You Die Every Seven Years

On average, the cells in your body will see seven summers.

This means that somewhere, under all the facade and the bluster and the talk and the walls, a little piece of the real you is dying. And as you read this, dies. Died. Dead.

It means that you are never who you were yesterday. No one ever stays the same. Nothing is as it were. Everything changes.

On average, a human being is only ever the same for seven years. After that seven years, that part of him dies.

A little piece of you dies every day. And every day, we just let it. Unstoppable, irrevocable.





But then again, new cells replace those that go every day. The old ones are no good. And so our body recycles what is old, using them for growing new ones.

We, each and every one, inherently, biologically, we're hard wired for change. And to grow. And to discard what is bad and to grow what is good.

We are wired for change. We are built to create what is good.

Believe it.
as

The Flailing Chicken

I've been away for months now. And partly, it's because I am afraid to put my thoughts into words. Imagine that, a writer with a fear of his own written word. I do not read blogs, I do not open myself to inspiration, because I am afraid of the feeling of inadequacy; not just because they write well - they do it with excellence - but because I don't want myself mirrored in their words.

Mostly, it's because they are so..inspired to make that change. To be better. To do better. To want better.

And I just don't. I find it so hard to care, to give anything worth a damn about anything that is not directly related to myself and my circumstance. It's a shitty way to live. And the worst part is, I know this is no way to live. The first step to solving a problem is to acknowledge the problem, but I barely think it's a problem anymore. And that's a problem.

No, nothing bad has happened in my life. My life is absurdly good; I have love, I have money, I have my little hobbies, I have a direction for the next couple of years. Sounds like I belong with octogenarians, but I'm not even 25 yet. No responsibilities worth mentioning, no hardships worth recalling.

You read this and you're thinking I'm blessed - yes I am, blessed thrice over. But I can't find it in me to want to be that change anymore. Where's that fire that was there 2, 3 years ago?

Really. The past couple of years - and I am not fishing for compliments or carrying myself in any kind of metaphorical straw basket - you tell me I've made a difference. That you look up to me and in my own way I've inspired and affected you. But I just don't see it. I don't see what I've done. Maybe a visionary can work without immediate, tangible fruits, but I am no visionary. I look back at my 23 years, and all I see are footprints on a shore. When the tide comes in, everything is washed away.

I went through a couple of episodes of One Tree Hill, and I remember who I was then: a little naive and wholly given over to music. I can barely find songs that speak to me these days. My soul is - without going into hyperboles - missing a rhythm. The tune it danced to has gone silent. No, more accurately, my soul has turned tone deaf and now dances like a chicken being chased by a farmer intent on making it supper.

Desperately flailing, trying to stay alive, but failing and then, dead.

Okay, so one hyperbole. I'll stop. Pinky swear.

My Dad told me that my generation (he could be just referring to me, but was being generous) is soft and too idealistic. I don't disagree. He said he became an engineer because he had to feed himself, and later, his family. He never gave a chickens arse (my words) about his calling, about fighting the good fight. He did what he had to and he did it honestly (really, I don't know a person more ethical). That's all. And after much hindsight, he loves it and he's good at it.

For some reason this struck me profoundly. Are we - or rather, am I - so idealistic that I can't just find a path and walk it righteously and be fulfilled? The answer is, no, no I can't, but then again, my calling came to me blindly as I read a book by Paulo Coelho, so who's to say?

But to my point. I guess, to put it bluntly, I can't find it in me to fight for my country anymore. I can't say for sure I'll stay here and forgo opportunities outside. Feels like the dreamer in me has been clobbered violently to death by the hyperbolic farmer.

as

For My Prettiest Friend

And so, I begin again.

A similar road, a different ending.

How does one mould two different parts of his being into one?

Because a part of me wants you to continue growing and learning and becoming the woman you can be.

And the other is selfish and obtuse and usually walks with his head in the clouds.

I wonder why here and why now. And I think to myself, that's not the right question. Why now is never the right question.

I don't have the right question. I don't have the answers to non-existing questions.

I just know that this is good. And right.

For the longest time, it seems that I had to remind people that life can be good, and life can be beautiful, and life can be more than what we think it could be.

And for the first time in my life, I am reminded of that. That life is beautiful and good and people can truly not have an agenda.

You remind me of purity, of hope and of second chances.

I don't know how the story will end, but you and I, we can find out together.

as

The First Day of the Rest of Your Life

As you would know by now, we (the team and I) have been working and writing and designing a report that features the youths of Malaysia. The report is finally now in the press, and, I can't say I don't feel a sense of loss that a chapter of my life is closing again. The journey has been so much of everything - experiences, new people, deadlines, sleepless nights. The journey has even been about just goofing around with a few friends and having fun with them while doing something that we are all passionate about.. But, above all, the journey has been about change.

Without giving any of the report away here, my editor, mentor, and above all, friend, closed the report with these words:

Instead explore and be open, because opportunity often presents itself in the least expected places, and who knows – that might be the beginning of our legacy.

How many people can point to one moment in life and say "That moment. That moment was the one that changed everything. That moment made me. That moment was the beginning of my legacy."

How many are blessed with this awareness?

This, this moment, wherever you are, whatever you are doing, whoever you are with, is no coincidence. It is correct and right.

You are meant to be in this exact spot, in this exact time, with this exact person, in this exact circumstance. Don't ever doubt that.

This, here, now, be it alone or with a person you love. This could be the first day of the rest of your life.
as

A Peck & A Pat

I stalked an old couple around the mall today.

