd year student so close to entering my 4th, to studying in Ireland, in which case I'd have to start all over again from scratch. Literally all over again. It definitely wasn't an easy decision for me at all. It took me weeks if not months to consider all the pros and cons, the possibilities, the fear. I would say the fear got hold of me the most, influencing me so much that I was so close to turning the offer down. Ultimately, it was my parents that helped make the choice. Well to be honest, quite like how I ended up in Egypt in the first place, the final decision was really made by them, and I, simply just went with it. However, don't get me wrong, I did think about it long and hard, and for a while there, I was so caught up in it, that I wasn't concentrating on my then-current semester work. Eventually, almost as if it being a new year's resolution, if you will, the decision was made on that very day of the new year. And before I knew it, I was on the next plane back home. It definitely was a difficult process, what with all the farewells that had to be done, and all the packing -which I was never a big fan of by the way. I was caught off guard however, when in lieu of being ecstatic with the prospects of being in a place I've always dreamed off, I felt quite saddened by the whole thing. I couldn't quite believe it either that that sadness correlated with the love I developed towards the very place I never thought I would ever have feelings for.
What followed suit was 9 months of vacuousness, filled with people asking and saying to me, "What made you want to start all over again?", "Back to first year?", "Oh dear, sayangnya.", "Betul ke nak start balik?", "Three years gone just like that?" and many many more along those lines. Honestly, I was discouraged and fully questioned my own decision. Even considered going back to Egypt and sit for the end of semester examination. My mind was a wreck, basically. Here were the few things that kept running through my mind endlessly;
- Where other medical students would have to study for 5/6 years, depending on where you're studying, I would have to study for 8 years. (In reality, the medical field is a field that requires you to study until the end of time anyway, but let's not get into that)
- I would have to study everything all over again. Me being just an average student, if not subpar, I barely passed the first time round, and here I am having to do it all over again, in a much more difficult institute, mind you.
- What if, god forbid, I failed once I'm there? Refer to (2).
- What if I cannot cope with the system there? Again, refer to (2).
I guess by now you've figured out that most of my concerns gravitated towards no. (2).
But after endless prayers and pleas of guidance, I finally decided to shut out every negative comment I received, soaking in only the good ones. I reasoned with myself that the opportunity I got, was one of a kind and opportunities as such don't come rolling in every day. So, I seized it. I also recall a 12-year-old me, at one time, dreaming and fantasising of being enrolled into this very institute I am lucky enough to now call my college. If someone were to tell that 12-year-old she would be here one day, she would just be overcome with emotion. Also, don't people always say that experience is the best teacher? I've had my fair share of experience while I was in Egypt, and what I've got now, is the chance to gain even more. The bigger picture here being, allowing ourselves to learn more about life, about the world. I don't believe we should ever limit ourselves to what we find is commonplace.
This is a little unorganised, but now referring to no. (1); in the end, I realised that it did not matter how long it would take for me to graduate with a degree in my hand and a mortar board perched on my head. It should not matter that most of my friends will be graduating a year, some even two years before I do. Not that I haven't been bitter about it, I definitely have and still am sometimes. Especially when I hear people say, "5 more years?! Wow!" But, again I remind myself that this is not a profession that I can take lightly. (What profession is, by the way.) By choosing this profession in the first place, I had pretty much already decided to take the long route. There are no shortcuts in this field, as there are also none in life. To borrow a quote from a friend of mine, "It doesn't matter how long it takes for you to get to your destination, as long as you do get there." Pretty sure she quoted that from someone else too, probably Confucius, but I'm not too sure. I admitted to being subpar, so why not take the time to improve now, while I still can. There is no definite evidence that I would be better at what I do if I stayed in Egypt, neither is it definite if I study here. But there is that possibility, if I allowed it. You won't know how well you'll do until you've gone through it. I also wouldn't want to beat myself up in the future for not taking the opportunity and wondering all the "what ifs" that seem to always creep up on us and haunt us. Regret is never an option I would want to have.
I have an ambition, or a vision, if you will, in my head. As of now, I know what I want in the long run. It might change sometime in my clinical years, or it might not, I would never know. But for now, I have a goal. And if by my coming here widens the likelihood of that goal, of that dream, becoming a reality, then with open arms and an open mind, I embrace this opportunity and hope I can do it justice. Besides, why settle for comfort and familiarity when the world gives you more room to grow and be the best.
the brain specifically stores all these smell to memory somewhere along the lobes, the
valley and trenches, along the cortex of the pisiform. A bulb that switches on as that
of a light bulb when a single whiff passes by the cavity, the tendons, the cartilages
of your nose.
I know this smell that is so familiar to me that when I do smell it, it brings me back
to a time when I was no more than 18 years old, still in high school, among all
those lockers and double-decker beds, waiting impatiently for the weekends, just
so I can see my parents and threaten to never
let them go.
How there was this one time when I couldn't wear a certain deodorant around my brother because
I knew it would bring him memories of a girl that he loved like he'd never love before. His every cell,
pints of blood and all his soul emitting the same love for her whilst she
took it all for granted. Giving him a quarter of hers when he gave her all of his. How did I know? He simply
told me.
-That's the deodorant that she uses. Get that, it smells good.
-
That's how I knew he was a goner. Wanting to smell the fragrance of a lover as a constant.
That was love.
That was love.
