Feeling thirty twooo

And on the 11,680th day, She said “Let There Be Fireworks.”

Adieu

I hate to even have this presence here, but hallmarks are hallmarks. 

The battle in this past two months have required me to excavate the deepest pools of my resourcefulness and grace. It took almost everything I had, to retch out the churning, violent emotions that were festering inside me like a moulded, sick pus. To lay bare the vomitus and vitriol for everyone to see.  There is a part of me that is still in unnerving disbelief, choosing instead to detach myself from the momentous relief of this outcome. Exteriorly, mounds and mounds of people are celebrating, cheering things like finally and this is a win for everyone. Internally, I am just acknowledging that I will be forever (but not irreparably) scarred from this whole ordeal. There is so much in me to address, to untangle, to rebuild. I am still unsure of who I am after all this, of the person I am to become. But there is space and there is time. And there is love. So by the grace of Allah. I will be better. 

You're so golden

 

Life's karma has a way of laughing at me in some form of Shakespearean twist. 

Setting aside the debris of past entanglements, I was able to surrender to the moment and just get absolutely carried away with the music. I can't quite articulate how many hours I'd spent listening to this exact album, this exact voice, this exact tune, how many days I'd plotted to be here, to be anywhere but where I was, how these lyrics were a constant companion to my enclosed world, as long as four years ago, before more of life happened. I'm rambling and fumbling my thoughts here but there just aren't enough sentiments to articulate how absolutely surreal it was to have memories and emotions thrown back at you through music. It's been a hell of a ride since Fine Line first came out, and after it all, I can't believe I'd actually made it. 

Happy 31st birthday, me!

 

A day with no expectations is a day of pleasant surprises.

A proper recap

Thank you 2022

Here's to finally moving to the city of my dreams, to fulfilling my umrah during my 30th, to volunteering in Syrl4 and Tanzania, to enjoying so many beautiful sunsets, snows and sights. To the local hammams in Istanbul and feet massages in Bangkok. To muffin man scones in Kensington, Korean bbq in Piccadilly, nasi lemak Wanjo in Kampung Baru, and eating wheatflour in Tanga. To getting recognised as a global talent, noted by Tatler, and to multiple exhibitions and workshops. To being healthy, and being able to live life with my loved ones. 

Final and most precious shoutout to my two amazing flatmates, without whom I wouldn't have survived the year without my mental health and sense of self intact. Thank you Mad & Mido, I love you both. 

The Big 3-0

 

Happy 30th, me! 

The past decade (a defining decade!) has been an absolute rollercoaster. A lot to reflect upon but for today (a full week after my actual birthday) I'm going to rest up since I'm down with Covid (at last!)

Coveid 2.0

 

Memories. 

Second Coveid Raya. 2021.

I'll remember the sun. The endless hours in the kitchen labouring love over various kuih and traditional dishes. I'll remember that Atok was here; Mum had brought her over just after Ramadhan. Her rendang to this day remains my favourite. KakMa was here too, and so were our two cats - Latter, the ever ladylike, gentle, caring, loving Latte. And Puteh - barely a year old, so mengada and loud at the time. I'd stitch them haphazard 'eid' dresses from songket material Azalea had bought from Jakel (I can't imagine going to Jakel during the height of the worse pandemic period). It was the same week that Adam's friend was diagnosed to be positive (it was also Azalea's birthday week - and I'd made pavlova!). The day and the following days passed by uneventfully. Time poured in golden doses as the tropical sun did, languid, thick, slow.

Selamat

2015.

#Circus Acacia

"The circus arrives without warning."

A flitting glimpse, through random snapshots, of a party that grew beyond my happiest dreams. The whole affair was inspired by Erin Morgenstern's novel of the Cirque Des Reves. The photos do not do justice towards a night that was, to me, sparkling with magic and love. It included musical chairs, acoustic performances, plenty of photos all lit in the dim glow of fairy lights. My biggest appreciation for everyone who came and made it happen. Special thanks to E for the music playlist and for supporting my crazy ideas (as always poop) and K and M for performing <3

Merdeka 57

Freedom is ability to live in liberty. It is the facility to breathe in air without fear, it is the opportunity to manage a life based on personal choice. Freedom is the capability to communicate, deliver, receive and produce without hindrance and discrimination. It enables protection and peace, the prosperity of relationships, and preservation of history. It is the most significant and impactful element to a life, one that is often taken for granted, and at times abused, on a daily basis.

