The Thing Is...

...I think I cured myself. I have got myself distracted, quite successfully, by my office, my boss, and friends who understand. I got a lot of support this year, some gladly by the people I least expected to give me support. It's a very, very complicated year. One half was a drama that ended with quite a success, all cloaked with hope for a better half of the year. Of course, the other half only turned out worse then ever. 

One thing for sure is I'm quite scared of people leaving me once they have found out the truth. People find me to be okay to be alone in places, since they're acquainted with stories of me flying to here and there alone. The truth is, now, I get pain whenever I'm alone. I will overreact to rejections, even if my wall post on Facebook gets unreplied. That's why I tweet a lot whenever I'm alone - waiting at the hospital, in the LRT, in a midst of a near-static traffic jam, sometimes in my cubicle - because I want to be in touch with people, and in the case of Twitter, mostly are my school friends.

Ever since the so-called depression months, I can't even handle a single downgrading tweet, or even an attack on my self-esteem in any Facebook posts. What more in the real world. I'm afraid if people don't reply my text or my BBM, afraid that he or she might think that I'm a freak, or they're actually planning to leave me too, just like you did. If they reply in a sense that they're angry or irritated, I'll turn afraid that they might be angry because I'm too clingy, or I'm interrupting their lives. 

Yes, I'm that scared. You left, I'm recovering, but that's it. I'm traumatised.

Sometimes I drove to some of my friends' place since they're not replying my texts, or declining my texts out of no reason. I'm at fault for barging in, and showing up without any alarm, so sometimes I was told off and scolded, shouted at since I have interrupted their business at that moment. I think I deserved that, I forgot other people had their own problems and their own lives too. 

But the idea is this: there are my friends who know of my condition,  while many of them don't. Those who knew are really special, since they know. However I know that it'd be very selfish of me to crave for attention from them, since these people who know have their own problems too, but that's just about it: I'm comfortable being around the people I trust fully. So even these people that I trust are running away, I....I uh, actually, don't know what to do if that happens. Destroyed all over again?

I got nauseated when people told me off, smacked me of being a show off. I don't show off. I only show the only things that I have. Oh, in fact, I don't even have anything right now. Everything is gone. In fact I'm really, really broke. I only have the past to be recalled, good times, greater days. I'm only sugarcoating the present: the very fragile present. So should I still be attacked?

Cured, yeah. These are the side effects.

I Want This Right Now.

Firin Sutlaj. Rice pudding. It'd be a perfect supper before I doze off few hours before I have to wake up to go to work.

Happy Birthday, Uzair!

Lots of macarons could be done with those eggs and flour, but what the hell right? Happy 21st!

A Day Late, But Who Cares

Have a great December, people.

Hilarious!

HAHAHAHA

Like A Dart That Hits The Spot

Exactly what I'm feeling at the moment.

For Everybody in Crisis Right Now

Hey. Let's not give up alright. Remember our happy times? We'll catch up on that soon, I promise. But first let's solve everything and finish our business.

(Maybe)

Light

It was during the darkest of times, I had the worst birthday ever and suddenly they had this prepared. I needed nothing more especially when my heart went really blind. I just wish that I didn't wear that shirt.

Forgotten Macaroons II

That teddy bear, Munich, is now lost. I think. Another thing we can prove from this picture is Haziq's hair was really long at that time. And Paris was super hot!

Egg Banjo, anyone?

Reminding myself that designing is always a process, be it hand drawn or done with the computer. From the process comes the mistakes, with the mistakes comes the hard boiled end-product (read: perfection in imperfection). Better finish up this one, though. I know I will enjoy my freedom this Wednesday before I start working next Monday!

Monyet Attacks II

Hello people. I just woke up. I didn't know that my so-called jet-lag is turning into something this serious. It's a tragic biological blunder! People will say, kindly, that it's one of the early stress symptoms while the other day I read it's already one of the depression characteristics, nothing early. I can't believe I actually thought of this during my intervals in between sleeps just now. You know, those short wake-ups when you're very unsure whether to keep up with that dream you had just now, go back to sleep or listen to your mum while she moves around the room doing something that I'm not sure of what.

At first I was actually depressed that the whole toggled up sleeping pattern is one of the depression symptoms (one of the many others would be having digestive problems). But then again, I thought, seriously man, if I have the symptoms so what? If this is happening during that stupid period of actual depression, which covers the last three months, well yes I'm very depressed. Like Elmo turning purple. However in this case, I just have to say I'm not. I'm just lazy and perfectly incapable of staying up to adjust my sleeping pattern back to the 'normal' hours.