I know, I know, everyone sees an old couple tottering around together and their first reaction is awww, how cute. I think mine went mostly along the same lines, although there was another reason why they piqued my interest.

Imagine this. A guy, old enough to be a great grandfather, pushing a lady of similar stature around a mall in a wheel chair, walking slowly, her hand over her shoulder to hold on to his as he wheels her about.

Every time he leaves her to go into a shop (not often, but the chair can't fit sometimes), he gives her a small peck on her white, fluffy hair and she will pat his hand. He goes in and comes out and again it repeats. A peck and a pat.

It was one of the sweetest scenes I have ever seen. They never passed a word between them, but she will hand him a bottle of water now and again and he will give it a sip and pass it back to her.

He had a twinkle in his eye all the time. Imagine that old grumpy guy from Up. Yes, he was very much like him, except in every single way. It was not a chore to wheel her about, he really, actually seemed to be enjoying it. Occasionally he would bend down slowly to whisper something into her ear and she would pat his face lovingly.

I don't know why this couple just..struck me. He came up to me to ask for directions, and thanked me in a toothy grin as I pointed him the right way.

I asked him, how long have you been married.

His immediate reply was all my life.

I don't cry much, or even easily, but that just brought a tear to my eye.

In a way, this reminded me of something. You know how, as a kid, all you ever needed was what was essential in life. Food, clothes, a few toys, love, and you're good to go. As we grow up, we accumulate stuff, we get more complicated. We eat strange and interesting foods, we have bigger and more expensive toys. Even love becomes more complicated.

And then, at 80, it's as if we are coming home from all that. Food, toys, everything becomes as they were, simple, uncomplicated. Even love. Love becomes a quiet peck on the head, and an affectionate pat on the hand.

In essence, maybe that's all everyone will ever possibly need out of another person. A hand to hold and a head full of hair to kiss.

as

There Is Always a Third Option

One of my favourite poems starts off like this:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood...

Two roads. And that's the crux of it, isn't it? Always there is a choice, a decision to be made, with ripples that you'll probable still see 20 years down the road. A T-junction.

I was faced with one of them this year. A choice, between shoving my anger into someone's face, or shoving my face into my anger. Two choices.

You may not realise this, but there is always a third choice as well. You have a choice of just, letting it go. That's it. No shoving anything anywhere.

There is always a third option, and with time and some perspective, it usually is, by far, the best road to take yet.
as

The Bricklayer

There was a big pile of bricks on the floor.

She looked at it, and without a word, started to arrange them. Brick by brick, she slowly arranged them neatly on the ground.

The new pile began to take shape, and passer bys would ask her what she was doing. She gave them a strange look and said I'm putting bricks together.

They asked her what it was. She replied with a shrug and continued.

Sometimes she threw away bricks that were broken, sometimes she kept them and added them to the pile. Layer by layer, it began to take shape, and after two years, she deemed it worthy.

They asked her why she stopped, why it is now worthy.

She said her job is complete. She only wanted to build a foundation.

A foundation to what, they asked her.

Another shrug. A foundation to whatever, she said. It can be anything, everything. Whatever it wants to be. It is now time for it to build itself.

It can be anything is wants to be. I believe it can. All it needs now is to believe in itself.
as

I Miss

Writing God-awfully long letters and emails.

Standing outside in the rain.

Making music.

Driving for hours.

The sun.

The sea.

Being somewhere else.

Writing news stories.

That feeling when a book writes itself.

Winter.

Random people, all around the world.

Coffee (not the stuff I make)

Running, Swimming, Hiking

Going somewhere new

Connection

You

Clean and Free: BERSIH 2.0

People shouldn't be afraid of their government. Governments should be afraid of their people.

Alan Moore 

Firstly, let me just say that I love my country, and for all its flaws, the current government did see us through many tough times over the past 50 years. If you don't believe it, let me just ask you, how many of us were severely affected by the recent economic disaster that saw unemployment rates in the U.S. rise to 8.9% (Wiki)? For comparison, during the same time period, Malaysia's highest was 4.1% (TradingEconomics).

Still, there's so much that is not right, so much that could be right, and so much that should be. I am not advocating reformation, I am not advocating we march and disrupt peace in our capital. What I want, what I believe in, is, plain and simple, democracy.

Democracy, that's all. That's all we want.

I won't tell you about that day; you probably already know about it via unbiased media, but here are some pictures I took.

Home

My brother is leaving to the U.S in almost exactly a month. I can't help but think that we are so similar in so many ways. My other personality, the talkative one, the child-like one, the one who plays computer games, comes to the fore especially around him. I guess that's what little brothers are for.

He's leaving, and I just realised that I would be diminished somewhat by his absence. He's a part of the support structure in my life - the people who are ever present and always around, the ones you take for granted because they never go anywhere. My life is stable and I stay grounded, all thanks to people like him.

I wonder why it never occurred to me sooner.

I used to think I'm overly optimistic, and overly carefree; a boy who reads too much and dreams too big. I just realised that I am allowed to be who I am, because of all these people, the support structures that each and everyone of us have in our lives. They provide the stability that I need - and never understood - and in that stability, allowed me to want to go out and just live, with the knowledge that if ever I needed to come back, home will always be there.

And that, to me, is the truest sense of the word home.

Home is not just where your heart is. Home is wherever these people are, the people whose hearts are for you.

It's nice, having some place to always come back to.
as