The 57th independence day of peninsular Malaysia (that I personally celebrated together with Malaysia's independence) was appreciated with a lenghty stroll through the streets of my capital city, Kuala Lumpur. Having arrived around noon I had missed the official carnival, but instead was met with an interesting collection of after-festival scenarios. The were a number of people milling about in various states of post party, some lounging from the afternoon heat in shaded mamak stalls with ice cold drinks, service men working to manage crowd circulation and cleaning up stray rubbish, performers packing up costumes into their vehicles, keen tourists, and plenty of vendors gladly selling wares to flag clad customers.

It was a wonder to just meander about, soaking up the blur of activities that occurred on the pedestrian stage, with the looming city as a backdrop. There are so many things I could've meticulously observed and analysed, from interactions to definition, to the symbolic significance of merdeka. A lot of people have commented on the state of this country (particular in light of recent events that has brought Malaysia's name to an international audience), the general range being observations that we 'are still a young and developing country and it is with hope that we will continue to improve' to mostly 'we should be doing better and at the rate we are evolving we will never get anywhere' . There were evidences of both concepts throughout my experiences that afternoon, but at the end of the day, I guess I wasn't interested in being a critic.

Thus instead of focusing my energy on analysing the spectacles, conjuring up snide comments of societal or political issues, raising thought provoking questions or contrarily gushing about this wonderful country that is bursting with potential and people, I just simply made a loop around Bangunan Sultan Abdul Samad, conversed and collaborated with a variety of people along the way, then gladly drove home. I found that I did not need to declare myself or my opinions of anything other than what I am. And what I am is a regular youth, living in a suburb located half an hour from the city, in a small country that has it shares of culture and agenda. The state of things in general, are plenty to be thankful for, with room for improvements. I am more or less an ant scuttling through a patch of grass in the lawn, and as long as I carry my weight and care for my blade, I am doing my part for the colony.

Raya 2014

Salam Aidilfitri from Raub, Pahang. 

Daud

This is a photo of my father's hand. It is far different from how I imagined it to be, in the permanent mental photo of my mind. In my head it is the branch of strong, sinewy arms, and big soft palms. Fingers that pointed me to various fishes as we snorkled of east coast islands. Hands that held the bars of my bicycle as I mastered its steering. These are the hands of the person who sent me for piano classes, for art classes, who taught me how to swim. He held me and rocked me with comfort as I cried my heart out on numerous occasions when life beat me down. He, with his lame dad jokes (he is the king of them) and little smiles, always down to talk.

I won't say that he has never disappointed me. I have been crushed, I have been beaten, mentally, by the power of his actions. I grew up and I understand that no human being, no adult, no idol, is perfect. In similar turn I have also flown from the coop, more often now, headstrong and determined to chase my own life. Lately I have denied his invites to talk and do community activities, I am rarely home to share dinner. I am not the girl whose tiny hands sought for guidance. I am the young woman who is itching to find my own direction and purpose. This is to say that everyone changes with time, a mix of good and bad.

I glanced at him last week and noticed how much more extensive his white hairs have grown. His hands are more rough, and he walks, hunched, often tired from his hours of gardening, with a voice that's a little strained from numerous Quran recitals. He has retired, aside for part time teaching accountancy classes. Nowadays, I am the one driving him to places. We talk of investments, savings, our future plans and the strain of keeping up. This is the hand that trembled as I gave him some allowance money last week, as I paid for our meal and the car petrol. This time, I'm holding his hand and comforting him. Regardless of what happens, I'm going to do my best to not let him down.

Happy 60th birthday, Daud bin Yusof.