Here's the primary reason of why: in the attempts of fixing my clock and trying to stay up (in my case, during the day), I'm always less than 2 metres away from my bed. Which is stupid and unhelpful. This is what happens everyday: I will stay up, listen to any music, hop from one site to the other, possibly studying or maybe just reading crap, get into trouble from time to time, trying to be completely hopeful of my work by seeing at others' work put up at Facebook or other design sites, and then have breakfast (please refer two posts below).

I will then have the breakfast, read the newspaper (optional), after a session or two with Sara (which involves poking her and running away from her after that, nothing child developing, really) I will go back upstairs into my room, have a quick replay of songs (but never a quick re-read of what I'm supposed to read) and if I'm starting to feel really sleepy, there goes the day. And the bed.

I will then wake up a few (specifically, seven or eight) hours later looking at my phone, scrolling down my Twitter account (to find out that usually 200 to 300 tweets have passed, considering that I know most of the people that I have followed, you people are quite crazy). Facebook is always optional, seriously I don't really know what they're posting there anymore. I will always feel famished afterwards. To take a shower is optional. Then here comes the good part: you know you're one of my bestfriends if I will call you afterwards to tag along with me for lunch. The time will read 5PM, if I fall asleep at 9AM. Which is a perfect 8 hour, very healthy, and nicely adjusted to the UK GMT+0 time. I must mention UK because when I wake up, I will find the tweets from the UK people saying good morning. Nice.

In today's case, that time is now. I fell asleep at around 4pm just now. I know: I feel really weird and disproportionate. To be fair to myself, and to you reader if you feel misjudged by reading this and wasted around 5 minutes of your time, I'm just going to reorganise myself according to whatever time I have left, starting with the time that I actually woke up. Which was 20 minutes ago. Right.

Athari called for Saad, which I think it's a good idea. Better head there before the kueyteow is finished. I'm not going to even mention about the shisha part. Now this is what we can be sure of: my health plan has failed. As in Barney Stinson's plans failed. Anyhow, wish me luck. I'm still comfortably thinking that I'm doomed, not just yet.

Good morning.

Post-Brunch

Well we found out Raju didn't have nasi lemak at all. So I must've mistaken the sights of rice with the banana leaf rice everybody was having. The tenggiri and sotong goreng were superb as always. And why am I writing like this?

For the last weekend of the semester, I feel quite relaxed and undertoned today -- at least from last night until now. Surprisingly I'm not panicking, though maybe I will at some point during today or tomorrow, but I'll sure it'll be none of the very out of control panic attack that purely came out of some deep throat depression, which I'm nowhere near that right now. Things are cool, I just know where the hell am I going and what else I need to do next.

Okay post ends here! I posted numerous versions of this entry actually, well all of them sounds depressing. Here's the thing: I'm not!

No Breakfasts on Weekends!

Whenever I'm staying up--or being pure jet lagged, just like my current state--I always look forward to have my home cooked-breakfast early in the morning. Mama's nasi goreng is superb. Add it up with some customised kicap, and my maid's telur mata, plus the Milo: morning perfection. (I don't get the part where my mum will always hardworkingly cook the nasi goreng, but never the egg later on if somebody asks for it).

But the whole breakfast thing, well, it's usually prepared for my brother and sister who are going to school afterwards, and I'm usually will be an insomniac busybody. If they're not going to school, that'll mean later breakfasts. So it's a Saturday morning. And I'm famished. Bad timing.

Looking forward to Raju's later, though. Do they have nasi lemak there, too? Of course they have. They should. I can smell the tenggiri already. So for the mean time, shouldn't I be like, go for a jog first? Ehem.

(and I'm also looking forward to finish up this ultimately final assignment ever for a very horrible semester. Positively saying.)

Never To Be Terrified Again

I have to promise myself this: please don't be scared again. I nearly fell into that pitch of horror just now.

It's A Cold European Summer

It's an unusual cold summer here in Europe -- something even the locals themselves admit without we asking, all over from Barcelona to here in Stuttgart. I was even down with a fever earlier this morning, something also unusual when I travel: perhaps we had too much kebab. Anything else things were fantastic. I'm still trying to adapt to these guys' ways, and along the way, more and more architectural (and life) exposure.

We're leaving Stuttgart for Munich tomorrow, before moving on to Klagenfurt and Graz. Vienna will be the final destination, in which we'll be visiting Delugan Miessl and Coop Himmelb(l)au offices. We'll head back to London on June 24, in time for London Architecture Biennale and AA & Bartlett Summer Exhibitions. I myself will head down to Paris on June 29 until July 2, will be in London for two days before finally arriving in KL on July 4. The new semester will start in July 5!

Practicals, on the other hand, was great too. I had a great boss, and a supervisor who was trained in AA who, is super helpful and was very encouraging. Great firm!