And also how you associate a certain smell to someone. My mother wears this one perfume all the time.
She has so many but she still
She has so many but she still
uses the same one every time that for me, that was her smell. To a point of
sheer stubbornness that when I smell that same smell on someone else,
sheer stubbornness that when I smell that same smell on someone else,
to me it was still my mother. That's my mother.
-So what do you remember most about your mother?
-J'Adore. My mother smelled of J'Adore.
-
-
Now isn't that beautiful.
Time has robbed them (read: especially him) of their youth. I don't know for how long they'll be around. I don't know for how long I'll be able to see them next to me. So you should know, my main goal in life has really always been about making them smile. If by me jumping around like a monkey is what makes them smile and laugh, then like a monkey will I keep jumping until they tell me to stop. If my horrific singing is what keeps them clapping and listening, then like an out of tune piano will I keep playing my majors and minors.
I am where I am today, literally where I am today, because of him. Because of my need to see him smile. If by my being here is what it takes to make him smile, then throw me like a javelin, fling me like a discus, across the seven seas, across a thousand oceans, if that is what he wants, then that is where I'll be. With His will, that is where I'll be. I never fought, I never objected. I followed his wishes, and praises to the Almighty, things has gone ever so smoothly. I fell in love with the thing I never wanted to do. I fell in love with the very place I never thought I would. By making him smile, it has subsequently led me to be a better person.
I never want to see their faces without their smiles. I've seen it before, I never want to see it again. By my being here, I've seen what could possibly be, their widest smile to date. So if by being elsewhere can widen that smile, then with His will, that is where I'll be. Even if that means I will not be able to smile for a while, even if that means tears will have to be shed. If that is what it takes to make them happy, then I would gladly cry a whole river for them. I can never repay them for everything they've done for me. They gave me the world. So what could I possibly give back that would amount to the same that they've given me?
I guess I've known this fact in my heart all this while, but it took this last week of him in the hospital for me to fully grasp what it really meant. I want to see them smile until their last possible breath. If ever they frown, let me be the reason they smile again. I would never want them to frown because of me, I would never want them to cry because of me. If ever I would have to take credit, let it be for their smile. Let me be able to take all the credit for that. I've had the pleasure of seeing their eyes light up because of something I did. Something I found so minute, yet they were so proud of. That small sliver of pride they let slip. I cannot tell you how amazing it felt to be seen that way in their eyes.
So even if I have to cry my eyes out, even if I have to carry a huge load on my back, even if I have to go through all depths of hell again, if that means I get to see them smile, so be it. Even if I have to push aside what I want (again), so be it. You should know that I live to make these two people happy. To see that very same smile forever etched on their faces that have seen better days. So throw me like a javelin, fling me like a discus, across the seven seas, across a thousand oceans, if that is what he wants, then that is where I'll be. With the Almighty's will, that is where I'll be.
I miss you both, and may He accept your Umrah and your Du'as. Have a good one.
So I know this blog is public. Pretty much any passerby can read it, whomever happens to stumble upon the link. So yeah, I get that. It's open to public. But I don't know why, I've always had trouble with people reading what I write. My poetry, my stories. It's not about belittling myself. I think everyone has their way of writing. 'Good' and 'great' are subjective. Just how beauty is. To each his own.
This quote never really leaves my line of thought. I repeat it in my head; to accept an opinion, to excuse one of their behaviors, anything of the like, really. To each his own. You can have an opinion. You should have an opinion. I, personally, enjoy conversing with an opinionated person. You always get something in return. They always keep you on your toes. No one already knows too much. No one can say they know everything.
As is my problem every time I write, I always go south from what I originally planned to write about. Well, steering back on course. Lately, I've been trying to share my writing with people. It started back in high school really, when my teacher Ms. Vas started parading off my essays to my colleagues. I was caught off-guard. I didn't know how to react. But after that, more people came to me, wanting to read my essays. So slowly, I started to warm up to the idea. It was sort of hard at first, agreeing to let people read my stuff. Again, it's not about being selfish. I don't know how to explain it really.
Writing has always been personal to me. It's like opening up to someone, without actually talking. I've always thought that I write better than I talk. If Sharifah Amani once made a controversial statement saying, "I sound stupid when I speak Malay." Then, my statement would be, "I sound stupid when I speak, period." I stutter when I speak, it's like my mouth was never trained for speaking purposes. I don't converse easily with people I just met. I find it difficult. I never know what to say. I stay so quiet, often to the point that people will say I'm arrogant. Quite the contrary, my mind is making one hell of a conversation all by itself.
In medical jargon for all you medical students out there, there's a problem in my arcuate fasciculus. It has trouble sending nerve impulses from the Wernicke's to the Broca's area, thus also the muscles of articulation. Was that enough jargon for you? Yeah, I bet, for me too.
For now though, I'm definitely still trying to warm up to it. I tried with just my housemates, I let them read what I wrote- which to be honest, are mostly written about them- just to see how'd they react. And now, I've submitted one of my poetry to a fanzine that the Malaysian students here created to promote reading and writing and stuff.
So I hope you understand if I don't feel like sharing (although I really am trying). It's not easy opening up to people like that. My poetry and writing are most probably my most personal things. They may not be much, but it definitely feels like giving you a portion of my organ. So here, I'm practically handing out a speck of tissue from my heart, to you.