XChange 2013

As a prelude to the Global Entrepreneurship Summit 2013, I was invited by good friends to attend the XChange Forum in Universiti Malaya, last Thursday. The talk revolved around social entrepreneurship. As the opening introduced, social entrepreneurship is a rising industry in world economics, basically the result of a business and charity collaboration. It’s a profitable field with concepts like integrity and community focus.

The thing about charity is that it’s synonymous with volunteerism. Do a good deed based on the sincerity of your heart, the capability of your body, and the freedom of your time. There are those however, who are passionate about doing something good for the rest of their lives, and want to make a living from it. The forum presented three amazing guest speakers from all over the world – Ben Simon of the Food Recovery Network from the United States, Mario Ferro of WEDU from Italy, and Professor Anil Gupta of the Honey Bee Network from India.

Let me begin by stating that it was an incredible experience, to understand that charity work has evolved into a booming global business, filled with its own challenges in terms of marketing and profitability process. An integral part I often underestimate is the power of innovation. Even with a core idea, there needs to exist the next step for the system to be sustainable. Feeding the homeless can expand to a community driven farm, can further develop to a recognized certification status (as planned by Food Recovery Network).  It’s not just about an act, but the other things you’re able do and gain with that act.

That being said, it’s not just about the money. It’s the nature of making the money itself. The Honey Bee Network strives to share new innovative technology from the most run down slums of India, able to be patented, legally produced, or even sourced globally. It’s making money through sharing knowledge, in its most basic form.  This is a whole other sector of people striving to create a better world, and making a living from it. As romantic as it sounds it also acknowledges a proper business plan, while nurturing a community of sharing and inspiration.

I’m including a video of Professor Anil Gupta from a Ted Talk that was presented, as he was unable to attend the event personally. In this he elaborates the foundation of the Honey Bee Network (link)

The short of this is: It blew my mind. 

Food Recovery Network (link) utilises food leftovers from campuses all over the US to give to the homeless.

WEDU (link) funds scholarships for female students in third world countries, who receives mentorship from a notable female.

The whole event was organised and sponsored by the Social Entrepreneurship Alliance, SEA (link) a non profit organisation based in Kuala Lumpur, to advocate social entrepreneurship. 

Soup Kitchen

The first time I handed food to a homeless person, my heart stopped a beat.  He was a middle aged man, not physically old or sick, scratching his scar riddled arms. In our flitting exchange I noticed his faded t-shirt, his frayed jeans, his dusty rubber slippers. He acknowledged my presentation of bread with a nod of thanks and shuffled up the queue, to be replaced with another man, almost of similar character.

The first time I volunteered for soup kitchen, I was overwhelmed with the sheer number of homeless people alive in the depths of Kuala Lumpur. From the mentioned middle aged man, to old men with scraggly beards and skinny legs, to busty women carrying babies. There were tall transvestites grinning halfway between embarrassment and sass, adjusting their dresses; old women with carrier bags of their belongings; sometimes even an old pak guard working the late night shift.

Some of them would greet you cordially, grinning with half of their teeth missing. Some would just nod silently, even avoiding eye contact. Sometimes it was easier to tolerate the ones who remained quiet, who looked away even as you greeted them. Because perhaps they were embarrassed, or just anti-social. Perhaps their minds were occupied with other things. Their grim faces and rough hands asked to be left alone – Easier, because I could understand.

It’s the ones who smile happily as they receive their paper bag of sponsored food, saying thank you and selamat malam, who struck me most. They, with cramp little spaces to call home, maybe riddled with disease, maybe a meager-waged job, living in squalor next to rubbish strewn streets. They were harder to look in the eye. How do they still remain happy and polite, even with their givings in life? How are they not angry, bitter or ashamed? They have strengths that I have yet to understand.

As I gave away the last bag of food that night, there were still others waiting in the line, faces ranging from frustration to dejection. There was not enough food. What little we could give was a hot cup of tea, and some leftover packets of bread. It was the last lady who rushed up to us to receive a warm cup, explaining her lateness for minding her children, who concluded my night. She walked away with a small wave and a smile, back to her life. The others just shuffled away. 