Results have been superbly great too. Thanks a bunch to my parents and friends who had faith! Alhamdulillah. We will have a great celebration when I return home!

Ich liebe dich!

Posted in Stuttgart, Germany.

PHOTO: German fans celebrate their first match victory over USA at Brandenburg Gate in Berlin, June 12 2010.

Shh. Bapak Has Something to Say!

Bapak has some answers today, even if there are no questions.

He's cool, he's stylish and he knows a lot of things you don't know. Bapak knows Yogyakarta the way Uncle Guan down Penang's Jalan Burmah knows his apong: tender in foreplay, sharp in climax. Which is, way too good. And since the Yogyakarta kraton's Sultan claims that he is the Paku Alam -- the Nail of the World, the Navel of the Earth (just like any other rajas, kings, emperors, politicians and architects, anyway) -- Bapak's knowledge is already considered global (or rather, glokal).

So deep, so vast is the knowledge of Bapak. He knows exactly where to get the best ayam penyet in the whole island of Java. In fact, Bapak knows that ayam penyet is not the best Indonesian food ever as some Malaysians, particularly those living in the areas of Sunway and Damansara (or both) have rudimentally claimed.

"Terus yang benar-benar enak apa ya, Pak?" a chick from Bandung asked, together with her Cihampelas day-out friends, all equally clueless of Bapak's statement.

Bapak laughed, the way a dalang would give out a laughter to Arjuna in a wayang kulit play: amusingly annoying.

"Yang enak tentunya babi panggang," and Bapak continued laughing.

The chicks were exasperated. "Yang benar-benar aja doang, Pak! Aku lagi serius ni!"

"Loh. Kok Cewek ngga percaya sama Bapak. Nah, cuba lagi sama kopi luwak. Keren!"

"Eeeesh! Gila ini!" The girls left for another abdi dalem in the kraton compound. Bapak continued laughing. When he finally stopped, he twitched a wrinkle on his left eyelobe.

Bapak slowly rolled his keretek leaf, then lightens it up. His breath mixing with smoke, he curses. "Ramai lagi yang tidak mengerti."

Part of the Bapak Series. Posted in Shah Alam.

I'm Announcing, Work.

I, being not so ready, anxious with lots of ridiculous assumptions as usual, will be undergoing my practical beginning Monday. I think it's enough to know that I will be spending at least RM5 per day for the journey to work (this is by using the quickest route and the minimal toll gates possible).

Anyhow, I just can't believe that the design talks just won't end even though it's already a week after the last review: I think it's good. Yet draggy. So, it's draggily good then.

I got my new passport issued last Monday. If you have been wondering (ceh, who the hell is 'you'?) I have been planning on stuffs, yes; however right now just bear in mind that the destination is not that new. Anybody who are living in the places that I have been to for the past few years can start guessing and preparing!

(Yes I'm pretending that I'm a well-accepted celebrity right now, vain much. Sigh)

Okay, you know what: I'm giving this blog a C+ grade since it's all about 'I', 'me' and 'myself' for quite a time. I'll try to share my thoughts and ideas soon Insya Allah. Till then, see you and me much in the Ampang-Wangsa Maju area!

Alamak.

Posted in Shah Alam.

Alright, Kids. He's Back!

Folks, I'm now back in Shah Alam for good -- at least for another year.

...and I'm happily available.

More, soon.

Questions from Manjoi

Pursuing happiness.

I was driving along the usual route connecting Ipoh and Seri Iskandar last night. I was expecting a half-deserted road, as it was already near 11 o'clock and usually around this time, lesser cars would be around... especially since it has been raining since the late afternoon.

Ayah came by together with Opah to my place in Seri Iskandar earlier just to take a look at my car. My car has been broken since last week, the battery facing problems. The MyVi is entering its fourth year now, and understandably, for any car especially local cars, things are starting to get cracky. Ayah having the car fixed, I decided to join Opah and Ayah for a night in Manjoi.

The drive usually takes around twenty to thirty minutes, sometimes forty, depending on the way you drive. There's no highway, so sometimes it takes longer time than going to KLIA from Shah Alam, rushing. Yesterday however, I felt numb. It felt as if things went only for awhile when I finally reached the already sleepy Silibin.

Many things gushed through my head when I was driving. Submission, of course, is around the corner but I just prefer to ignore the surge to be panicky. What for? Being panic, I think, will lead to a much more draining out situation, things emtying out while the demand is just there, pushing and pressing you for more.

It's not the first time I'd drive up to Manjoi at the eve of a submission or in the middle of a big assignment. And of course, it's not the first time I'd be anywhere other than the studio or at my workplace at home in the middle of a big assignment.