We make what we can with our lot in our life. While we're sitting here, there are others out there, who are struggling and fighting to survive, in ways many of us would ever really know.  

Paragliding

Challenge 22: A picture of what you wore today

Oh! The wind between my feet; The sky beneath my soles

Impaction

Architecture, biotechnology, mechatronics and robotic systems, medicine, dentistry, banking and finance, aerospace, engineering, political science, law, management, accounting, economics - by students from worldwide universities in Russia, Egypt, United Kingdom, United States, Canada and Malaysia. 

Sunday's main agenda was Impact: program for SPM students in Dewan Bahasa & Pustaka, with collaboration from Majlis Belia Malaysia. More than two hundred students attended, from various SBP, MRSM, tahfiz, government, and 'kluster' schools in Selangor. The program included mock interviews, sharing of experiences, motivational talks, and a most dynamic session - the career and course sitting, where students were invited to discuss their future courses with respective facilitators. Naturally, I ended up talking about architecture.   

Fried Chillies

Challenge 10: If you could live off of one food and one beverage for the rest of your days, what would they be? 

I've decided to change tact on this one, because there's plenty of food and beverage I would definitely live on for the rest of my days. The selection includes potatoes, lasagna - and like a true Malaysian, milo ais. (This is essentially cheating because the challenge was to decide on one good food, but that's borderline psychological torture). 

Instead I'm going to share this, since it's just presently published, my humble joy. It symbolises a myriad of other things, not just my constant love of food (one from a terribly picky eater) but also my love of writing. 

The fact is that at this moment, aside from being a degree student and a newscaster, I'm also a writer. One who authors her thought on food. Yes. I get paid to eat and talk about food. All things considered, my eight year old self would be a little impressed with all this. There's no lasagna (yet, heh) but there's potatoes and maggie goreng, a massive part of my essential food pyramid! Photos and words by yours truly. Check out http://friedchillies.com/ for more. :) 

Home › Food Articles › Favourite 5 › Top 5 Instant Noodle Goreng in Subang and Shah Alam

Top 5 Instant Noodle Goreng in Subang and Shah Alam

We’ve all gone through a moment of weakness and craved for the delicious gratification of a bowl of instant noodle. They’re easy, delicious and cheap to boot. Here are our favourite 5 in Shah Alam and Subang...

by Acacia Daud Photography FriedChillies Tue, May 14, 2013

FAVOURITE 5

First popularised by the infamous Maggi Goreng, now the other instants are catching up quick. They now come in all sorts of flavours and style of cooking instead of your usual throw some in a wok, tear flavouring and chuck veggies in. But really, what better satisfaction than a plate of really good fried noodles? From Maggie, to Indomie, to Mee Sedap, we’ve covered the top 5 instant noodles to TRY in Shah Alam and Subang...

Theater and Tandoori

For a couple of months last year, the theater group I'm with, Spontan! participated in the Open Arts Night at Pods, in Brickfields, KL. The first Friday of every month would gather an amazing clan of artists, from dancers to music performers, from story tellers to gypsy mimes. I've seen out of this world guitar tapping, an emotionally raw traditional Indian dance that depicted the rise and fall of a prostitute - performed by a man, even more; I've thrown chairs in theatrical agony, joined break dances, and participated in dialogues that roamed the edges of imagination and delved deeper into historical, psychological culture. 

One of the best performance I witnessed was the 'Story of Rain'. As the audience sat huddled on the edges of the room, the lights were dimmed, very slowly. Out of the corner of the room we heard a clattering, and then, becoming louder, a chanting screech. With messed up hair, holding sticks and mops and brooms, bent down and covered in rags, three figures stopped down and shuffled towards us. Somewhere, a drum was beating in rhythmic, steady thuds. As the figures passed by I noticed that their faces were caked with white powder, feathers stuck in their hair, eyeing me with beady, black eyes. A man went up to stage and relayed that these three stooping women were sisters, living in a country far, far away, who had not had rain for sometime. 

They argued and shrieked, laughed and cried. They threw away rubber slippers and tossed their hair. They took candles and lit them, and as they danced around shadows were thrown dark and smothering upon the walls, covering our faces, in agony without water. A deep horn blew, and they stopped, crying, gasping in fear. Then, they started to dance for the rain god. A flute sounded, wooden and light and long, and throughout all this, were the steady beatings of the drum. They shuffled. Left, right, left, around. Left, right, left, around. The three figures in their cascading clothing and nonsensical style, bent over hunchback, shuffling and muttering and shrieking incomprehensibly. And then, slowly, a guitar joined the music, and together they became louder. A belly dancer from the crowd took up the dance. A random audience member came forward and danced. And one by one, everyone just stood up and slapped our feet on the floor and threw our hands in the air and spun around to the steady, rhythmic, almost African beats all through the night.

It sounds almost cult like, but keeping an open mind it was one of the most magical experiences I've ever had. 

Azren, a jawdropping guitar tapper (he's becoming quite famous, now!) and the traditional Indian dance which sparked a very interesting conversation on the social issues of prostitution after his performance.

Wonderful costumes.

The rain performance. 

Nadzy and I, as a distorted depiction of fallen Juliet and Puck (and I am aware that they are from different Shakespearean plays), performed spontaneously without script. Another role I was graced to act out was a circus clown, but that was a different month. Ha.

One of the many group pictures of the performers at the end of the session. The man with dreadlocks on the top left plays something like a Cudamani flute, but bigger, and sounding more amazing. All photos from Pods facebook albums, here :)

  

#NikeRun #10k

'Why do you constantly find ways to torture yourself?' 

'It isn't torture.' 

'Then?' 

It's different. Running is different. It's the wind whistling past you, the hammering of your heart against your chest, the pounding of your feet on pavements, sweat pouring down your skin. It's your body's mechanism in motion, while your head is free. It's pushing yourself till you're breathless, parched, exhausted, but knowing that you're capable of fleeing that far, away from everything. At the core of it, it feels like it's just you versus the world.

It was a whole other experience, to be running with such an enormous crowd, made stranger by the fact that a large percentage of it were my peers. I felt inconsequential, like one little ant out of thousands, which I was, but more so given that whatever happened that day, knowing that in a race with such vigorous participants, it was a little far out to imagine winning a medal. Minutes before the gun fired I remembered telling myself that this was for me, for fun, for what I could do. With ego and competitiveness aside, I very much, enjoyed the day.

I'll never forget the outstanding crowd snaking all over Akleh, specks of black and muted colours in constant, rippling motion. Won't forget the sight of the concert stage at the end of the run, lights flaring, music throbbing, silhouettes flickering across the decks. I grasped onto some stranger - it was a girl, her name was Quin or Xuan or something - clutched her arm so hard so that I wouldn't fall out of dizziness the moment I sprinted past the finishing line. My body was so zoned out, couldn't even stomach Nirwana's delicious rice for dinner. But I had an amazing time. 

Biggest gratitude to D, Sn, Arf, to R, for making the day what it was. Next run coming up! (; 

Completed the 10km (plus!) at 1 hour 16 minutes in the top 500. Couldn't be more proud of my (untrained, unprepared) feet :B

Impact

This is not just an event - this a movement.

I was privileged enough, for the past week, to collaborate with the UKEC team in organizing, through design, [i]mpact: the debut. It promoted the motion to think.learn.act, bringing in top intellectuals from the fields of art, social media enterprise, literature, environmental activists and charity to expose students to their spheres of influence. The event was an eye opening conference, beginning with a lecture series, followed by workshop sessions over the course of two days.

The most impressive part is that this event was put together by youths, for youths. As it was said, 'today, we will give you the wave, but it is the ripple that matters, and how far it is carried.' The talk itself brought up a myriad of inspiring stories and lessons, and provided an opportunity for change. [i]mpact challenged attendees to get out there and make a difference, by giving mini grants + a specific time frame. As a constant: it is important to expose your mind and practice positive actions.

Be the change you wish to see in this world! 

A is for awesome