Last semester, I did a huge mistake of staying at my place like a freak at the studio, pointless, while my work is not progressing anyway and anywhere else, people are having something going on without me. I even cut my Hari Raya holidays short, skipping open houses and definitely missed one of my bestfriend's send off (one of the many send offs missed) just to go back to the studio (two and a half hours drive away in Perak) and continue with what, work?

I reached to my senses this semester: no point of being at one place mentally-exhausted and views obstructed while the ideas still float around, untouched. Travelling around makes more sense: most of my ideas I obtained this semester are not at the studio. Really, with the staleness, stark temperature and the off-white setting with people showing off bad music: how the hell is any idea is ever going to pop-up?

Then again, that's that. I didn't get any new ideas last night, or earlier this morning in spite of the good coffee, the shivery, cold water running in Opah's bathroom, or the refreshing air mixed with smells of kekabu pillows and mosquito coils. It's good also, I think, as things should be enough and should be put to a stop. It's already exhausting, the whole thinking thing. People demanding you achieving unthinkable approaches, people taking you for granted, people not appreciating you.

Opah found a diary of my late grandfather: whom I never met. The year of the diary is 1977, the very last year he lived. On the third day of Aidiladha that year, at the end of November, he passed away due to what we believe as liver complications. From what he wrote and from what I always know, my late Atuk was a very contributive man, loves to help around particularly in politics. Sadly, however, he was always rewarded less than what he deserved. It was an effort, I fear, that ended mostly in vain.

It was a sad thing, sadder of course for Ayah and Opah. It hit my heart when Ayah told us when people just didn't appreciate what his father was doing after how hard he was struggling to survive in order to raise the family back then.

Thankfully, thirty years forward, things are definitely better off for everybody. However it paused me, pondering: I know it hurts so much when people just don't appreciate what you're doing, especially after you have struggled so much. Especially when you have already been drained out. You thought it's worth it, but apparently it's not. It's big for you but it's small for others. Where to depart to if things are becoming that way?

Perhaps there's that little thin line of hope we can still grope on to.

Solemn

Hush now, is this the end of the road?

Masjid

4 weeks to go. Gulp.

Hooray!

Happy 4th birthday blog!

Off to Kelantan tomorrow, and seriously, 'updated' is not really this blog's middle name right now.

Take care folks.

Here We Go, Semester Six!

"Sikit boleh jadi cukup, banyak boleh jadi lebih. Tapi boleh jadi sikit tu sempit, banyak pulak tak cukup. Apa dia?"

I know I nearly skipped the whole January without blogging. As anyone would have expected, the beginning of the final semester in Perak (with another year left to be gone through in Shah Alam) is busy. And dramatic, nonetheless. Study-wise it has been too interesting. Somehow I'm reintroduced to the whole process of learning, and somewhat I'm reintroduced to a whole substance that I thought I have known all along: Islam.

The verdict: we are to design a mosque for this semester. And (not but) things are never simple. Just like any other spaces, a mosque, perhaps correctly a masjid, is a space not to be 'given just like that', to quote Encik Li. As the always famous quote says, architects are not mere space givers. So?

The last three weeks have been a celebration of a re-looking into the Qur'an and the Sunnah. What does Allah says about building? Did our good Prophet Muhammad ever set a guide on how to build, the Islamic way? How is a masjid becomes a masjid? This includes rampaging the library for all books pertaining the jurisprudence of erecting buildings in Islam and the jurisprudence regarding all activities related to the usage of masjid. And that's a lot.

All these traces us back to the classic, and nearly rhetoric, question: what is Islamic architecture? Or, in the words of Encik Li himself, is there such thing as Islamic architecture? Don't get my lecturer or me myself wrong. But seriously, whose idea was it that a masjid must come with a dome, a minaret, and some insertion of so-called arabesque patterns?

Whatever it was, things are going deep. "Are architects to be blamed if the design of a masjid is a contributor to the invalidity of one's ibadah towards Allah -- thus a contributor to the fatal social problems to what we Muslims face today?" Encik Li asked.

Why are Muslims failing even though their mosques today, in all parts of the world, are all pleasant and splendorous? Why, with its very utilitarian form of only date-palm columns and mud walls -- palm leaves and sky as the roof and the desert's earth -- the Prophet's mosque in Madinah in its heydays has successfully turned Islam to a super global civilisation, a feat that its 1 billion followers today are still not able to repeat?

Questions that we are yet to answer. The essence that we are yet to insert in our up-and-coming design. What is clear now is, to design a masjid is to design on the ways of our blessed Prophet, mentioned by Allah in the Qur'an: to be built on the basis of taqwa. This semester, the more we unlock the keys to questions, more doors are open to even more questions.

This is Project Islam. Semester 6. And here we go again. And the question asked in the beginning of the post? It's something called barakah.

Posted in Seri Iskandar.